“Maybe she converted.”

He gave me a pitying look. “Trust me on this, bubbaleh.”

“Okay. But so? There must be money in it. She probably gets a percentage or something.”

“If she finds anything. And she’d be on retainer, in case she doesn’t. But it’s frustrating. Like she said, most assets can’t be traced. When they can, ownership takes years to prove. Half the time, you never do, and you don’t get your client’s goods back. Everyone I know who does that work thinks of it like a religious calling.”

“She does have that air about her.”

“Yes. The question is, why?”

“Because her parents were missionaries?”

Joel rolled his eyes. We turned and headed to the door. Casually, Joel asked, “Speaking of work, how’s your partner?”

“You’re subtle as a ton of bricks, Pilarsky. I haven’t seen him in a while.” As though it explained anything, I added, “I’ve been away.”

“Mmm. I heard you guys were having problems.”

“Did you? Where?”

“Around. It’s true?”

“Why? You want to go into business with one of us?”

“With you, in a minute. We’d be unstoppable. Cute little Chinese chick and a fat Jewish alte kacker, clients would be falling over each other. No, seriously, it’s just that you guys work well together. That’s not so easy to find.”

That showed a surprising sensitivity, coming from Joel, but I didn’t want to get into it. “He seems to think I’m better off without him.”

“Who asked him?”

“Certainly not me. Listen, is this important? Like, does it have to do with this case?”

Joel smiled and suddenly bellowed,

“You’re nothing without me!

Without me you’re nothing at all-”

“No!” I put my hands to my ears. He stopped, and I asked, “What?”

“City of Angels. Coleman and Zippel. Last of the great Broadway musicals, and it’s about a private eye, too! You should see it, Chinsky.”

“Where’s it playing?”

“Nowhere. Closed years ago.”