After the tip from Karen, Lawrence began a panic campaign of telephone calls, frantically seeking any information about Jarmon's activities involving Cynthia's investigator. It had taken every connection he could think of to track down the best source, the last place he expected. Carleton's club.

"Jill Winters?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'm trying to determine the whereabouts of an employee whom I understand occasionally frequents your club." Lawrence uttered the lie while shifting his phone to his other hand and pulling his car to the curb.

"The policy of the Broadway Club is to keep the member's affairs private."

"I understand, but I didn't say he was a member, he could be a guest. I'm this person's employer and I need to find him. It's business, you see."

"I'm afraid I can't—"

"The right information could be worth a hundred dollars; would that ease your conscience?"

"How - uhmm, how do I get the hundred?"

"I'm not far away, I'll bring it right around to the club."

"Could we meet outside? It's uhh- it's better for me. I can take my afternoon break in ten minutes."

"Outside it is. Ten minutes."

Lawrence watched from his car as the young woman exited the building, anxiously looking about. He gave a short toot on the horn and raised an arm out the window. Jill hurried across the street and slid into the passenger seat, giving him an uncertain smile.

Her short uniform skirt rode up as she entered the car, and Lawrence blinked appreciatively at the expanse of revealed thigh.

"Your money," he said, "holding up a bill." She didn't reach for it but instead asked who it was he wanted. "His name is Wallace." Lawrence hoped Karen was right.

"Wallace who?"

Lawrence felt his face grow hot. "Do you know him?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm sorry but that's confidential business as I explained." His voice hardened. "Do you want the money or not? Where he is?"

"He could be anywhere."

He was becoming annoyed and showed it to her.

"He's a private detective, and he doesn't frequent the club." She gave him a suspicious look.

"How do you know him?"

"He isn't your employee is he? I don't think I want to answer any more of your questions." She made a move to leave.

"Hold it! Okay, okay. You're right." Lawrence tried a comforting smile. "I need to find this detective, it is business, and it is important."

"I don't know how to find him."

"You know his full name though, right?"

"Christopher Wallace."

Lawrence relaxed. That was something he could look up himself. "What uhm- what did he want?"

Jill eyed the bill in his hand. "More information means more money."

He gave her a shrewd look and chuckled. "There's more if you answer the question."

"He wanted to know about Carleton Smithee." The look on his face registered such a jolt that she held out her hand and opened the door with the other. Lawrence closed his mouth and took out his wallet.

"Did he also ask about Jarmon Wyatt?"

"No but..."

"But what? Do you know him too?"

She kept the door ajar and told him that Jarmon often came to the club for different functions. When he asked who he came with, she told him.

"I heard the name, Karen Winsett once."

"Could you perhaps describe her for me? You know, height, hair colour... that sort of thing." He listened as she described Karen to a tee. He shouldn't have been surprised; he never asked where she was seeing him. This was positive news; it would be, he said she said, but Jill could testify to Jarmon's clubbing liaison.

"Jill uhm- was she ah, the only one?"

"I did see him with a redhead once or twice, but that was it. I don't know anything about her."

"You must have some idea... club gossip and all?"

"No, I don't." He waited. She gave a brief description and Lawrence heaved his shoulders in a sigh. Nicole. Meeting at the private club at least kept Jarmon's activities discrete, if not entirely smart. Nervy bugger.

"Well, thank you, Jill." Lawrence doubled the amount and handed it to her. She made an appreciative sound and let go of the door handle. Lawrence smiled. "I'll give you a call sometime if I may."

"Use this number." She pressed a card into his hand with a squeeze of her fingers and got out. Lawrence watched her all the way back inside the club entrance, tapping the card thoughtfully against his lips. Cynthia's detective checking out Smithee? Something else to look into.

Jill watched through the club door window as the car pulled away, noting the licence plate. Bravo 2.

●○●○●○●○●

Jarmon slouched back on the sofa, fuming over the morning call from Reg Devers. He couldn't believe the gall of the man threatening him with blackmail. The problem wasn't whether Cynthia found out; the problem was Ellington or Lawrence. Devers didn't mention them but then that was the risk of blackmail.

There was only a week to go, and Jarmon decided he would just wait out the time... call the bluff and keep his fingers crossed. He put his feet on the table, thinking about his wife's trust and sucking contentedly on a beer. Juggling that kind of money along with three women was going to be a challenge. Someone would definitely have to go.

That he might cool his philandering until the anniversary had passed never crossed his mind. Jarmon's appetite was matched only by his ego, and his ego would brook no interruption in his appetite. Right now, he wanted to detach himself from thinking about Devers and whatever he was up to.

The telephone rang again, and he answered to the sultry tones of Karen.

"Hi babe, what's up?"

"We have to talk, Jarmon. I think I need some kind of commitment from you."

Jarmon's mouth dried up, and he swallowed hard trying to generate some moisture, the beer bottle was empty and he dropped it to the floor. "Commitment? What are we talking about here, Babe?" He couldn't believe his ears.

"I want you to tell Cynthia you're leaving her this week or I'm going to do it myself."

"Karen! This week! Why this week? What's the rush?" Jarmon stumbled from the couch to a chair and sat heavily.

"This week, Jarmon. Call me when it's done." He slipped off the chair onto the floor, staring in horror at the receiver. What the hell brought this on? Who mentioned anything about leaving?

Reg and now Karen! She suddenly didn't look like a keeper.

●○●○●○●○●

Jarmon waited out of sight until quitting time for Karen and when she crossed the lot behind her office and unlocked her car, he dashed over, shoved her inside, ran around and jumped in the passenger side.

"Ooouch! What the hell are you doing, Jarmon?" She righted herself and began pummelling his chest and shoulder.

"Stop! Stop it!" Jarmon grabbed her wrists and pushed her back against the driver's door. "We've got to talk and you won't do it on the phone."

Karen yanked her hands free and attempted another slap.

"I said, stop it!" He shoved her head hard against the window and she groaned aloud, clutching the spot and breaking into tears. "Ahh shit, I'm sorry... look, let me look at—"

"GET AWAY!" She flailed out again, then settled back against the door, holding her head and sobbing.

"I said I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk, but you--"

She swung her eyes around to meet his, studying the face of the man she'd been hired to seduce; the man for whom, in the beginning, she had actually felt sorry.

"What's to discuss?" Her voice cracked and she sat up, coughing to clear it.

"The call you made to me, Karen. About going to Cynthia. Jesus, what happened? Why are you suddenly threatening me? I thought we agreed on everything - on us."

She jangled the car keys back and forth on her finger. "I came to the conclusion that I might not be able to trust you. I'm not stupid, Jarmon. I can see down the road where little Karen is just going to be in the way."

Her emphasis on the word trust jolted him and he searched her face for some sign of conniving.

"That's crap!"

He looked away into the empty parking bays, thinking hard as to how accurate her assessment might be. "Having a fling with you hasn't been bad, has it? We've enjoyed all of it, haven't we?" That sounded pretty good, and he turned a worried face toward her.

"Is that what this is, a fling?" She asked.

"Well, you know what I mean."

"Get out." She started the car and slipped on her seat belt. "I said, get out."

"Karen--"

"I don't want to hear any more, I don't care what you say, Jarmon, I have to protect myself. You tell Cynthia it's over, this week, or I will." She put the car in gear and glared at him.

Other employees were coming from the back of the building to the lot and he couldn't risk being seen with her. He opened the door and got out, barely getting it closed before she drove off. Jarmon quickly headed off the lot and around the corner to the street.

"Shit! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!" She knew something. Just what, he wasn't sure but the timing, and the stress on the word, this. He picked up his pace, head down, and hands jammed into his pockets.