Remember When

all this. It's all over the news."
    "I try not to watch that sort of thing. Depressing, and it has nothing to do with me. Want another?"
    Dix glanced at his empty glass. He shouldn't, really. But... "Why the hell not? You're behind."
    Trevor signaled for another drink for Dix, smiled as he lifted his barely touched martini. "I'll catch up. What does Samantha have to say about all this?"
    "I haven't been able to talk to her. Can you beat that? She's gone incommunicado. Nobody knows where the hell she is."
    "Somebody must," he countered.
    "Not a damn soul. Smart money says the cops got her stashed somewhere." Scowling, he nudged his empty glass aside. "Probably get another damn book out of it."
    "Well, she'll surface soon enough. Meanwhile, I wanted to talk to you about a piece I sold you a few months ago. The scale-model bulldozer, circa 2000."
    "Beautiful piece, prime condition. I don't know how you parted with it." He grinned as he counted down the time to the second drink with a few cocktail nuts. "Even for the price you scalped me for."
    "That's just the thing. I had no idea when I sold it that it was given to my father by his father.
    When I saw him the other night, the old man brought it up. Sentimental blah, blah, blah. He wants to come over and see it, among some of the others. I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd sold it."
    "Well..." Dix picked up his fresh drink. "You did."
    "I know, I know. I'll buy it back for the full price, and add a kicker. I don't want a big, ugly family crisis over it so it's worth it to me."
    "I'd like to help you out, Trev, but I really don't want to sell it."
    "Look, I'll double what you paid me for it."
    "Double." Dix's eyes gleamed over the rim of his glass. "You must really want to avoid a family crisis."
    "It pays to keep the old man happy. You know about his collection."
    "And envy it," Dix admitted.
    "I can probably talk him out of a couple of pieces."
    Considering, Dix bit an olive off his swizzle stick. "I'm looking for a well driller. Circa 1985. The article they did on him in Scale-Model Mag said he had one, prime."
    "I'll get it for you."
    Dix made a sound somewhere between interest and denial. Trevor curled his hand into a fist, imagined ramming it over and over into that smug face until the blood poured.
    He'd wasted enough time.
    "Okay, then do me a favor. Let me borrow it for a week. I'll pay you a thousand for the use of it, and I'll get the well driller, make you a good deal on it." When Dix said nothing, just continued to sip gin, Trevor felt his control fray. "For fuck's sake, you make a grand for nothing."
    "Don't get twisted. I didn't say no. I'm just trying to figure your angle. You don't even like your father."
    "I can't stand the stupid son of a bitch, but he's not well. He may only have a few months left."
    "No shit?"
    Going with the idea, Trevor shifted on his seat, leaned in. "He finds out I sold that piece, he's going to blow. As it stands, I inherit the collection. He finds out about this, he'll probably leave it to some museum. That happens, I won't be able to sell you any of the prime pieces, will I? I lose, you lose, friend."
    "When you put it that way... One week, Trev, and we're going to write this up. Business is business, especially when it's between friends."
    "No problem. Finish your drink and we'll go get it now."
    Dix checked his wrist unit. "I'm really late getting back to the office."
    "So you'll be later and a thousand richer."
    Dix lifted his glass in a toast. "Good point."
    ***
    Eve's communicator signaled as she hunted for a parking spot on Thirty-third. "Dallas."
    "Baxter. We got a hitch here."
    "Doesn't anybody use public transportation or just stay the hell home!" Annoyed with the traffic, the jammed curb, she whipped over, flipped up her ON DUTY light and ignored the blasts of horns. Double-parked, she jerked a thumb at Peabody to get out. "What hitch?"
    "Just got a call from the care facility where Whittier's mother's living. She fell or passed out.
    Took a header into a flower bed."
    "She bad?" Eve asked as she climbed over to get out curbside rather than risk life and limb getting out the driver's-side door.
    "Banged up her head, from what I'm getting, maybe fractured her elbow. They got her stabilized and sedated, but Whittier and his wife both want to go see for themselves."
    "Let them go, have a couple of uniforms you pick take them and stick with them."
    "There's more. Here's the kicker. She wasn't outside strolling down