said Mark, whirling around, his fists clenched. “My wife is dead and you’re asking me for money.” “Hey!” said our boss, putting out his hands in a placating gesture. “My operatives”—Jimmy G gestured at me and Pepe—“they are just trainees and so they neglected to collect the deposit on the first visit. According to our standard terms, you must pay half of our fee in advance and the other half upon completion. Seems to Jimmy G you owe us one thousand smackeroos.” “How do I know they actually completed the task?” asked Mark. I wondered about his anger. Easier to get mad than sad. My sister Terry had always been angry after our parents died. “And what do you mean trainees? I wanted licensed PIs. I need them to testify in court.” “What do you mean testify in court?” I asked. The idea both thrilled and terrified me. “Geri, did I ever tell you about my day in court?” asked Pepe. “I was the expert witness in a case of dog-food tampering.” “Hush, Pepe,”
