Urness abruptly stopped, looked up at his friend with a seriousness that he usually saved for his clients, and blurted out, “I think you drink too much.”

Adams looked away nervously and chuckled. “Come on, Kenny,” he said with forced levity, “a guy’s in New York for the night. What’s wrong with wanting to get a little lit up?”

“Nothing if you’re some tire salesman from Akron in town for a convention, but you, my friend, are no salesman. You have wandered out onto a very dangerous cliff. One tiny misstep, and splat.” Urness clapped his hands together to emphasize the point.

“I am well aware of what I’m doing.”

“I’m not so sure. If we’re going to do this, I want you to keep your drinking under control.”

“Hey,” Adams said in an easy tone, “I’m not going to tell you that I don’t like to drink, but I’m not driving. I’m just trying to blow off a little steam.”

“Yes, you are, and as your friend I’m telling you to tone it down. This shit is serious. If you fuck this up, Glen, and don’t handle it perfectly, you could end up in jail or worse.”

“Message received.” Adams put up his hands, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Good, because I’m going to keep an eye on you. Now let’s get you in your car. I need to get home and review a case before I go to bed.”

CHAPTER 3

ADAMS and Urness found themselves huddled under the small awning outside the restaurant with their umbrellas in hand. Each man scanned the rain-splattered windows of the closest executive cars in search of a white placard with his name. Adams was lucky. His car was only twenty feet away. Urness said a rushed goodbye and then hurried away, darting between the puddles. At each passing sedan he stopped to search for his name. Adams plotted his own course and bolted for the rear passenger door of his Lincoln Town Car. He opened the door, closed the umbrella, and ducked into the back-seat.