“… So the guy says ‘I don’t know. I never lit it!’”

Nat Silver gave the old punch line and looked at me expectantly.

I laughed politely and said, “Mr. Silverstein, I’m here to escort you home.”

“You’re an escort service?” Silver asked. “The last time I called an escort service I got a young honey with big bazookas. I mean, you’re a good-looking kid, but…”

“How did you get here, Mr. Silverstein?”

“Everybody’s got to be someplace,” Silverstein shrugged. Then he added, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

“Yeah, but to Vegas…”

“Here’s your aspirin.”

“Thanks.”

“You want to go see the tigers?” Silverstein asked. “They got tigers here.”

“No thanks.”

“White tigers.”

I don’t care if they’re plaid, I thought. We need to get to the airport.

“We have a four-o’clock flight to Palm Springs,” I said.

Nathan frowned and shuffled over to a chair in the corner of the room. He let himself down slowly and stared at the floor.

He looked pathetic.

Nathan Silverstein was in his mid-eighties, at least. He was frail, of course, with his few strands of wispy white hair and the translucent skin of the elderly, but he had the eyes of an eight-year-old in a candy store.

Now the eyes were staring at the floor trying hard to look… pathetic.

“Are you okay, Mr. Silverstein?” I asked.

“I’m old,” Nathan answered.

What could I say?

“You’re only as old as you feel,” I said.