He figured he might as well make good use of his time. Past the jail with its stainless steel concertina wire boundaries, the bail bond stores, and the carry-outs with garish window signs advertising po-boys, check-cashing, fried chicken and lotto tickets. Across the cracked, pitted pavement to the next block where everyone on the sidewalk seemed to be on their phone. Not a soul looked up or acknowledged him. As he pulled out his phone to call Strand, it rang. ‘I heard they did Lerner’s house today.’ Strand was already home and Archer could hear the drone of a TV in the background. ‘Yeah. Lots of framed mug shots on his piano. Guy used them like decorations or trophies.’ ‘You’ve got the day-planner from his office?’ ‘Got it with me. I’ll look at it tonight and see if anything jumps out.’ ‘Q, we’ve got an ex-con and we’ve got a gun. Tomorrow the press is going to tear us a new asshole. Why not get on board? Back me on this and let’s get this guy convicted. We’ll be heroes, Archer, instead of idiots.’ ‘Strand, there are a lot of other things going on.
