her. There was also the fact that her clothes and jewelry were easily worth more than the young woman’s annual salary, a fact the woman was no doubt more sensitive to than I was.

Mio opened her purse and took out two one-hundred-dollar bills. “We’re fine, we’re just waiting for some friends.” She held out the two hundreds when she said this. “I wonder if you could change these to twenties for me?”

The young woman took the money without a word and walked back to the front desk. When she returned, she counted out ten twenties and gave them to Mio. Mio separated one bill, deftly folding it into quarters with one hand and held it out to the woman as a tip. When the woman took the money, Mio gently squeezed her hand as she pressed the bill into her palm. The woman momentarily lost her professional composure, flushed a deep red, then mumbled a thank you and hurried away.

“What was that about?” I asked.

Mio dropped the twenties into her handbag and gave me a dismissive little shrug by way of telling me to mind my own business. A few minutes later, Tony walked through the sliding glass doors at the front entrance. Grandiose architecture, like courthouses and pretentious hotel lobbies, tend to dwarf the humans who inhabit them. This is what they’re supposed to do. The courthouse is meant to intimidate, the hotel lobby to give the illusion of status by virtue of scale. The guy at the front desk did a double take when Tony walked in. He probably wasn’t used to seeing someone big enough to diminish the lobby’s pretensions.

Tony saw us sitting on the sofa and performed a minimalist gesture that consisted of raising one index finger, pointed in our direction, as if he were shooting from the hip. Mio waved back, more conspicuously, and stood up. Tony waited while we crossed the lobby. The two of them shook hands. The difference in size was like an adult shaking hands with a four year old, but they carried it off naturally enough, though Tony had a look of mild awe on his face. Mio was no doubt one of the few people other than Tony’s wife, Patricia, who was seemingly indifferent to his physical dimensions.

“Good evening, Tony,” Mio said.

“Good evening, Mio. You look dangerous tonight.”

“Why, thank you. You’re looking pretty good, yourself”

Tony shook my hand. “Shake.”

“Tony, good to see you.”

The three of us walked to the car. Mio said she’d sit in back. Tony opened the back door for her on the passenger side. I went around to the driver’s side and got in behind Karla. It was the sensible arrangement, since Tony needed to put the seat all the way back in order to make room for his knees, whereas Mio needed no legroom at all. After slipping her shoes off, she sat with her legs curled under her on the seat.

When we were all in, Karla turned around and looked at Mio. “Hi, I’m Karla Lambretti.”

“Mio Nagaishi.”

Mio looked at me, her expression a mixture of amused curiosity and playful reprimand, then turned her attention back to Karla. “Now that I’ve had a look at you,” she said, “I can see Shake hasn’t been entirely forthcoming. He told me you were attractive, but he didn’t tell me you were stunning.”

Karla smiled, her eyes fixed on Mio. “Shake hasn’t told me much about you, either, except that you’re not his wife and you like to dance.”

“Two of the essentials,” Mio said.

I wasn’t particularly interested in seeing how long the two of them could keep this up. “It’s a long drive to San Francisco. Why don’t we talk on the road?”

The conversation lagged while Karla got us to the freeway heading west. Mio was leaning into the corner, her body angled toward Karla, studying her profile while she drove. Mio was showing a little more interest in Karla than I’d expected, but I assumed she’d tell me what was on her mind, if and when she chose. Tony sat quietly until Karla asked him a question.

“So, Tony, if you don’t mind my asking, what do you do for Mio?”

Tony looked her way briefly, then returned his eyes to the road ahead. “I accompany her.”

Karla waited patiently for an elaboration that didn’t come. Mio finally offered one.

“Tony keeps the wolves off me.”

“He’s like a bodyguard?” Karla asked.

“Not exactly. More of a caution sign—to other men who think I might be grateful for their attention.”

Karla and Tony exchanged looks. Apparently Tony didn’t feel the need to add anything, so Mio continued.

“A woman as fine looking as you, Karla, knows what goes through the minds of men when they see you walk into a room. I’m not as beautiful as you are, but that doesn’t stop men from thinking I’d make a nice little oriental sex toy. It gets so tiresome sometimes, like having a swarm of flies constantly buzzing around your face.”

“I see,” Karla said, “the flies see Tony and they think twice about doing anything that might get them swatted.”

“It works pretty well, most of the time,” Mio said.

Karla sized Tony up, as if she’d forgotten how big he was. “When it doesn’t, does Tony rescue you?”

Mio considered the question. “Do you rescue me, Tony?”

Tony answered as if reciting from memory. “Under no circumstances do I intervene between Mio and any man, woman, child or animal that I judge to be a threat to her. No exceptions.”

Karla was incredulous. “I don’t get it. You don’t help her if some jackass starts getting rough?”

“It’s part of the deal,” Tony said, “between the three of us: myself, my wife and Mio.”

“Patricia doesn’t want Tony getting into any trouble,” Mio explained. “I pay him to accompany me, to be present, nothing more. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that’s all I need. The other one percent I deal with myself.”

Karla fell silent. I suspected she was thinking along the same general lines I was: Could Tony really resist stepping in to help

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