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understand perfectly,” I said, holding the man’s eye. “But my patience is not infinite. Seven hundred for your friend. Two hundred for you. I’m leaving in two minutes.”
    The man nodded quickly and trotted back across the street.
    This time there was no argument, just thirty seconds of quiet conversation before the two men came to me. The first man was smiling. The second still looked fearful. His eyes darted up and down the block. I shook hands with both of them but didn’t ask their names. They didn’t inquire after mine. I dubbed them Bold and Timid.
    I asked Timid how many floors Leitz Ahead Investments occupied. He looked up and down the block again before answering, “Two.” I asked him to describe them. He depicted a double-height, glassed-in trading room with workstations and computer screens around the perimeter of an enormous table and surrounded by offices and conference rooms on both levels. I asked about the computers. That stumped him. The best I could get was lots of screens connected to boxes under the big table. Good enough for me. Leitz would have the trading floor outfitted with high-powered workstations, networked to servers and data storage that could be on another floor or in another location altogether. I took a small device from my pocket. It looked like a black electronic tollbooth tag, about two inches square, two-sided tape on the back.
    “I want you to pick one of the computer boxes in the middle of the big table,” I said. “Not close to the edge, further underneath, you understand?” We were speaking Spanish, and he nodded, hanging on my every word. “Peel off these strips and stick this to the back of the box, out of sight, okay?” He nodded again.
    “That’s it,” I said, reaching for my wallet. A new look came into Timid’s eyes, not fear this time, but uncertainty.
    “Something wrong?” I asked as gently as I could. “Do you want to go over it again?”
    He shook his head and looked up and down the block once more.
    “What then?” I said.
    “It’s just…” He paused, unsure. The bold one, impatient, told him to spit it out. I smiled to show I was in no hurry.
    Timid gathered up his courage. “I am sorry, señor, but I am confused. Do you want me to put this on the same machine as the other one?”

 
    CHAPTER 5
    I got to Grand Central and thought about turning left or right. Right meant downtown and either back to the office or home alone and another night of vodka and takeout food and fruitless research into my past. I turned left, took the subway up to Eighty-sixth Street and walked over to Trastevere. Giancarlo greeted me as he always does, putting his hand to his cheek and smiling, a reminder of the first night I had dinner there with Victoria, and she walloped me when I let her know how deeply the Basilisk had dug into her private life. Like Leitz, Victoria has an explosive temper. After the second wallop—that same night—I’d learned to see hers coming and get out of the way.
    Trastevere was her favorite restaurant, and she was one of Giancarlo’s best customers. Her absence had to be putting a dent in his profits, although he never appears to be hurting for business, probably because he’s a genial host, his food is among the best in town, and the clientele in the East Eighties can afford his prices, which I politely describe as astronomical. I’d gone back there a few times after she left, hoping to bump into her casually, but she was much too smart not to anticipate my amateurish efforts. I continued to show up once or twice a week because it was a pleasantly melancholy place for a good meal. She probably held that against me, exiling her from her favorite place to eat.
    Tonight, the room was busy, as usual, but my regular barstool was free, and I headed that way after handing over my jacket.
    “Signore Turbo, you know you are always welcome at a table,” Giancarlo said.
    I thanked him, but went to the bar all the same. It feels less like