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punks, it makes you crazy. Plus, he had a bone to pick.”
    “The eviction.”
    “Yep. A few months ago, he moved into an abandoned warehouse at the corner of New York and Florida. Somebody threw up some plywood, chopped up the place, and made little apartments. Wasn’t a bad place as far as homeless folk go—a roof, some toilets, water. A hundred bucks a month, payable to an ex-pimp who fixed it up and claimed he owned it.”
    “Did he?”
    “I think so.” He pulled a thin file from one of the stacks on his desk, and, miraculously, it happened to be the one he wanted. He studied its contents for a moment. “This is where it gets complicated. The property was purchased last month by a company called RiverOaks, some big real estate outfit.”
    “And RiverOaks evicted everyone?”
    “Yep.”
    “Odds are, then, that RiverOaks would be represented by my firm.”
    “Good odds, yes.”
    “Why is it complicated?”
    “I’ve heard it secondhand that they got no notice before the eviction. The people claim they were paying rent to the pimp, and if so, then they were more than squatters. They were tenants, thus entitled to due process.”
    “Squatters get no notice?”
    “None. And it happens all the time. Street folk willmove into an abandoned building, and most of the time nothing happens. So they think they own it. The owner, if he’s inclined to show up, can toss ’em without notice. They have no rights at all.”
    “How did DeVon Hardy track down our firm?”
    “Who knows? He wasn’t stupid, though. Crazy, but not stupid.”
    “Do you know the pimp?”
    “Yeah. Completely unreliable.”
    “Where did you say the warehouse was?”
    “It’s gone now. They leveled it last week.”
    I had taken enough of his time. He glanced at his watch, I glanced at mine. We swapped phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.
    Mordecai Green was a warm, caring man who labored on the streets protecting hordes of nameless clients. His view of the law required more soul than I could ever muster.
    On my way out, I ignored Sofia because she certainly ignored me. My Lexus was still parked at the curb, already covered with an inch of snow.

Five
    I DRIFTED through the city as the snow fell. I couldn’t recall the last time I had driven the streets of D.C. without being late for a meeting. I was warm and dry in my heavy luxury car, and I simply moved with the traffic. There was no place to go.
    The office would be off-limits for a while, what with Arthur mad at me; and I’d have to suffer through a hundred random drop-ins, all of which would start with the phony “How you doin’?”
    My car phone rang. It was Polly, panicky. “Where are you?” she asked.
    “Who wants to know?”
    “A lot of people. Arthur for one. Rudolph. Another reporter called. There are some clients in need of advice. And Claire called from the hospital.”
    “What does she want?”
    “She’s worried, like everybody else.”
    “I’m fine, Polly. Tell everybody I’m at the doctor’s office.”
    “Are you?”
    “No, but I could be. What did Arthur say?”
    “He didn’t call. Rudolph did. They were waiting for you.”
    “Let ’em wait.”
    A pause, then a very slow “Okay. When might you be dropping by?”
    “Don’t know. I guess whenever the doctor releases me. Why don’t you go home; we’re in the middle of a storm. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up on her.
    The apartment was a place I had rarely seen in the light of day, and I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting by the fire and watching it snow. If I went to a bar, I’d probably never leave.
    So I drove. I flowed with the traffic as the commuters began a hasty retreat into the Maryland and Virginia suburbs, and I breezed along near-empty streets coming back into the city. I found the cemetery near RFK where they buried the unclaimed, and I passed the Methodist Mission on Seventeenth, where last night’s uneaten dinner originated. I drove through sections of the city I had