'What, Mr Deluise, can I do for you?'

I think you know.' Again the knowing smile. Combined with the honest blue eyes. If Dean Gordon were female, he'd be naked by now.

I am afraid I don't have the slightest idea,' the dean said.

Myron continued the knowing smile. He felt like an idiot or a morning network weatherman, if there was a difference. This was an old trick he was

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trying. Pretend you know more than you do. Get him talking. Play it by ear.

Impromptu.

The dean folded his hands and put them on his desk. Trying to look as if he were in control. 'This whole conversation is very strange. Perhaps you could explain why you're here.'

'I thought we should chat.'

'About?'

'Your English department, for starters. Do you still make students read Beowulf? 'Please, whatever your name is, I don't have time for games.'

'Neither do I.' Myron took out his copy of Nips and tossed it on the desk.

The magazine was starting to look creased and worn from all the handling, as if it belonged to a hormonal adolescent.

The dean barely glanced at it. 'What is this?'

'Now who's playing games?'

Dean Gordon leaned back, his fingers fiddling with his chin. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'Really.'

'It's not important. I am merely a messenger.'

'Messenger for who?'

'For whom,' Myron corrected. 'Prepositional phrase. And you a colle dean.'

I don't need any smart talk, young man.'

Myron looked at him. 'Get real.'

The dean sucked in air as if he were about to plunge underwater. What do you want?'

'Isn't the pleasure of your company enough?'

'This is not a joking matter.'

'No, it's not.'

'So kindly stop playing games. What do you want with me?'

Myron tried the knowing smile again. Dean Gordon looked puzzled for a brief moment but then returned the smile. It too was knowing.

'Or should I say,' the dean added, 'how much?'

He seemed more in control now. He had dealt with the blow and carrying on. A problem had arisen. But there was a solution. There alv was in his world.

Money.

He took out a checkbook from his top drawer. 'Well?'

'Not that simple,' Myron said.

'What do you mean?'

'Don't you think someone should pay?'

He shrugged. 'Let's talk figures.'

'Don't you think this is worth something more than just money?'

He looked bewildered, as though Myron had just denied the existence of gravity. 'I don't understand what you mean.'

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'What about justice?' Myron asked. 'Kathy is owed. Big-time.'

'I agree. And I am willing to pay. But what good is revenge going to do her now? You are the messenger, are you not?'

'I am.'

Then go back and tell Kathy to take the money.'

Myron's heart collapsed. This man, a man who was clearly involved in what had happened that night, believed Myron was a messenger for a living, breathing Kathy Culver. Tread gently, fair Myron. Ever gently.

But how to play this…

'Kathy is not happy with you,' he tried.

'I meant her no harm.'

Myron put his hand on his chest and lifted his head dramatically. 'Be thy intents wicked or charitable, thou com'st in such a questionable shape.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Myron shrugged. 'I like to work Shakespeare into conversations. Makes me sound smart, don't you think?'

The dean made a face. 'Can we return to the matter at hand?'

'Sure.'

'You say Kathy does not want money.'

'Yup.'

'What then does she want?'

Good question. 'She wants the truth to come out.' Noncommittal, vague, open-ended.

'What truth?'

'Stop playing dumb,' Myron snapped, feigning annoyance. 'You weren't about to write a check to her favorite charity, were you?'

'But I didn't do anything,' he half-whined. 'Kathy took off that night. I haven't seen her since. How was I supposed to know what to think or do?'

Myron gave him a skeptical look. He did that because he had no idea what else to do. He was now playing Jake's game, the keep-silent and-hope he ties his own-noose game. This worked especially well with political types. They're born with a defective chromosome that will not allow for prolonged silence.

She has to understand,' he continued. 'I did my best. She disappeared.

What was I supposed to do? Go to the police? Was that what she wanted? I didn't know anymore. I was thinking of her. She might have changed her mind. I didn't know. I was trying to consider her interests.'

The skeptical look came easier after that last sentence. Myron only wished he knew what the hell the dean was talking about. They sat there staring at one another. Then something happened to Dean Gordon's face.

Myron wasn't sure exactly what it was, but his whole demeanor seemed to slump. His eyes grew twisted, pained. He shook his head.

'Enough,' he said in a quiet voice.

'What's enough?'

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He closed the checkbook. 'I won't pay,' he said. 'Tell Kathy I'll do whatever she wants. I'll stand by her no matter what the cost. This has gone on long enough. I can't live like this. I am not an evil man. She's a sick girl.

She needs help. I want to help.'

Myron had not expected this. 'Do you mean that?'

'Yes. Very much.'

'You want to help your former lover?'

His head shot up. 'What did you say?'

Myron had been skating blindly on thin ice. His last comment, it seemed, had been something of a blowtorch.

'Did you say "lover"?'

Uh-oh.

'Kadthy didn't send you,' he continued. 'She has nothing to do with you, does she?'

Myron said nothing.

'Who are you? What is your real name?'

'Myron Bolitar.'

'Who?'

'Myron Bolitar.'

'Are you a police officer?'

'No.'

'Then what exactly are you?'

'A sports agent.'

'A what?'

'I represent athletes.'

'So what do you have to do with this?'

'I'm a friend,' Myron said. 'I'm trying to find Kathy.'

'Is she alive?'

'I don't know. But you seem to think so.'

Dean Gordon opened his bottom drawer, took out a cigarette, lit it.

'Bad for you,' Myron said.

'I quit smoking five years ago. Or so everyone thinks.'

'Another little secret?'

He smiled without humor. 'So you were the one who sent me the magazine.'

Myron shook his head. 'Nope.'

'Then who?'

'I don't know. I'm trying to figure that out. But I know about it. And I also know you're hiding something about Kathy's disappearance.'

He inhaled deeply and let loose a long stream of smoke. 'I could deny it could deny everything we said here today.'

'You could,' Myron countered. 'But of course I have the magazine. I have no reason to lie. And I also have a friend in Sheriff Jake Courter. But you're right. In the end it would be my word against yours.'