Arlene Demarco picked him up at the bus station. They drove north to the Thruway and then west in silence.

"Well," Arlene said at last, "you look older, Joe."

"I am older."

About twelve miles farther west, Arlene said abruptly, "Hey… welcome to the Twenty-first Century."

"It arrived inside, too," said Kurtz.

"How could you tell?"

"Good point," said Kurtz and they were silent for another ten miles or so.

Arlene ran her window down and lit a cigarette, batting the ashes out into the brisk autumn air.

"I thought your husband doesn't like it when you smoke."

"Alan died six years ago."

Kurtz nodded and watched the fields go by.

"I guess I could have come to visit you once or twice in eleven years," said Arlene. "Keep you up to speed on things."

Kurtz turned to look at her. "Why? No percentage in that."

Arlene shrugged. "Obviously, I found your message on the machine. But why you thought I'd pick you up after all these years…"

"No problem if you didn't," said Kurtz. "The buses still run between Batavia and Buffalo."

Arlene smoked the rest of her cigarette, then tossed it out the window. "Rachel, Sam's little girl—"

"I know."

"Well, her ex-husband got custody, and he still lives in Lockport. I thought you'd want to—"

"I know where he lives," said Kurtz. "Attica has computers and phone books."

Arlene nodded and concentrated on driving.

"You're working with some legal outfit in Cheektowaga?"

"Yeah. Actually, it's three law offices in what used to be a Kwik-Mart in a shopping center. Two of the firms are ambulance chasers, and the third one is just a capper mill."