Montbretia was there; she saw what happened. The pickpocket went down, but that wasn't enough to stop Curtis's fists from flying. And when she pulled Curtis away, the other guy just laid on the side of the street. Inert. Barely breathing. Now the victim's comrades-who have seen their friend grievously wounded and have lost their source of income-want to talk with Curtis. But the only person they can find is Montbretia, and they aren't sure whether she's telling the truth when she says she doesn't know where Curtis has gone. Maybe she does know. Maybe she can contact Curtis. Maybe she's the...

-Let's have lunch tomorrow, - said the email, but when Montbretia arrived at her friend's office he wasn't there. -When did he leave?- Montbretia asked the receptionist. -Monday, - came the reply. -No. I mean, when did he leave for lunch?- -Monday, - repeated the receptionist. -He left at lunchtime on Monday.- -But today's Wednesday, - said Montbretia. The receptionist's face softened with a look of amusement as she tried to sympathize with Montbretia's embarrassment. -A long lunch.- Montbretia searches for her friend, trying to find out where he is, why he left the office and his home, and...