Peter knew him. His name is David Silverman. Knows his stuff, Peter says." Shit," I said."Yeah," Greg said. "You know, don't you, boss, that you can't...go to New York for this jamboree?"I suddenly realized that Greg was much better at tossing euphemisms around than I.I nodded. "For the same reason I couldn't go with you to Houston. You can't protect me and handle Garfield at the same time." Yep. That, and you might need an alibi. Me, too. I won't be going either. The people we hired for physical. We had to fend off reporters in droves; with Sam and Marilyn driving, and with Camilla's famous photo as fuel, our incarceration had stayed well up in the news, and when the media learned we'd been released the phone calls started coming. A carload of enterprising reporters actually found their way to my cabin one afternoon. We were polite, we were pleasant, and we were boring. They'd thought we'd heard or seen something, it turned out we hadn't, they finally realized their mistake and let us. More

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