Your boy, my boy, Ken Blankenship’s boy...”“Eric?” I asked, and Roy nodded.“Broke his arms in three places. Wouldn’t tell us what happened...”Becky Finklestein happened. I was sure of it. Eric Blankenship was an All-American wrestler, but Becky could break an All-American wrestler’s arm with one of her dainty fingers. Maybe her pinky if she was showing off. And she was always showing off. “She’s not a bad kid, Roy,” I said. “She just needs guidance. She needs a normal life.”“Rick, if this girl is. A celebration, huh? Champagne and separate orange juice for Pete with your meal, on the house?”“Champagne, most certainly! The celebration? My divorce from Jacques came through today.”Tracie smiled, “Yours is happily the only 10pm order, so I’ll pass it through to Pete now.”A few minutes later, Pete emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates.“April?” Pete asked, “Have you ordered this meal and want me to share it with you?”“Yes, please make yourself comfy. Orange juice? We need to make a. More

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