"Is pay the plastic surgeon?"

"You'd have to write a check to the hospital," I said, "and you could deduct that, but maybe the surgeon lets you know that he wouldn't mind getting his fee in cash, and that he might even shave it a little in return for cash payment. That way everybody comes out ahead."

"Neat."

"Very neat," I agreed. "Also, I gather that Mapes has some acquaintances on what I'd call the wrong side of the law, if it weren't that I spent so much time on that side myself."

"Criminals."

"Of one sort or another, yes. The scuttlebutt, according to Marty, is that he's the go-to guy when somebody like Tony Soprano needs an illegal operation."

She looked puzzled. "An illegal operation? You mean an abortion, Bern? Last I heard, they were still legal."

"I mean if you want a gunshot wound stitched up," I said, "by someone who won't report it. Or if you walk in with a poster off a post office wall and ask him to make you look different from the picture, and incidentally how about removing some of the tattoos and distinguishing marks they mentioned? I don't suppose Mapes gets a lot of those, but I bet they pay top dollar and they don't try to put it on their MasterCard."

She thought it over, nodded. "Bottom line," she said, "he takes in a fair amount of cash. And keeps it in a wall safe."

"That's how Marty figures it."

"And how do you figure it, Bern?"

"I figure he takes in a lot of cash," I said, "and he keepssomething in the safe. If it's not cash, it's still going to be something worth taking. The thing is, I know he's got a safe, and I know where it is. I even know what picture's in front of it."