"You had coffee," said The Boss. It was not a question.

"You paid. That is not permitted. You should have run a tab."

"It is a permissible expense," said The Boss. "Sign and you shall be reimbursed."

Sliding a chit across his huge desk. He looked at it. Did not sign.

"Do you defy me, sir?" Not raising his voice. Almost as if asking the time of day.

But his eyes were cold.

"Is that what they call you?"

The chit lay there, unsigned. Disregarded.

"You know you may not address her directly, you."

"A foot-soldier."

"What does it mean?"

"Doing what must be done."

"Killing?"

"Anything."

"I suppose she approached you first. She shall be spoken to. About that."

He stood in the lobby, dressed in Tommy Hilfiger, anonymously logoed. Lurking, it was called. Unseen, unseeable.

Alert.

Especially when she swept through, her and her minders, was what he called them. She dressed in haute couture so elegant it looked like something a little woman round the corner might have run up on a foot-treadle Singer. Under it a body, the black crepe revealing as much as it concealed. He tried not to look.

"Is that how it was? She spoke first? I do not think you would dare . . ."

He knew what was forbidden, and this – she – was at the top of the list.

"You," she said, dismissing the minders with a wave of her arm. "He will take me to the coffee shop."

The foot-soldiers bought burgers and do-nuts from a stall in the street. Ate in the basement, among the boilers and duct tape. The coffee shop was out of his league.

"I will pay," he told the waiter, who looked his Tommy up and down with a curl of his lip. Why he did it, paid, that contempt.

"You will sign."

He sighed. There would be no end until he did so.

"I was a lawman," he told her. "Internal affairs said I took bribes."

"But you did not."

"How long have you worked for me?"

It was said The Boss knew everything about everyone, even their social security number. That kind of mind. He knew the answer to this question. To all questions.

"Your accounts always balance. Answer me!"

"Yes, sir."

"Some cream a little off the top. But not you."

"I am not a thief."

"You wear my clothes and you drink coffee with my daughter when you should be minding the store. Is not that to steal your time from me, time that I have paid you for?"

"Could I disobey her if she required me to drink coffee with her?"