Chapter one

"Yes. You are definitely going to need a lawyer."  I was passing a guy in a city park, a black guy, good dresser, talking into his cell phone.

I couldn't help but pause. I'm a lawyer of sorts. I get cases others don't, mostly referrals. City cases: lost property, lost people. I'm called more of a fixer than a lawyer, and maybe so. I try to stay in bounds.

The black guy looked up from the phone, cupped his hand over it, and said - "yes?" Me, a little embarrassed - "Sorry. Couldn't help but overhear. The part about the lawyer."

"So you're a lawyer? Congratulations." He seemed kind of amused, relaxed, not pissed about my listening in. "But the lady on this phone has a serious case. It'll take a serious lawyer. Not a guy who looks like he bought his suit 30 years ago."

Well dang. He had the age of the suit about right, but I thought it looked good and was glad it still fit. "You don't like the suit?"

"Nah I like it OK. Kind of retro. You a serious lawyer?"

"I am. And a fixer." OK, I embrace it.

"Maybe you're the one. Gimme a card, I'll check you out." I gave him one, then a small salute, walked on, and he went back to his call.

The next time I saw the guy, he was being shown into my office by my secretary, Gracie. With him a great-looking woman. She was white. I guess I'm so old that I noticed, but not so old that I cared about the fact that they were a couple. In their thirties, I'd say, and startlingly handsome. They walked past you on the street, you'd swivel your head. Knockouts.

They sat down, we did the coffee/water thing, they introduced themselves, he James Doggett, she Marie Sloan. From him - "They call me Jamie. What do we call you?"

"Mac." It's short for McIntosh, which is my middle name. J. McIntosh Payne. Fancy, I know. So I go by Mac, which takes the sting out a little.

Me, to her - "So I guess you need a lawyer. How can I help you?"

"I've lost someone." She looked beyond sad - what's the word - she looked bereft.

"Someone important, I guess. Who?"

"My daughter."

Turns out she'd been married and the father had made off with the kid, who was nine. And had taken her to the Bahamas. Which made me think at first that this was not going to be my case. I don't do child custody or matrimonial.  But this one had twists.

The ex-husband was named Wayne Sloan - I guess she'd kept the last name - and from his place in the Bahamas he'd sent them a message. They could have the little girl back. For one million dollars cash.

"Holding his own kid for ransom?"  I've seen my share of creeps, but really.  "The guy's evil."

From Jamie, "Ah, he's a junkie. Lost his soul a long time ago."

"And not too smart.  You can hire really good counsel in Nassau for way under a million bucks and get her back."

"Yeah," said Jamie, looking over at Marie. "But there are some nuances here."