“And if he did?”

“Well, then, Bev, you might be in line for certain disbursements.”

“Did you hear that, Martha. Disbursements. I like disbursements. Tell me, Vic. Did my scrumpkins have enough scratch to make these disbursements?”

“I think maybe yes,” I said, “if we can make our claims before his mother grabs everything she can.”

“Ah, the mother. I know all about her.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Not personally, no. But Joey, he spilled enough about her. And I know, Vic, that Joey, my Joey, would want me to get what I am owed before that vulture of a mother gets her mitts on anything. We were very close, Joey and myself. He wanted to marry me, and let me tell you, if I had known what was going to happen I would have said yes, believe me.”

“Oh I do, Bev. Yes I do. So you are owed money?”

“Of course.” She reached down and fluffed a blanket. “We’re talking about Joey.”

“How much?”

“Hundreds. Thousands. More. I don’t have an exact figure offhand.”

“But you can get it for me.”

“Sure.”

“With proof.”

“No problem. Proof. Of course I got proof. That kind of money, who wouldn’t have proof. Proof.” Pause. “What kind of proof?”

“Anything. Something written down would be best. Testimony would work.”

“You mean all I got to do is say he owes me?”

“Maybe. Someone else would make it better. Someone like… Martha.”

“She’ll say whatever you need her to say, won’t you, Martha?”

“I remember everything,” said Martha. “To the penny.”

“I bet you do,” I said. “Good, now we’ve got something. Get me the detailed information as soon as you can and I’ll see what we can do. I, of course, will require a small percentage to facilitate the disbursements.”

Her head tilted up. “How small?”

“Forty percent.”

“That’s robbery. I won’t stand for it. Fifteen.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Seventeen-fifty.”

“Thirty’s as low as I go.”

“You’re bleeding me, Vic. Sick as I am, you’re killing me.”

“I’m just a lawyer, trying to get by.”

“Twenty-five.”

“I can’t.”

“Maybe I’ll find myself another spieler.”

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

“Twenty-seven-fifty.”

“Done,” I said, and from the way she smiled at me, like she had just eaten my lunch, I knew that by letting her win the negotiation I had won her over.

“You know what Joey said about you, Vic?”

“What?”

“He said you was a sharp little number. I suppose that makes two of us.” Her lips did that quiver thing again. It was quite a talent. She could have set up on a street corner, dropped a hat to the ground, quivered for quarters.

“There is one other matter we need to talk about,” I said. “I spoke to Joey on the morning before he was killed and he said he was working on some big money deal. Said it was going to make him flush. If we could figure out what he was talking about it might significantly increase the amount available for disbursements.”

“Joey always had some cook-up working,” said Bev.

“But see, later that night he was at Jimmy T’s, telling the same sort of story. And then, according to the bartender, he got a phone call from you and he left the place straight away.”

“I only called to say I missed my little scrumpkins. To tell him to come home and take care of me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” she said, and then she used the fluff-tipped sleeve of her dressing gown to dab at her dry eyes. “I never seen him again.”

“And you don’t know the details of any deal he was working out.”

“No. I don’t.” Dab, dab, dab. “Why?”

“Because, Bev. Being his attorney, whatever deal he was involved with, I could follow it through, if you understand what I am saying. I could follow it through on behalf of the estate and the people who Joey owed so much.”

“Like myself, for instance,” she said.

“Exactly.”

“Interesting. In-ter-es-ting. But I got to talk to someone first before I can say a thing.”

“Fair enough. You have my number.”

“Yes I does. I’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”

“But time is of the essence if we’re going to keep the money away from his mother.”

“Oh I understand that, Vic, yes I do.”

“Good. And your natural aversion to the telephone might now be most prudent. The police have been here, right?”

“So?”

“I have some sources on the inside and they tell me your phone is tapped.”

“Stinking bluecoats,” she said. “I thought something funny was going on. Someone keeps on calling and leaving no message.”

“I guess that’s it. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bev.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Bev as her phone rang. It rang again and then again. Neither Martha nor Bev made a move.

“You ought to answer that.”

“Why?” said Bev.

“It could be something important?”

“Nah,” she said. “It never is.”

Outside the apartment building, Beth and I sat together in my car, down the road from the entrance.

“What a spider,” said Beth.

“Arachnids might take offense,” I said.

“And what was that thing she was doing with her lips?”

“It was like visual pheromones.”

“Did it get you going?”

“No, but every cockroach in the city reared up on their hind legs. The more I learn about Joey’s life, the more I shudder.”

“How long are we going to wait?”

“It won’t be long,” I said, and it wasn’t.

I had thought it would be Martha in the muumuu who would step out of the apartment building, look around nervously, and then head off to some rendezvous. I thought it had to be Martha, what with the wheelchair in the living room, the way Bev was propped up on her pillows, the way Martha served her like Bev was an immobile queen bee, her abdomen swollen with a thousand eggs. But it wasn’t Martha who stepped out of the apartment building in her high heels, her black stockings, her tight blue dress, her hat, her veil, her cigarette holder.

“Quick recovery,” said Beth.

“A miracle,” I said. “I should open a revival tent.”

We followed at a distance in the car as she moved down and around the South Philly streets, as she sashayed here and there. And it wasn’t a surprise, it wasn’t a surprise at all, where she ended. When does a lady stop being a lady? When she turns into a bar.

The Seven Out.

I parked well past the entrance. “Wait here,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t want to go in if I could avoid it. I didn’t want her to see me and realize I had been following her and that maybe everything I had said, about the will, about getting her disbursements from the estate, about her phone being tapped, all of it had been a steaming pile of humbug. I didn’t want to go in and I didn’t have to. There was a curtained window at the Seven Out, big enough to hold the neon beer signs that let you know the joint wasn’t a juice bar. Beneath the flashing Budweiser sign and above the Coors Light sign was a small gap between the curtains.

I leaned forward, shielded my eyes from the neon, peered inside. There she was, seated in the back, hat still on, talking urgently with a man whom I had never seen before in the entirety of my life, but whom I could name without a doubt.

Teddy Big Tits.

And yes, yes they were.