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Crazy Larry for legal advice?”
    â€œNo, no, no. I’m thinking he can refer us to someone who’s practicing. They say he’s brilliant, and we all know brilliant people know other brilliant people.” I pause. “Plus, you know he’s sweet on you.”
    Kate says, “Well, I’m not asking him.”
    â€œFine, all I’m saying is it’s better than Googling ‘Peninsula employment lawyer.’ ” I pause. “Plus, he’ll want to help. His eyes twinkle when I mention you.”
    She moans. “What is it with you and freaks?”
    â€œThey’re not freaks. They’re just interesting people.”
    â€œAll right, fine. You can check with Larry when you go see Calhoun.”
    Calhoun rents a granny unit in Larry’s backyard.
    â€œCalhoun? I don’t want to deal with him right now.”
    â€œWell, you have to.”
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œYes, you do. He came by again, just as I was pulling out of the driveway. I just rolled down the window and said you’d come see him, and just kept backing out.”
    I cuss.
    â€œHey, you’re the one who said you like ‘interesting’ people.”
    I shake my head. “When I get home with the boys, I’ll go see Crazy Larry, then check in on Calhoun.”
    â€œSee what Larry says. But we need to get other references before we pick one, okay?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œIn fact, why don’t you do that now? This whole thing with the geeks is freaking me out. I’ll call Stacey at the park and have her walk the boys home.”
    â€œFine.”
    Kate says, “I’ll pick up something for dinner. Meet you at home.”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œJust don’t mention me to Larry, okay?”
    â€œYou think that’ll stop Crazy Larry?”
    â€œYeechh,” she shudders, and hangs up.
    C razy Larry lives directly across from us. And Kate is right; on most days, he does saunter around his yard in a skin-colored Speedo.
    And flip-flops.
    And cocoa butter—lots of cocoa butter.
    Back in the 1980s, Larry traveled the world designing power plants—until, according to Larry, “they made me stop.” At which point he went to law school, passed the bar, and eventually practiced corporate law at several software companies—until, according to Larry, “they made me stop.”
    That was then. Now, Larry turns off the lights at night and sits on his covered porch facing our house, smoking and drinking, listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks on an ancient tape player. We can’t see him, just the glowing red ember of his tobacco pipe.
    I’d like to make him stop.
    When I pull up to the front of my house, Larry is sitting on his porch, staring at me, his face stoic as always, his dark brown eyes peering into me, it seems, observing me the way a lab researcher might study a confused mouse. For a man pushing sixty, he looks pretty damn good in the Speedo—deeply tanned, fit and trim, and spry.
    I can feel him watching my legs as I approach.
    â€œHi, Larry.”
    Larry is silent. He glances at me and gazes into space.
    â€œKate and I were wond—”
    â€œKate?” He cocks his head, like he’s picked up a radio signal.
    â€œYeah, Kate. We were think—”
    â€œYou will tell Kate I said hi.”
    â€œOf course, Larry. My pleasure. It’s just that—”
    â€œDan?” His eyes twinkle. “Tell her I said hi.”
    â€œI will, I—” I stop myself, count to five. “I mean, sure, Larry, I’ll definitely tell her you said hi. For sure.”
    He loosens, turns his head, and smiles into space. “There we go.”
    â€œGood,” I say. “So we were wondering if you could recommend a good lawyer.”
    Larry turns his head, looks at my feet. “I don’t practice law anymore.” He looks up, gazes into space. “They made me stop.”
    â€œYeah,