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knew something was seriously fucked up. They took Plummer to the hospital by UPenn. Howard went up there late that night. He didn’t tell anybody about this until much later. What happened was the family wouldn’t let him in. Plummer’s mother stood there in the lobby, looked him in the eye, and told him to get the hell out. He never talked to Plummer, not then, not ever.”
    Lenny sipped at his drink and waited. When Simon kept quiet, he continued, more heatedly now: “Don’t you get it? Plummer finally croaks, so now Howard’s flailing around, looking for something—s
omebody
—he can fix. It’s just money. He’s got enough of that. Sure, I’m grateful,” Lenny said, “sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think paying somebody for a piece of their liver isn’t fucked up. It doesn’t mean I don’t see why Howard’s really doing this. What Cheryl wants is for me to bow down and kiss Howard’s ring. And that’s not something I’m gonna do.” He knocked back the whiskey and poured himself another one. “But, okay. Why should you give a shit. Let’s talk about what you came here for. You’ve found my donor.”
    â€œI might have,” Simon said. “She seems like a good candidate so far.”
    â€œShe?”
    â€œGender doesn’t make a difference. I’d like to tell the hospital you’re cousins. Second cousins.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œIt’s the easiest way. Look.” Simon pulled a printout of Maria’s photo from his jacket pocket and laid it flat on the table.
    Lenny looked at the photo. “I guess I see it. So what’s the problem?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou said ‘might have.’”
    â€œShe’s smaller than a typical donor for someone your weight. But so far the imaging indicates that her liver is large enough to work.”
    â€œAnd what about this?” Lenny waved the empty whiskey glass in front of Simon’s face. “I’ve been trying to cut back, but, you know, old habits die hard and all.”
    Simon clamped down on his irritation. “The less drinking you do over the next week, the better. But what’s most important is that you tell Cabrera’s social worker you gave it up months ago.”
    â€œThat shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been lying to Cheryl about it for years.”
    Simon outlined the narrative. Lenny’s father was Maria’s mother’s cousin. Maria and Lenny may have always lived across the country from each other, but they share memories of childhood reunions, barbecues in Syosset and Bay Shore. He gave her a tour of New York City when she visited after graduating from middle school; he arranged for tickets to his games whenever the Jets traveled to the West Coast.
    Simon wrote key names and plot points on a legal pad and tested Lenny’s retention. It was slow going. Lenny’s memory was erratic; facts slipped out of their rightful places, unbalancing the story. Fifteen minutes in, Lenny started to fidget like a kid stuck in detention. Simon asked him again to characterize his relationship with Maria.
    â€œClose,” Lenny mumbled.
    â€œPlease,” Simon said. “Can you try to elaborate?”
    â€œThis is stupid,” Lenny said. “Don’t sit here and drill me about shit that’s not even real.”
    â€œI’m trying to help.”
    Lenny stood abruptly, upending his chair. “Screw your help. Howard’s too.”
    Simon sat very still, the pad perched on his lap. “We can stop for the night.”
    â€œYou condescending
shit
.”
    With the back of his hand, Lenny knocked his glass off the table. It clattered across the linoleum and into the wall, spinning on its side, like the needle of a busted fuel gauge, before coming to rest.
    Simon placed the pad on the table next to Maria’s photograph.