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what business is it of yours where I eat?”
    Steve took a breath. “Look. This isn’t a game. If the girl spotted you watching her, it could be serious.”
    “She won’t.”
    “I spotted you.”
    “Bullshit. You know me. The girl doesn’t.”
    Steve frowned again. She was right. Women who were right exasperated him. “All right.” he said. “Since you’re here, you might as well join us.”
    “Thanks for the invitation,” Tracy said, pointedly.
    They got up and went back to the table.
    “Look what I found, Mark,” Steve said.
    Mark Taylor actually stood up, which Steve thought was overdoing it. “Hi, Tracy. Sit down. Join the fun.”
    “Go ahead and fill her in, Mark,” Steve said. “She’s gonna pump you for the information anyway.”
    “O.K.,” Taylor said. “Now, if you promise not to turn and stare, I’ll tell you who everyone is.”
    “I know that,” Tracy said. “I just don’t know who is who.”
    Taylor frowned. “What?”
    “There’s the two guys over by the wall, and the nitwits entertaining the blonde. I just don’t know which pair is yours.”
    Taylor looked at her. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “The nitwits happen to be mine. But how the hell’d you spot them?”
    “The blonde pretending to be a pickup is one of their wives. She’s wearing her wedding ring. If she were a real pickup, and she were married, she’d leave her ring off as a matter of course.”
    Mark Taylor stared at her.
    Steve shook his head. Jesus Christ. A ridiculous, farfetched piece of deduction, that absurdly happened to be true. It was a little much.
    The waiter came back. “You got another phone call.”
    Mark Taylor pushed his chair back. “Our bird must have lit somewhere. I’ll find out where he went.”
    He went over to the cashier and took the phone.
    “What’s that all about?” Tracy asked.
    “Bradshaw went out. We’re tailing him.”
    “And Mark just got a report?”
    “Maybe. I just bet Mark dinner Bradshaw’s gonna ditch his men again.”
    “Why’d you do that?”
    “’Cause I think he will.”
    She stared at him. “Don’t you care?”
    “Sure, but there’s nothing I can do about it. But I’m betting he will.”
    Tracy was interested. “Why do you think so?”
    “Because he gave up trying to talk me into calling them off. That must mean he thinks he can handle them.”
    “Or that his heart is pure,” Tracy said.
    Steve grinned, in spite of himself. “Now there’s a thought,” he said.
    Mark Taylor came back from the phone. He slumped into his chair, drained the last swallow from his drink, and sighed.
    Steve Winslow shot Tracy Garvin a look. “What’s the scoop, Mark?”
    “You win, Steve.”
    “He lost ’em?”
    “He sure did.”
    “How did he do it?”
    Mark Taylor shook his head. “He did it so easy it makes me sick just to think about it.”
    “Gonna tell us how?”
    “Yeah. Now get this, Steve, ’cause it’s a new one on me. Bradshaw hails a taxi and my men pick him up. They’ve got him boxed in, with one car in front of the cab and one car behind. They’ve got the number of the cab and everything. O.K. They’re going up Park Avenue, right? They hit 42nd Street, they go around the Pan Am building, you know? They continue up Park Avenue, and you know what it’s like—a two-way street with a median strip in the middle. So what happens? They come to 48th Street. That’s a one-way street going east, a right-hand turn if you’re going uptown. Now the cab slows down and gets in the right lane, but he doesn’t signal, so the lead car has to play it by ear. He goes straight through, which turns out to be the right thing to do, because the cab goes through the intersection and pulls up at the far corner. Bradshaw gets out, pays off the cab, and starts across Park Avenue. The lead car sees this, so he beats it down to the end of the block and pulls a U-turn at 49th. The second car can’t turn left because 48th is a one-way street, so he pulls up next to