Sedakis got up. “I'll leave this in your capable hands then. Your old partner was investigating the death of this Denny Lang?” Donovan nodded.

“Well, I will probably hear from him real soon then.”

“I'll send you word about this lawsuit as soon as I know more,” Donovan assured him again. He offered his hand. “Always a pleasure, Gregoris. Even if the circumstances could have been better.”

Sedakis had looked worried and distracted the past few minutes, but now he broke out into his genial smile again. “And you, Storm. You know, the wife would like to have you over for dinner sometime soon. She's American so I had my mother teach her how to cook, and plus she'd enjoy your company. Come, come tomorrow!”

Donovan laughed. “I'd be delighted.” He wondered which wife this was. He remembered his divorce specialist had worked for the big Greek not long ago, so if there was a wife, she must be a new one.

Just as Donovan was about to finish the last sips of his coffee and gather his things to head down to the Jag, there was a buzz from his office phone. He looked out and saw his secretary fawning over someone who looked like a tramp in a fur coat. As the tramp and her entourage came closer, he recognized the unkempt blond hair. It was Justine Lavoie. He stood, walked to the door and greeted her as graciously as he could muster. It was only this morning that he bore witness to their pornographic display. He looked over the faces of the people following her, but there was no Naomh Walsh. “Miss Lavoie.”

“Donovan,” she said, barely giving him a look as she sat down in the chair behind his desk. His own chair. She swung her legs onto the desk. She was wearing shoes that would befit a porn star and a skirt that matched it perfectly. No underwear, Donovan noticed. He was quietly disgusted by the way the young woman conducted herself.

“This drunk driving thing. Make it go away.” she said as she pulled a spliff from her pocket and lit it. Her agent came into the office as well, but he dared not protest her behavior, knowing how tetchy she could be.

Donovan forced a smile. “C'est pas ça facile. C'est pas le premiér fois vous avez eu des problems avec le loi.”

“En Français, Monsieur Donovan? Trés bien!” the girl exclaimed in a delighted voice. There was a delight in her face as well. The agent stepped in before Donovan could reply. “In English, please. I've got to deal with this too.”

“Putain,” the girl snapped at him. “Fucking spoil sport. I hate you. Go away.”

Donovan suppressed a sigh. “Well, Miss Lavoie has had problems with the law before. This drunk driving thing might not go away as easily as we might wish. And it might be wise to clean up your act for a while. At least until the police have been round to talk to you. If they encounter a scene like the one I found this morning, they might not be as forgiving as we want.”

“Ugh, fucking police. They never let anyone have any fun.”

“That's the way it is, Miss Lavoie, and I'm afraid it won't change anytime soon, either.”

“So what do we do?” sighed the agent. The man was clearly at the end of his tether. Donovan knew he really worked for the Disney Corporation and would probably be under pressure from them as well. Though he could not be sure whether the pressure was to make Justine Lavoie appear as insane as possible or to save what was left of her image. He could never predict that when it came to the entertainment industry; everything was about publicity, sales and ratings. Personally, he suspected that the agent was as responsible for her deranged behavior as she was herself. After all, child stars who completely lose their way generally got too much attention in the media.

“Well, I have looked over the charges and I will go with you to the courthouse tomorrow. You are to present yourself there at noon and we'll hear the charges set against you. From what I can see, now it's a DUI and disturbance of the peace, which should mean nothing but a fine.”

“Good.” the agent said.

“I won't pay anything,” Justine Lavoie said firmly.

Donovan sighed. He could not help it this time. “Then you will be arrested and it will escalate from there.”

“I am Justine Lavoie, not some stinking piece of shit. I won't pay.”

Donovan blinked. “Well, we'll see each other tomorrow, noon, and we'll see what happens then. Right now, I have to leave you. I have another engagement.” His only engagement was with Naomh Walsh, who would drop by his loft sometime in the evening, but he could not take much more of this. He knew he had already slipped up, even if it was a slight slip.

He let Rachel, his secretary, escort them both out of the office and then he gathered his things and stood by the window. It had been a strange day, he reflected, as he stared down into the street. It would be another stressful day tomorrow. Though hopefully, without another horrifically mutilated corpse.

Donovan finally moved away from the window when he saw the limousine pull out of the parking garage. It meant his client by default had gone and he could safely run down to the Jag without encountering her again. That would be too much to stomach, to make polite sociable conversation with that little madam.

Ten minutes later, the green Jag raced out of the garage toward the Manhattan Bridge to take him safely back to Brooklyn. He drove into his building’s parking lot and swiftly parked his car in the parking bay labeled Apartment 3. He ran upstairs to his gym and threw on some shorts and a top and began his daily training regime. He wanted to complete it as quickly as he could; he didn’t know what time his guest would arrive.

He had tried to make out to Albert that it was no effort at all to remain slim and trim, but in fact, nothing was further from the truth. He was lucky in not having to worry too much about what and how much he ate, but he did work out and he did pay attention to what he ate. He took care to eat healthy and his exercise regime was designed specifically to let him keep a slim figure and made him look fit, without turning him into one of those guys that looked like they were on steroids.

And that was the way he did everything, that was how everything went with him. He was the master of moderation. He was suave and sophisticated, but he had long realized that to be too smooth would have an adverse effect on his business and social interactions alike.

An hour later he was done and he hurried to his third floor bathroom. Before he stripped, he sent a message to the cook, asking her to prepare food; he was expecting a guest in an hour. He jumped into the shower, then had a thought, stepped out and texted again. He asked his cook to make enough for two, just in case his guest would arrive before dinner, instead of later in the evening.

When he dried himself, it seemed his instinct had been correct. There was a buzz on his phone. It was from the intercom. He pulled up the video feed and found himself looking at the beautiful olive face and curly dark hair of Naomh Walsh.

“Good evening, Ms. Walsh.”

“Good evening, Mister Donovan.” her cheerful voice greeted him.

“I'll let you in.” Donovan generated an entry code to open the parking lot door for her. She would be there soon and his mind was racing to find out what he could put on in less than 30 seconds. In a corner of his mind, the idea arose that he should perhaps greet her wearing nothing but a towel and then continue getting ready as calmly as possible, but it did not seem the best idea in the end. He quickly ran into his dressing room and threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt. He did not look for shoes, only a belt. He would not bother to style his hair; instead he kept drying his hair with the towel. He ran down on bare feet and reached the bottom of the stairs just as the doorbell rang.

Still drying his hair Donovan opened the door and gave Naomh Walsh a cheerful greeting. “You're just in time, Naomh. My cook should have a meal finished in minutes.”