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you think about it, people are often like this, too.
    I rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, then went downstairs and out onto the deck. The finches flew away in a gray, fluttery cloud.
    I did twelve sun salutes from the hatha-yoga to loosen my muscles, then moved to the tai chi, and then to the tae kwon do, first the Tiger and Crane
katas
, and then the Dragon and Eagle. As I worked, the finches returned to eat and watch as if I were now elemental to their world and no longer a threat. I worked for thebetter part of an hour, driving through the
katas
faster and faster, breathing deep to well my energy, then unloading that energy with long explosive moves until my muscles burned and the sweat spotted the deck as if there had been a passing rain shower. I finished with another twelve sun salutes, and then I went in. Penance for the Falstaff. Or maybe just client avoidance.
    My cat was staring at the finches. He’s large and he’s black and he carries his head sort of cocked to the side from when he was head-shot by a .22. He said, “Naow?”
    I shook my head. “Not now. Got a call to make.”
    He followed me into the kitchen and watched while I called my friend at B of A. You know you’re serious when you call after an hour’s worth of
katas
before you shower. Good thing we don’t have smell-o-phones.
    I said, “You get anything out of the ordinary on Mark Thurman?” The detective makes a desperate last-ditch attempt at linking Mark Thurman to Criminal Activity.
    “Doesn’t look like it. Thurman’s outstanding credit charges on both Visa and MasterCard appear typical. Also, he has not applied for higher credit limits nor additional credit cards through any facility in the state of California.” The desperate attempt fails.
    “That’s it, huh?”
    “You sound disappointed.”
    “What’s disappointment to a hard guy like me?”
    “Tell me about it. Are these good seats for Sting, or are we going to camp in the back of the house like last time?”
    “Did I mention that you’re not aging well?”
    She hung up. So did I. These dames.
    I took a deep breath, let it out, and then I called Jennifer Sheridan at Marty Beale’s office. She answeredon the second ring. “Watkins, Okum, & Beale. Mr. Beale’s office.”
    “This is Elvis Cole. I have uncovered some things, and we should speak.” The cat came over and head-bumped me.
    “Well. All right.” She didn’t sound happy about it, like maybe she could hear something in my voice. “Can you tell me now?”
    “It’s better if we meet for lunch. Kate Mantilini’s is very nice.”
    More of the pause. “Is it expensive?”
    “I’ll pay, Ms. Sheridan.”
    “Well, I only have the hour.” Nervous.
    “I could pick up a couple of cheeseburgers and we could sit on the curb.”
    “Maybe the restaurant would be all right. It’s only a few blocks from here, isn’t it?”
    “Three blocks. I’ll make a reservation. I will pick you up in front of your building or we can meet at the restaurant.”
    “Oh, I don’t mind walking.”
    “Fine.”
    I put the receiver down and the cat looked up at me. He said it again. “Naow?”
    I picked him up and held him dose. He was warm against me and his fur was soft and I could feel his heart beat. It was good to hold him. He often doesn’t like it, but sometimes he does, and I have found, over the years, that when I most need to hold him, he most often allows it. I like him for that. I think it’s mutual.
    I scrambled two eggs, put them in his bowl, then went upstairs to shower and dress. At seven minutes after twelve, I walked into Kate Mantilini’s and found Jennifer Sheridan already seated. The waiters were smiling at her and an older woman at the next table was talking to her and all the lights of the restaurant seemedfocused on her. Some people just have lives like that, I guess. She was wearing a bright blue pant suit with a large ruffled tie and black pumps with little bows on them, and she looked even