The second book in the Myron Bolitar series

The author wishes to thank the following: my friends and college roommates James Bradbeer Jr. and Lawrence Vitale; David Pepe of Pro Agents Inc.; Peter Roisman of Advantage International; my editor and friend Jacob Hoye; Natalie Ayars, M.D.; E. W. Count; the AOL Writers Club; and, of course, Dave Bolt.

"Cesar Romero," Myron said.

Win looked at him. "You're not serious."

"I'm starting off with an easy one."

On Stadium Court the players were changing sides. Myron's client, Duane Richwood, was shellacking the number-fifteen seed Ivan Something-okov, leading 5-0 in the third set after winning the first two sets 6-0, 6-2. An impressive U.S. Open debut for the unseeded twenty-one-year-old upstart from the streets (literally) of New York.

"Cesar Romero," Myron repeated. "Unless you don't know."

Win sighed. "The Joker."

"Frank Gorshin."

"The Riddler."

Ninety-second commercial break. Myron and Win were keeping themselves busy with a scintillating game of Name the Batman Criminal. The TV Batman. The Batman starring Adam West and Burt Ward and all those Pow, Bam, Slam balloons. The real Batman.

"Who played the second one?" Myron asked.

"The second Riddler?"

Myron nodded.

From across the court Duane Richwood flashed them a cocky smile. He sported garish aviator sunglasses with loud fluorescent green frames. The latest style from

Ray-Ban. Duane was never without them. He had become not only identified by the shades but defined by them. Ray-Ban was rather pleased.