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things.”
    “By picking up women a few weeks after I buried Melanie?”
    “Hey, this is a bar. That’s what you’re supposed to do here.”
    “At least I wouldn’t try it at a memorial service,” I mutter.
    Vincent gives me a strange look. “What do you mean by that?”
    “I saw you talking to that redhead in the parking lot after Melanie’s service. You and she were getting pretty chummy.”
    “I was comforting her.” He grins. “Who was she anyway?”
    “You mean you didn’t get her phone number?”
    “Nah, the Carlucci charm failed me. First time in a long time too.”
    “You must be losing your touch. Or maybe she just had too much class.”
    Vincent shakes his head like the whole thing is a mystery. “Weddings are such good opportunities to get numbers from chicks. All that emotion really gets to them. So I thought Melanie’s thing would be a good place too. Everybody being so sad and . . .” His voice trails off. “Sorry, Augustus. I didn’t mean to make light of what’s happened.”
    “It’s all right.” Sometimes Vincent ought to think before he speaks. But that’s just not his style. He’s always been impulsive. “I—”
    “Hey, Jack. Over here.” Vincent waves at a young guy wearing a sharp sports jacket and pleated khakis who’s threading his way toward us through the crowd.
    Finally the guy makes it to where we’re standing. “Hey, Vinnie. How are you?”
    “Good.”
    “Thanks for those Oriole tickets you got me the other night. Christ, they were right behind the Birds’ dugout.”
    “No problem.” Vincent nods at me. “Jack Trainer, this is a good friend of mine, Augustus McKnight.”
    Trainer is an inch or two shy of six feet with light brown hair that falls below his collar in the back. He’s got a slim, tennis player’s body, and his Brooks Brothers clothes fit him perfectly. His shaggy hair seems like a hint of rebellion in his otherwise preppy good looks.
    “Jack owns an Internet company that he’s selling to one of the big boys,” Vincent explains loudly over the hum of conversation. “He’s about to cash in on the American dream.”
    “Keep it down,” Jack warns. “The deal isn’t done yet. You’ll jinx it.” He turns to me. “What do you do?”
    “He’s a day trader,” Vincent answers, stealing my thunder.
    “Oh.”
    I can tell by Jack’s expression he isn’t impressed by my new career. He probably knows how few people succeed. “What kind of Internet company do you own?” I ask.
    Without thanking him, Jack grabs the drink Vincent ordered for him. “It’s an Internet service provider.”
    “Which one?”
    “PlanetLink.”
    Jack can tell I’m impressed. “I just read an article about your company in Washtech . It said you had signed up almost a million customers in less than two years. That’s tremendous.”
    “Thanks.” Jack gulps the drink down, showing no appreciation for my praise of his company. “How long have you been day trading?”
    “Just a few—”
    “Augustus made big money on a company called Unicom,” Vincent interrupts.
    “Really?” Jack moves a tiny step closer, worried that he might have underestimated me. “Did you get in on their IPO a couple of weeks ago?”
    “Yes.”
    “How the hell did you do that? I have a pretty big account over at Morgan Stanley and I couldn’t pry any shares out of them.”
    “I—”
    “Jack’s pretty connected in the technology world, Augustus,” Vincent says. “Not only here in northern Virginia, but out in California as well. Silicon Alley in Manhattan too. I don’t know much about this technology revolution, but I bet he could help you identify some interesting companies to invest in.”
    I’m relieved not to have to answer Jack’s question. He would understand that I’m no mover and shaker if he found out how I got my Unicom shares.
    “Couldn’t you, Jack?”
    “Maybe.” But Jack doesn’t offer any immediate tips.
    “Well, I’m going to chase some tail,”