Neither of them said anything for a moment, and the silence was awkward in so small a room. Devon finally stepped forward, extending his hand. Finn shook it.

“It’s good to see ya, Finn,” Devon said. His heavy South Boston accent brought Finn back to his youth. “R”s came out as “aah”s and the gerund form “-ing” had been lost forever. Curses replaced all punctuation. Finn had worked hard to lose that dialect.

“You too,” Finn replied.

“It’s good of ya to do this. Showin’ up on a fuckin’ holiday and all.” Devon let Finn’s hand go and stepped back, pulling one of the chairs over and sitting down.

“Anything for an old friend.”

“Anything for an old friend who’ll pay your fuckin’ fees, you mean,” Devon corrected him.

“That, too.” Finn pulled over the other chair and sat in front of his client. “You can pay my fees, right?”

Devon smiled, but avoided eye contact. “We never change, do we?”

“Not in any way that matters,” Finn agreed.

“Jesus, what’s it been, five years? Ten? How you been?”

“Okay.”

“From what I hear, you been better than okay,” Devon said. “You’re gettin’ a fuckin’ reputation for yourself. ‘Miracle worker,’ that’s what I heard you called.” He rocked back and forth as he spoke.

“Really? That’s a good one. I’ll have to put it on my business cards.”

“No fuckin’ need. You do right by the right people and you don’t need to advertise no more.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something. “You must be making a pretty fuckin’ penny, too, huh?”

“Right. That brings me back to my fees.”

He nodded, still not looking directly at Finn. “I’ll pay ’em. I need a miracle worker.”

“Apparently. You want to tell me what happened?”

Devon shrugged. “I don’t fuckin’ know. My night didn’t go like I planned it.”

Finn looked around the tiny room. “So it would seem.” He went silent for a moment. “You want to tell me about the lingerie?”