“He’s seen her,” Wheatie said, staring at me, “and spoken to her. A couple of times, if my math is correct.” “All right, all right,” he said, slapping his palms on his thighs. “What’s the move? What’s the play? Are we going straight for it, storm-the-beaches style or something low-key?” He peered at me, his eyes bright. “Do you even know how to be low-key?” “No,” Wheatie said. “He does not.”
