“They’re tearing this building down,” said Greg. He grinned.

He was easily amused. He punched Winn Graeme in the arm again.

“Why do you keep punching him?” I asked.

“We’re kidding. He punches me sometimes.”

Winn gave a halfhearted tap to the arm of Greg Legerman.

“Am I right? They’re tearing the building down?”

“Yes.”

“You have another place for your office?” asked Greg.

“Yes.”

“The Dairy Queen used to be right out there,” said Greg.

“Yes,” I said.

“They should tear down banks and put up DQs,” Greg said.

I agreed but didn’t say so. He didn’t seem to need anyone agreeing with him about anything.

Victor Woo stirred in the corner and rolled toward the wall.

“Mind my asking who that is?” asked Greg.

“Victor Woo.”

“And what’s he doing sleeping on the floor of your office?”

“He walked in one afternoon,” I said.

“Why?”

“He killed my wife in Chicago. He feels guilty and depressed.”

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Greg.

“No,” I said.

“Wow,” said Greg.

I called out, “Don’t punch him.”

Greg hesitated, shrugged and let his hands fall into his lap for a few seconds before they started to roam again.

“Let’s go,” Winn said, starting to rise.

Winston Graeme had the remnants of a Russell Crowe accent.

“No wait,” said Greg. “I like this guy. I like you, Mr. Fonesca. You come highly recommended.”

“By who and for what?”