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Von Becker’s wall? That’s funny.”
    “Read your history. The Earps were gamblers, land speculators. They were only lawmen when they couldn’t make money doing anything else. Doc Holliday was probably a psychopath.”
    “So give me a name. Where do I start? I can’t interview them all.”
    “Only if you’re willing to trade.”
    I knew what he wanted. “I’m not going to tell you why I was hired.”
    “Then I’ll guess and you tell me if I’m wrong.”
    “I’m promising nothing,” I said.
    “There’s big money missing,” he began, pausing briefly to see if I wanted to deny it. “The Feds know and they can’t find it. Virgil thinks you can find it. Right so far?”
    I let it sit there untouched for a minute. “I will not confirm that.”
    “But you would tell me if I was wrong.”
    I thought for a long time.
    “I would.”
    “And?”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “So, I got my answer.”
    I still said nothing.
    “You were always buddy-buddy with Paddy Gallagher, weren’t you?”
    I rose to the bait. “I haven’t seen Paddy since before I went away—more than three years now.”
    “This would be a good time to reacquaint yourself,” Mickey said.
    “The paper said they were best friends. I didn’t believe it.”
    “Believe it,” he replied.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    “Keep me posted.” He was telling me that I still owed him. I wasn’t so sure, but it paid to keep him in my camp.
    “I will.”
    “Good enough.” He let it go. “How’s family? You’ve got a kid, right? Living down South somewhere with his mother. Right?”
    “My son lives with me now. Since I got out.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “And here I thought you knew everything,” I said with a grin.
    “Yeah, well, now I do.”

| 6 |
    A late-May heat wave had the temperature on the Columbia quad up in the mid-eighties, and the graduate schools’ commencement exercises dragged on. A soft breeze briefly cooled the sweat pooling inside my collar. Skeli had insisted upon a suit, button-down collar, and tie to honor her achievement. I had requested that she wear nothing but her skimpiest underwear under her robe. It kept my attention from wandering.
    The various departments moved forward and back, sidestepping when necessary like eighteenth-century military formations, until finally called forth to descend the steps in front of Low Library, where they were handed facsimiles of their diplomas—the actual document to be mailed at a later date, when the bursar’s office determined that all fees, including overdue library fines, had been paid. It was an assembly line that Henry Ford would have admired. It was the last quick stamp of approval on the products of an elite factory system.
    Then it was over. An amplified voice droned out the names, but no one slowed the pace with handshakes and quick words of praise. “. . . Phyllicia Samms . . . Robert Semple . . . Wanda Tyler . . .” Skeli, known to the rest of the world as Wanda Tyler, walked across the short stage, took the proffered piece of cardboard, and became the university’s latest Doctor of Physical Therapy. She flashed a smile in my direction, which I managed to catch on camera, just before she reached the exit ramp. I threaded my way out of the crowd and hustled off to meet her behind the library.
    “Cover me in diamonds and I couldn’t be happier,” Skeli said, tossing me her cap and shaking out her long brown hair. “Where do we eat?”
    “How can you be hungry in this heat? It’s got to be pushing ninety.”
    “I’ve been too nervous to eat anything since breakfast, and now I’m starving. Where are you taking me?”
    “I thought you might want to go back to your place and get rid of the robe before we go anywhere.”
    “I can take it off right here.”
    It was a humorous challenge with no basis in reality—therefore, it deserved a counter-challenge.
    “Luckily, I have a camera,” I said, pulling it from my pocket.
    She twirled quickly,