"Maybe you should just let it go," Win said.

He whipped his Jaguar XJR onto the FDR Drive and headed south. The radio was tuned to WMXV, 105.1 FM. They played something called "Soft Rock." Michael Bolton was on. He was doing a remake of an old Four Tops classic. Painful. Like Bea Arthur doing a remake of a Marilyn Monroe film.

Maybe Soft Rock meant Really Bad Rock.

"Mind if I put on a cassette?" Myron said.

"Please."

Win swerved into a lane change. Win's driving could most kindly be described as creative. Myron tried not to look. He pushed in a cassette from the original production of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Like Myron, Win had a huge collection of old Broadway musicals. Robert Morse sang about a girl named Rosemary. But Myron's mind remained fixed on a girl named Valerie Simpson.

Valerie was dead. One bullet to the chest. Someone had shot her in the Food Court of the United States Tennis Association National Tennis Center during the opening round of America 's sole Grand Slam event Yet no one had seen a thing. Or at least no one was talking.

"You're making that face," Win said.

"What face?"

"The I-want-to-help-the-world face," Win said. "She wasn't a client."

"She was going to be."

"A large distinction. Her fate does not concern you."

"She called me three times today," Myron said. "When she couldn't reach me, she showed up at the tennis center. And then she was gunned down."

"A sad tale," Win said. "But one that does not concern you."

The speedometer hovered about eighty. "Uh, Win?"

"Yes."

"The left side of the road. It's for oncoming traffic."

Win spun the wheel, cut across two lanes, and swerved onto a ramp. Minutes later the Jag veered into the Kinney lot on Fifty-second Street. They gave the keys to Mario, the parking attendant. Manhattan was hot. City hot. The sidewalk scorched your feet right through your shoes. Exhaust fumes got stuck in the humidity, hanging in the air like fruit on a tree. Breathing was a chore. Sweating was not The secret was to keep the sweat to a minimum while walking, hoping that the air-conditioning would dry off your clothes without giving you pneumonia.