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Lincoln ?’
    Lincoln frowned and lifted up the cell again. ‘Hallo? Hallo? Who is this?’
    The man sounded hoarse, like a heavy smoker. ‘ No need for you to know that, Lincoln.’
    â€˜What do you mean, “no need for me to know that”? Who the hell is this?’
    â€˜ You know what they say, Lincoln. Curiosity killed the cat .’
    â€˜I’m trying to get through to my wife here, so if you don’t mind—’
    â€˜ You need to listen to me, Lincoln. I’m your friend .’
    â€˜What friend?’
    â€˜A concerned friend. A very concerned friend. So long as you do what I tell you, that is. ’
    Lincoln suddenly slapped the table. ‘Bennie? Is this you, man? Quit horsing around, OK? I’m trying to finish my goddamned dinner here.’
    â€˜ Eat your goddamned dinner then, Lincoln. Enjoy it. But do not return to your room .’
    â€˜If this is your idea of a joke, man—’
    â€˜ No joke, Lincoln. Do not return to your room. Not if you know what’s good for you.’
    â€˜That’s enough, Bennie. It’s been a long day, OK? I have two more meetings in the morning and then I’ll get back to you. It looks like we can get top billing for Millie D and maybe second spot for The Jive Machine.’
    â€˜ You need to listen to me, Lincoln. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Tonight, I need my privacy, you got that? I don’t want any witnesses. Not you, not anybody .’
    Lincoln took a deep breath, and held it for a moment. Then he said, ‘If this is you, Bennie, this isn’t funny any more. If this isn’t Bennie, then all I can say is go screw yourself.’
    There was a sudden blurt of white noise, and then a thick, persistent crackle, but that was all. Lincoln tried to see who had called him, but the only number that showed up was his own home number, in Ann Arbor. He tried calling Grace again, but he couldn’t get a ring tone. He edged his way out of the booth, stood up and started to walk toward the restaurant door.
    One of the waiters intercepted him. ‘Sir? You finish up already, sir? The caldeirada – it was not to your like?’
    â€˜The caldeirada’s terrific. I have to make a phone call, that’s all.’
    â€˜You don’t go back to your room?’
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    â€˜I said, “Do you want me to keep it warm?”’
    Lincoln stared at him. The waiter looked back at him, unblinking. Lincoln was sure that he had said, “ You don’t go back to your room? ” but maybe he had genuinely misheard him. The restaurant was noisy, after all, with talking and laughter and clattering cutlery and piped salsa music in the background.
    â€˜No . . . you’re OK,’ he said slowly, and walked toward the restaurant entrance. The maître d’ was standing behind his lectern by the doorway, with polished black hair and a little black moustache and a maroon tuxedo. As Lincoln approached he bowed his head and said, ‘Good evening, sir. I hope you enjoyed your meal.’
    â€˜I’m only stepping out to use my cell. I’m coming back in a minute.’
    â€˜You are not returning to your room?’
    â€˜Why? What’s it to you?’
    â€˜Excuse me, sir, I don’t follow you.’
    â€˜Why should you care whether I’m returning to my room or not?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir. I still don’t understand.’ The maître d’ looked totally baffled. ‘I made no mention of your room.’
    Lincoln opened his mouth. He was about to tell the maître d’ that he was either a deuce hole or an idiot, but he decided that it was pointless. Instead he gave him a dismissive flap of his hand and walked off.
    He was still unable to get a cellphone signal out in the hotel lobby, so he went outside and stood on the front steps of the hotel. A strong gusty wind was blowing from the north-west, off the