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steel,” Mitchell said. “Bulletproof. There’s nothing I can do about the package.”
    â€œYou could call a designer.”
    â€œI called a designer. Guy says to me, If a badguy can’t open it, a goodguy can’t either. My own theory was, it must’ve happened with a needle, a pinhole, something like that but the cops say it didn’t. I don’t know—”
    He looked over at the shadow in the door. Zef, his lawyer, re-entering the room—three hundred pounds of him in three-piece flannel, white hair smoother than the feathers of a bird. He nodded at Mitchell who appeared to be relaxed—slouched in his chair now, smoking, feet planted loosely on the table.
    â€œLovely,” Zef said. “And the jury would convict you on attitude alone.” He settled his baronial body at the table and looked back at Mitchell. “Forgive me,” he said, “I do hate to be the harbinger of more evil tidings but I just ran into some trouble in the john.”
    â€œI thought you had a stomach of iron,” Leo said.
    â€œNo, not that kind of trouble,” Zef said, “though the category’s right. No, what I saw was a very tan prick in a houndstooth jacket. I said to it, What are you doing here, Cy?—”
    â€œOh Christ,” Mitchell said.
    â€œSo continue rather quickly now. You’ve talked to the police?”
    Mitchell said he had. “A lieutenant named Keebler, an Inspector Delgado. And they’re blaming the factory.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThey’ve got a couple of ‘implicated packets,’ I think was their expression, and the cops aren’t sure if they were tampered with or not. They won’t say they weren’t but they won’t say they were.”
    â€œSo meanwhile a question mark hovers on the plant.”
    â€œExactly,” Mitchell said.
    There was silence for a second.
    Mitchell lit another cigarette he didn’t want.
    Leo said, “The cops’ll be blatting on the news.”
    â€œYeah, I’d imagine.”
    â€œI’d imagine,” Leo said, “I should book you onto every other talk show on the dial.”
    â€œJust forget it,” Mitchell said. “And no press conference either. I’m offering a written statement. That’s it.”
    â€œCan we argue that?”
    â€œNo.—What I really want to do—”
    Leo kicked him on the shin.
    Cy, moving quickly through the doorway, said, “Thanks. Thanks a lot,” and came stalking to the table, little bantamweight boxer getting ready for the round. “Just forget it, okay? Okay? Just forget it that you didn’t even bother with my call, what I really want to know , Mitch, is how come I had to hear the story from the press?”
    Mitchell sighed wearily and looked up at Zef. “What happens if I hit him?”
    â€œHe sues you,” Zef said.
    â€œWell … he’ll have to stand on a very long line.”
    Cy, undaunted, took a seat next to George.
    George said to Mitchell, “Okay, so you want to talk lawsuits or money?”
    Cy said, “The market’s been open maybe—what? maybe twenty-five minutes and we’re down seven points.”
    Leo said, “The category seems to be money.”
    George gave Mitchell an inquiring look and then waited for his nod. “Then in that case,” George said, “you better fill me in. Have you dealt with the recall?”
    Mitchell said he had. “The FDA told me three different lots had contaminated packets, and they added, So far.”
    â€œAnd what did they say about recalling them?” George had a pencil in his mouth.
    â€œSo far?” Mitchell said. “So far they want us out of Los Angeles County—and I mean across the board—every lot we ever made—and the same thing applies to the boroughs of New York.”
    Cy made a noise.
    â€œAll things considered,” Leo told him, “you’re