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wall, and hastily, too, if the presence of plastic nubs still imbedded in the drywall was any indication. A careful examination of the dirt shadows around the missing word revealed the name Guthrie. I won’t deny that I had been the ripper and it had felt damn good, too, even as the sharp edges of that bastard’s name bit into my flesh. When is betrayal not betrayal? When it is only business.
    All the firms shared a receptionist, an older woman named Rita with a white streak in her blue-black hair and a blue streak in her voice. “Any messages?” I asked her when I returned from my meeting with Prescott.
    “Nothing worthwhile, Mr. Carl. Surprise.” Her voice was pure New Jersey, like an annoying siren. “Except that guy from the copier company called again. He started complaining to me, like I was the one who owed him the money. I told him to make a xerox of the invoice and send it in.”
    I took the pink slips from my place in the message rackand shuffled through them. “They don’t want you to call it a xerox,” I said idly. “It’s a trade name.”
    “Yeah, I know. But I love when they start explaining it over the telephone. He’s sending you a warning letter and a xerox of their trademark policy. Vimhoff’s looking for you,” she said.
    “Is he here?”
    “No, but he said he wants to talk with you Monday morning. How much rent do you owe?”
    “I won’t be in Monday morning.”
    “That much?”
    “A new case. Really.”
    She didn’t laugh, she gave off more of a snort.
    I took my messages and followed the vinyl-papered hallway past Vimhoff’s office, as neat and orderly as a row of numbers, past the large design office filled with the whirr of Macintosh computers, past the architect’s office, door closed as always, until I reached the rear, where Ellie, our secretary, sat quietly at her desk, chewing gum, reading a magazine, guarding our three sad little offices. She was impossibly young, Ellie, very pretty in a Catholic school way, red hair, freckles, cute comic book nose, and always dressed inappropriately bright and sharp, as if each morning she was on her way to a christening. Guthrie had hired her right out of high school, had gotten her name from a nun, though when he left for his new firm he took with him Carolyn, our other secretary, the one who knew how to type. But Ellie had kept coming around even after her paychecks stopped, which was better than her knowing how to type.
    “Where’s Derringer?” I asked. “I have news.”
    “On the way back from Social Security.”
    “How did it go?”
    “It was the Cooperman case,” said Ellie in a tone that meant nothing else needed to be said. “By the way, Mr. Vimhoff’s looking for you.”
    “I know. I finally settled Saltz. ”
    “That dog?”
    “Be polite.”
    “Does that mean I get paid this month?”
    “Just as soon as the check clears. By the way, Ellie, do me a favor. I ran into Winston Osbourne the other day and it got me thinking. Find out who Osbourne’s daughter is, her name, I think she’s married, and her address. Call Mrs. Osbourne at the house. She’ll know. Pretend you’re an old friend.”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ve a hunch where we’re going to find ourselves a Duesenberg.”
    My office proper was a small dark place. I had once had plans for it. I was going to paint the walls an eggshell blue, lay down an oriental carpet, haul in a huge mahogany desk, hide the pale metal of the filing cabinets in a wood veneer. From the galleries on Walnut Street I was to pick a large landscape, Early American, epic and green, and hang it catercorner to the window. Plants, there would be tall leafy plants, and deep leather chairs for my clients to sit upon as I wove for them the sage legal advice for which I would become renowned. But the plans for my office, like the plans for my life, had dissolved before the relentless progression of my reality. My office now was a small dark place, cluttered with the detritus of a failing