Chapter 6
“THE TRUTH, MR. MOONLIGHT, is that I do not have an assistant.
Nor can I afford a secretary to answer my phones. Nor to bring me a bagel and cappuccino
every morning. But make no mistake, I do have the money to pay you.”
Bonchance is speaking to me from across a small, white
cloth-covered table at Mario’s 677 Prime Steakhouse, Albany’s most expensive
and trendiest eatery. The type of place that serves thirty-dollar lunch entrées
with cloth napkins and where you use proper words like “nor." The
management requires you to wear a tie and a jacket when lunching in their
establishment, neither of which I anticipated when choosing my usual wardrobe
of black leather coat over Levis, worn-in combat boots, and a blue button-down.
Un-ironed. Luckily the maître d’ proved to be a
