on Saturday morning. I had been asleep, but I was worried enough about Maggie to zombie roll out of bed and answer. It wasn’t my lady friend. It was Mr. Nussbaum. “Would you like a ride to the office, amigo?” he asked. “You bet your pants,” I said, although I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on because I was still half asleep. “I’ll be at your pad in ten minutes,” he said. “My pad,” I repeated. I hung up the phone and crawled back into bed. Except instead of drifting back to dreamland, I sat up. This was real. This was not a dream. It was 7:00 a.m., and Mr. Nussbaum was just minutes away from the suite. I don’t remember getting dressed. I don’t remember brushing my teeth, but I’m sure I did. Fresh breath was a priority for this guy. The next thing I knew, I was riding in Mr. Nussbaum’s fine Caddie, and we were cruising to do some law. “You ready for action?”
