Crossing from the bathroom toward the balcony, I saw my phone buzzing on the bed, an incoming call. A 702 number, Vegas area code. My forearm hairs stood at attention. Had to be Lester disguising his number. Maybe to gloat about putting one by me. To warn me—never trust someone like him, and to wish me good luck fixing the unfixable, replacing cash so Sigfried doesn’t kill me. Lester was on his way out of the country. I picked up the phone, defiantly unable to mask my voice from someone insane.