“The Audi and Becca,” Matt interrupted.

“-and he took off for school in Texas,” Chad went on, nodding his agreement. “But a little more than a year ago, out of the blue, he called me at the office, said he’d be back in Philly that week, and wanted to get lunch. Said he had a business proposition.”

“Tell me you didn’t buy it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Chad said, somewhat smugly. Then he added, “Not what he wanted to start, anyway.”

“Which was?”

Chad Nesbitt looked cautiously around the diner and its patrons, then with a low voice said, “He wanted to supply me with migrant workers.”

“For what? Last I looked, you and Daffy had domestic help. And whatever yard work that needs doing gets done by the building management.”

The Nesbitts lived east of Matt’s Rittenhouse Square place, in Society Hill, at Number 9 Stockton Place, a triplex constructed behind the fa?ades of four of the twelve pre-Revolutionary brownstone buildings.

“No, Matt. Large numbers of laborers. For Nesfoods International. He thought we needed workers for harvesting the vegetables and fruits, and more workers for the processing lines at the plants. He said he could supply as many as we needed, at a price that was unbeatable.”

“And?”

“And I wanted to tell him he was speaking out of ignorance again. He’s the type who gets excited about something, decides it’s the absolute best thing since sliced bread-but then doesn’t think it through.”

Matt was nodding. “Yeah, I remember.”

“But I told him, instead, that I didn’t do that, that Nesfoods didn’t do that. The farms supply their own labor; we simply buy the product to process. And our processing plants, due to the various federal laws, are very careful in strictly hiring only those who were legal, with the proper papers. He said that that wasn’t a problem, that he had it set up. He’d been doing it for years in Texas, running crews building custom houses for his father’s company there, and now bringing them to do it here. I told him I wasn’t interested-my job is sales, expanding the company internationally-but made a few calls and gave Skipper the names of some of the managers of the farms we buy from.”

Nesfoods International had a few manufacturing facilities in the Philadelphia area, but many more Nesfoods establishments elsewhere in the United States-including one in San Antonio that made Tex-Mex salsa, a condiment far hotter in both taste and sales than ketchup-as well as outside the country.

The waitress approached with Matt’s breakfast of bacon and eggs and a fresh pot of coffee.

“Here you are, sweetie,” she said, sliding the food before him.

“Thank you,” Matt said, and moved his cup closer for her to refill it.

She did, topped Chad’s cup, placed the check upside down on the table midway between them, then said, “Let me know if you need anything else,” and left.

Payne picked up two strips of bacon, made them disappear in a few bites, then said: “And that was the first proposal he made?”

“Yeah. The next one was better. It had promise. It made sense. But I couldn’t get involved with anything that might embarrass Nesfoods, even as only an investor. So my lawyers vetted it, said that if it were set up properly in a Limited Liability Corporation, it’d pass the arm’s-length and smell tests and clear some other hurdles. And it required only a fairly small investment on my part. When it started to take off, I mean really generating serious income, I was both happy for him and not unhappy with myself. Not that I was going to get rich from it, but I felt good that Skipper was finally finding himself successful and that I was able to help him do it.”

“What was it?”

“Something he’d started with one location just off his school campus in Texas. ‘Sudsie’s’?”

He looked at Matt, who was polishing off his eggs, to see if that registered.

After chewing and swallowing, Matt said incredulously, “That sports bar with the laundry machines? ‘Get Sloshed With Us’?”

“Actually, for legal purposes it’s technically a laundromat that has been sexed-up with a sports bar-TVs, beer on tap, snacks. But you’re right. That’s the place. And the concept-the LLC had only two here to start-rang all the bells with hitting the target choice demographic of young adults eighteen to thirty-five. It proved to be an unbelievable cash cow.”

Matt raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He said, “Fancy buzzwords, Mr. Corporate Man. You always did talk in tongues, even in preschool.”

Chad shrugged. “I’m in sales. It comes with the territory. Anyway, then Skipper found a package of real estate for sale that had a half-dozen laundromats.” He glanced out the window. “It also had three motels.”

Matt looked out the window, then at Chad. “You own the Philly Inn?”

He nodded. “The LLC does.”

“What the hell are you doing with seedy motels?”

“Hey, don’t be so fast to judge. Ever hear of PEGI?” Chad said, pronouncing the acronym phonetically.

“ ‘Peggy’?” Matt repeated, then shook his head.

“Philadelphia Economic Gentrification Initiative. Big money, both local bonds and fed matching funds. The LLC’s going to put up one hell of an upscale condominium when the Philly Inn’s gone. When it’s time, I’ll get you in on the predevelopment pricing.” He looked at all the emergency vehicles at the back of the inn. “Which now may be sooner than later.”

“So, what’s the problem, Chad?”

He shrugged. “It all just looks so bad. I just don’t know. Skipper called around nine last night, said he was going out of town-”

“So then it was Skipper driving Becca’s Mercedes?”

Chad shrugged again. “Maybe. But he said, ‘Becca and I,’ so she could’ve been with him. Anyway, he wanted to drop off a check, which was my quarterly payment on the LLC investment.”

“Guess ole Skipper hasn’t heard of the United States Postal Service. Or, for that matter, electronic bank transfers.”

“That’s not how Skipper is, Matt. He takes it personally; when he promises to give you something, he wants to hand it to you personally.”

Matt took a sip of coffee, then said, “My recollection is if he hands it to you. I seem to recall he has trouble with following through on things. You just admitted he doesn’t think things through.”

Chad made a face, then said, “True. But his intentions-”

“Intentions my ass. Come on, Chad. You’re covering for him. It’s what the shrinks call ‘enabling.’ ”

Chad sighed, sipped his coffee, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, Daffy put Penny in her crib and then went to read in bed. I clicked on the late-night news, waiting-and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was after one-there was some rerun of a late-night comedy on the TV-so I called his cell phone. He apologized-”

“He’s good at that,” Matt interrupted. “Lots of practice over many years.”

“Are you finished?”

Matt slowly said, “Enabler,” then made a grand gesture for him to continue.

“He apologized, said he was running late, but he’d be over ‘in ten’ with the check. He said it was still in the motel safe. I tried to tell him it was already late and could wait till this morning. But Skipper insisted he wanted it done before he-they-went out of town.”

Chad looked toward the motel office and added, “Who knows when I’ll get in there.”

“So I gather he didn’t show in ten minutes?”

“Or in four hours, when I woke up again, this time from a sore neck from the way I’d fallen asleep in my chair. Then I couldn’t sleep. So, half pissed and half worried, I decided to go see if he was maybe passed out in one of the rooms here. Figured I’d bang on his motel room door and wake him up. What’s good for the goose…”

“But you never found him?”

Chad shook his head, then touched his phone. “And I tried calling at least a half-dozen times.” He paused. “The cops wouldn’t let me near the place, so I came in here, tried to think of who to call-”