Carson woke up at his usual time. He expected Drew to be awake already, waiting impatiently for breakfast. So he went straight to the kitchen and started making up some hash browns, bacon and eggs.

But as he started setting the dinner table, he found a note from Drew, explaining how she had to leave early, and asking if she could stay out late tonight. Talk about late notice...

But he did remember her telling him about some party... He sighed. He sometimes forgot that Drew was actually Andy, but things like this - like asking for permission at the last minute - that was very Andy-like.

At the bottom half of the paper, there was a list of a dozen places where he could go shopping for his stuff, with a reminder to ask the help of the salespeople. He snorted. He knew his fashion sense was decidedly dated, but Drew didn't need to remind him of it this way... In fact, most of Bill Fayne's wardrobe choices had been courtesy of Jane and Andy. But as he thought of it, he realized Drew actually made a good suggestion. Drew didn't need to know if he took her advice or not, though, he laughed. And he knew the list was made up of the high-end department stores. He had to be wearing high-end stuff given where he would be working, and that his new job would be starting next week. He wasn't a stranger to wearing thousand-dollar suits, but this was a whole new level. And he needed to prepare.

He got his phone out and texted Drew. "Thanks for the list, and permission granted. But next time, I want you to tell me personally. And no later than 1am!"

Drew texted back. "Thanks, Pop! Loveya!"

Carson remembered Jane saying the same thing to Dave hundreds of times, and he felt a momentary pang of loss.

He decided to sit down to breakfast and go about his day as planned. As he was buttering his toast, he contemplated the other place setting meant for Drew, and decided to call his neighbor, Mrs. Lovett, and invite her to breakfast. No sense in letting food go to waste...

-----

Later in the morning, he found himself in one of the upper-end stores on 5th Avenue - the first place on Drew's list, and started shopping for a new office wardrobe. The few suits he had wouldn't be enough, he knew, so he needed to start building up a new wardrobe for the new job. Shopping was never his thing so he asked for some help, as Drew suggested. There was no shortage of helping hands, although he knew that it was mostly because he indicated that he was going to be buying a ton of their merchandise, definitely not because of how he was dressed. Who would have thought to dress up for clothes shopping? He cringed inside, wondering what these bright, poised, shiny and impeccably dressed young people thought of him.

But he was a patron of their establishment so he was unapologetic as they waited on him, though he was more subdued than normal. He certainly wasn't going to change people's opinions of Staten Islanders if they found out.

After trying on each and every piece of clothing shoved at him, he was eventually set with several suits, twice as many dress shirts, and a dozen expensive ties that could go with any of the suits, shirts, pants or any combination of all of them. That way, he couldn't put together a mismatching outfit if he tried. The lady who said this explained that she was a professional wardrobe specialist. Carson complimented her for her expertise, good taste and quick thinking.

The lady also got dozens of pairs of designer-brand dress socks, half a dozen extremely expensive dress shoes in black and several shades of brown, and three expensive Italian belts.

A cute salesgirl also convinced him to get two dozen sets of underwear shirts and briefs, plus a dozen silk handkerchiefs. It went without saying that they were all very expensive as well.

One of their tailors came up and measured him, right on the sales floor. They said they would do whatever alterations were needed, but the tailor said there wouldn't be too many, given Carson was an easy size.

That practically covered everything. But he thought things over. He asked one of the salesgirls if she could recommend any good colognes and after-shaves. The girl was flattered to be asked, and led him to one of the counters.

She pulled out a couple of samplers and told him they were her favorites. Carson tried them and found them all to be fine. He asked for a couple of toiletry sets of the two brands he tried; each included shampoo & conditioner, cologne, aftershave, deodorant, shaving gel and a small traveling atomizer. He then turned to one of the shelves near the belts, and picked out two wallets. One was a fancy Alexander McQueen leather one with lots of pockets and a small coin compartment. The other was a more casual brown canvas one. According to the label, it was waterproof. He gave them to his salesgirl.

"You sure you want those two, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," he answered. "They look good."

"Well, you have pretty good taste. Also very expensive taste."

Carson groaned. "Really?"

The girl giggled. "Sorry."

He sighed. "What the hell. Go ahead and put them in the pile. I've already bought stuff that's worth enough to buy a Tesla... or a down payment, anyway. So what's a couple of hundred dollars more?"

"Ummm..."

"What, they're more than a couple of hundred?"

She cringed and nodded.

He looked at her incredulously. "You're kidding me. For a couple of wallets?"

"Um, yeah? But we can look for some cheaper brands..."

He laughed. "That's okay. Put them in the pile, anyway. Don't worry, I can afford it. But that doesn't make me any less pissed."

He also picked up a shaving kit. "Include this, please."

"Expensive..."

He sighed "So what else is new?"

"At least this is marked down five percent, and it comes with a couple of spare blades and combs."

"Well, that's something."

"Yeah," she smiled. She liked the guy. She looked at the pile of clothes and stuff he bought. "You know, it'll take us a while to do the alterations and to pack up all the stuff you bought..."

"Okay, you guys do that and I'll go and wander around a bit."

"Thank you, sir."

After maybe an hour, Carson was back after visiting a watch store on another floor. He was now the proud owner of an Omega Speedmaster '57 and a more casual Casio G-Shock, still in their boxes. In the same bag was a Montblanc Heritage Collection set with a couple of fancy Montblanc pens, fillers and a mechanical pencil. He also got several sets of cuff links and tie clips that were on a display beside the Montblanc table.

He showed the wardrobe lady his new purchases and she complimented Carson on his choices, saying these perfectly matched the clothes he just bought. He just smiled and made it appear he picked them himself instead of having to ask the help of some salespeople. What she didn't know and all that.

The salespeople finally had all his clothes altered, his purchases wrapped, and it amounted to eighteen bags' worth which they put in six large boxes packed liberally with those little, yellow packing peanuts instead of the little inflated balloon-like bags they used nowadays. There were also three smaller boxes for the shoes, and several wardrobe bags. They couldn't put the suits in boxes, however, so they just put them in wardrobe bags. The wardrobe lady handed him his bill, saying only minimal alterations were necessary. She also gave him a card, with their alterations department's number, and said that he can call them and have any of the suits altered for free if they turned out they were wrong.

Carson looked at the final figure and it took his breath away. It turned out that the amount really was enough for a down payment for a car - a fairly high-end one. Or maybe the full price of a regular one.

Although he felt weird spending that much money just for clothes, he didn't feel too bad, actually. Between him and Drew, they had more money than they could spend. And it wasn't their money, anyway. And he knew he would be buying more stuff later so this was probably just the beginning. He knew he had to wrap his head around the need to spend and buy all this high-end stuff.

"I take it there's free delivery?"

"Of course, sir," she smiled and signaled to the others.

After a bit, someone came up to him. The new guy was a small, grumpy man that was in charge of customer deliveries.

"Hello, sir," the new guy said in clearly false joviality. "I understand you want your purchases delivered. Can you give me some information and your home address?" He handed over a form on a clipboard.

Carson filled in his form, and as soon as the guy read his address, he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, but deliberately loud enough for Carson to be able to hear. "No," he said. "We can't deliver your stuff."

"Huh?"

"Sorry. Our store doesn't make deliveries to," he snorted, "Staten Island."

Carson looked at the man in surprise. The man looked back at him unblinkingly. Eventually, what the man said sunk in.

"You're saying-,"

"Yeah."

"What!"

"You heard me."

Carson's face started turning red in anger. "I will pay for the delivery."

"Sorry," he said again. "We don't deliver there."

Carson took a deep breath. "Okay. Can I speak to your manager?"

"She's not available."

"She's not available!"

The guy walked up to him and stood almost nose-to-nose.

"She is not available."

Carson wanted to smack the guy, but he was a good lawyer. He knew the repercussions.

"We are a respectable, high-class department store," the disagreeable man said. "We do not deliver there."

"That is very clear, now. If you cannot deliver to my home, where can you deliver?"

"Not my problem."

"How about somewhere in Manhattan?"

"Depends," he said.

Carson got the clipboard back, angrily crossed out his home address and wrote down the street address of the Tate Center on Park Avenue.

The man looked at the address.

"A Park Avenue address? Please!"

"If I'm lying, and it turns out you are delivering to a place that doesn't know me, it's not your problem. It'll be mine."

"Whatever, man."

"Okay, then. Have it delivered there."

He paused. "Wait. Prove that this is your address." He pulled over a telephone. "Call it."

"What!"

The man clicked the hands-free button, and the dial tone could be heard all over the store.

Carson took his time. He took his cell phone out, looked up his newly assigned telephone number, and used the store's phone to dial.

As he pressed the buttons, the tones could be heard by everyone (he hadn't taken it off speaker). An operator answered after a couple of rings.

"Tate & Company global offices, this is Kay. How may I help you today?"

"Good morning, Kay. Can you please connect me to extension forty-eight twenty-eight?"

"Of course, sir. Who may I say is calling?"

"This is Carson Nance. I'm trying to get in touch with my personal assistant, Alice."

"Of course, Mr. Nance. Wait one moment."

After a short wait, the sexy voice of Carson's new secretary could be heard.

"Tate & Company Legal Division, Office of the Chief Legal Counsel. I'm afraid Mr. Nance is not available. This is Alice speaking. Who is this, please?" Alice sounded awfully sexy on the phone.

"Good morning, Alice. This is Carson."

"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Nance. I'm sorry I didn't know it was you - the phone number was not yours."

"Quite all right, Alice. I'm calling from a store downtown."

Looking up the number, Alice mentioned the store's name. Carson said she was right.

"Everything's on schedule here, Mr. Nance," Alice said. "The small windows in your new office have been replaced by larger tinted panoramic ones, per the order of Mr. Tate, and the walls have been repainted already. Furnishings are being moved in as we speak. Your desk and the couch are the only items missing, but the video and intercom systems have already been set up and running. I think it's safe to say you'll be all set by Monday."

"That's great. But, Alice, can I change the subject? I have a problem."

"Yes, sir. Lay it on me."

Carson looked up at the delivery guy. "I'm currently downtown, Alice, like I said. I bought a whole shitload of stuff but I just found out that they don't deliver to my place, so I was hoping to have them delivered to the office. Would that be okay?"

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Alice tsk'd. "Oh, dear. All right, Mr. Nance. We'll have a couple of trucks and a crew from Amalgamated swing by. I'm sorry but it'll take at least an hour to get this all set up."

"Thank you, Alice, but the stuff is personal stuff."

"Will you be using the, ummm, stuff at the office, sir?"

"Oh, definitely."

"In which case, this is allowable per company policy. Do you think two trucks would be sufficient? I think I can get you four if there's a lot of it."

"Ah, no, m'dear. One small pickup and a couple of people will probably be sufficient."

"Thank you, sir. But I will arrange for a couple of trucks anyway, just in case."

Carson laughed. "Is this how it's going to be between us, Alice?"

Alice giggled sexily. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Boss." She cleared her throat. "Can I get the address?"

Carson gestured at one of the salesgirls. "Miss? Can you help us out here?"

The girl dictated the full name of the store and the address.

"You can't bring your trucks into the loading dock," the guy in charge of deliveries interrupted belligerently.

"Thank you, sir," Alice said drily, hearing him. "We are not expecting to."

"Then how..."

"The trucks will be going around the block and our people will be loading Mr. Nance's purchases from the curb. Mr. Nance?"

"Yes, Alice," Carson replied.

"Boss, two trucks have been confirmed. You're on their dispatch list now, but they might not be there for a couple of hours... Sorry."

"S'all right. Make sure that you give the guy in charge complete instructions. I'll be out of this place in a minute."

"Let me take care of it. Can I have a list of the items?"

"Hold on." He took out the invoice, took a picture of each page and e-mailed the picture to Alice. "Just sent it to your e-mail. Please be sure to hide the prices before you pass this on, Alice. I don't want the delivery people to see."

Alice opened her e-mail, and opened Carson's pictures. She whistled. "Wow, Boss. A hundred and five thousand dollars."

The delivery guy gulped. His eyes goggled at the amount.

"Don't start, okay?" Carson said.

"Sorry, Boss," Alice said. "Do you, by chance, know my birthday, by the way?"

Carson laughed. "Later, okay? I don't want to spend one more second here. Talk to you Monday?"

She heard Carson's tone. "Sure, Boss. Oh! I almost forgot - it's policy to ask: would you be putting the establishment on the Red List? By your voice, I take it you are not pleased with the service there..."

He didn't know what the heck the "Red List" was, but he took the chance. "Yes, Alice. Can you take care of that?"

"Of course, sir. The store will be taken out of the company's list of accredited establishments, and a dissatisfactory rating will be posted with Purchasing. Do you wish this to apply to the entire chain or just this one?"

"Oh, just this one is fine. Thanks, Alice."

He disconnected from his secretary and gave the shocked delivery guy a look.

"Turns out I don't need delivery."

He turned to his wardrobe lady. "I'd like to pay for my bill now, please." He handed the wardrobe lady his card. Belatedly, he noticed the stillness in the store. "What?"

All the salespeople around him suddenly found things to do, or customers to take care of. His card was run through the system and he waited to get his receipt back. One of the clerks was talking to someone on the phone. By the urgent and nervous manner, he knew that it was about his conversation with Alice.

That clerk came up to him and said she had someone fetch the store manager. After a bit, a lady appeared, apparently the manager, and the clerk told her about the phone conversation he just had with his secretary. She mentioned the "red list."

The manager hurriedly came up to him and introduced herself, asking if there was anything they could help him with.

"Thank you, but no - I've decided to take my business elsewhere."

"What were you looking for, if you don't mind me asking, sir?"

"Oh, some odds and ends - a nice briefcase, a laptop, maybe a tablet, a new phone, and I have to build up my, uh, casual wardrobe... Just a lot of odds and ends. Anyway, I thought you weren't here. I was told you were unavailable." He gave the delivery guy another look. By then that man was looking decidedly ill at ease.

"Oh, no, Mr. Nance, I'm always available for our customers. If you're looking for casual attire, I'm sure Mary-Beth can help you find something." She gestured at "his" wardrobe girl.

"No, thank you."

"Is anything wrong, sir?"

"No, most of your people have been very helpful. I just don't want to continue my shopping here."

"All right, sir." Someone brought Carson's receipt. The manager looked it over, and her eyes momentarily goggled at the total. She handed it over and he signed.

"You know, Mr. Nance, I hope you don't mind me saying, you are one of the best customers the store has had in a long, long while, and that's a big thing given who we are. And we would hate to lose your business."

Carson shrugged. "Too late for that." He handed her his receipt.

When she saw his bill again, she shook her head.

"Anyway," she said, "You're entitled to some complementary gifts and a pre-approved store VIP card." She handed him the little gift bag and card.

He pocketed the card without looking at it, and put the little bag in with his watches.

"Also, you get free delivery. Always a good thing."

Carson laughed. It was more a sarcastic little bark. "No, thank you. Besides, you don't deliver to my place anyway."

"Nonsense! What's the address?"

The delivery guy rushed over to hand her Carson's form.

"Park Avenue? That's not very far. We can get your purchases there within the day... Wait, that address is familiar... Isn't that the Tate Center?"

"Ummm, yes, I work for Tate & Company."

"He's the head lawyer for their legal department," Mary-Beth said. "... I think..."

"Head lawyer...?" the manager said.

"That's my office address. I had to change it to that because your employees said your store doesn't deliver to my home." He pointed to the crossed-out address above it.

The manager paused and read it. "Well! That's not true. We can deliver there."

"No need. I've arranged for my people to pick up my packages. It will be a few hours before they get here, though. Will my purchases be all right if I leave them here for the meantime, or do I have to stay with them? I'm willing to pay, if you don't accommodate that, as well."

"Of course you can leave them, sir, at no charge, until your employees pick them up. But, really, it's no trouble to deliver..."

"Im sorry,” he shrugged apologetically, “but everything's arranged already. Too late to change things." And then he walked out.

-----

He left the store, walked to his BMW, and thought about his first shopping experience as Carson.

The whole thing in the store was exhilarating. Not the buying, although that had been a lot of fun. He was actually thinking of that unpleasant man making a stink. Part of the reason he liked being a lawyer was being able to argue with people like that man, and win. And having laid low for months - he missed that feeling.

Being able to stick it to that bigot felt great. But then, this sort of made things more... real. He was out now. Being a part of the school PTA, or palling around with his new golf cronies - those didn't really count. But Carson Nance was out now - a real person, verifiable by his papers, and now by other people - strangers - in concrete, traceable ways.

In a way, it was a relief. But also sad. Carson Nance was real now, but because of that, William Fayne was gone. He knew he couldn't be both, so he had to be Carson. And today, this just became real for him instead of just a scheme Drew thought up.

He got behind his steering wheel and thought of Drew. She'd had to cope with Andy Fayne being dead for far longer than he'd had to. Her breakdown in the bathroom last weekend was more than understandable now. Right now, he knew he could not take this as well as he was if not for Drew - if Drew could take it, he knew he could, too. He wasn't alone in this.

He shook himself out of this depression spiral and changed his thoughts to what he needed to do next.

He got out of his BMW and decided to walk to the 5th Avenue Apple Store. There, he got himself a new Mac Air and an iPad Mini. He knew that the company would be providing him a phone and a laptop, but Drew warned him that those wouldn't be "safe" because they would most probably be loaded with a lot of security stuff. So the Mac and the iPad he was getting would be his personal stuff, and therefore relatively safe. He also got a bunch of other things like a Blu-ray/DVD drive, a fancy leather valise that could accommodate the Mac and more, a noise cancellation in-ear headphones-and-mic, a handful of 128-gig USB thumbdrives, a couple of sheets of that "privacy" screen protector film that would make his computer screen look blurry except for the person directly in front of it, and a couple of 2TB anti-shock external drives. Too bad there were no SSDs of the same size in stock.

He walked back to the car with his purchases, looked up the next store on his list, drove down 5th through the Washington Square Arch and skirted the park, and then to that store on West Broadway near Grande Street that sold upscale vintage clothes. He again asked the salespeople there to pick him out a nice set of casual "threads" as the lead salesman put it (well, he was in a vintage store after all, so he supposed the salespeople were trying to use vintage lingo as well). He was able to pick out several eighties- and nineties-era things - good stuff that would take the place of the stuff he lost when their old house was blown up. So, if someone should go through his closet in the new house, they'd see these and see that not all his clothes were new.

He also needed contemporary casual stuff as well so he went to this store in Lafayette near Broome Street that was on his list.

Several hours, and several thousand dollars later, he was done. but this time, he was able to fit all the stuff he bought in his car's trunk, backseat and front passenger seat. Though it was unlikely that he would meet another Italophobe again today, he didn't want to risk another delivery "fiasco."

Trying on clothes for the better part of the day took it out of Carson, but he didn't mind. He knew it was in aid of their "master plan" of bringing down those people who killed his brother and his niece, and he needed the expensive duds to fit in at his new job. He could imagine Dave's incredulity at him for spending more than a hundred thousand dollars in one day, but he wasn't as worried as he would have been the year before, to put it mildly, given his new salary was now six figures. And maybe because he was distracted by something else.

Drew had dug up a lot of stuff about the Tate conglomerate, and that was their basis for him trying for a job there. But the little info Carson was able to dig up on his own showed that what happened to his brother was not an anomaly. It was actually just business as usual for his new employers. He could not imagine what else had happened behind the scenes, and who else had had to go through what he and Drew did. No one deserves that. So he vowed that he would stop it no matter what it took. It was what Dave was trying to do, and it was up to him to pick up where his brother left off. With only one caveat, though - that Drew would not be hurt whatever he did.

He debated whether to tell Drew of his decision or not, but he knew how it would play out if he did. So he decided to keep it to himself. Therefore, as far as Drew knew, they were working on getting Dave's and Jane's killers, not his near-suicidal resolve of what amounted to bringing down one of the world's most powerful corporate conglomerates.

But he was just one man. Others would probably say, what made him think he could do it? Who did he think he was? In his mind, he knew how he would respond to that. "Well," he would have responded to any doubters, "true, I am but one man, but I have three things going for me: one - as they say, forewarned is forearmed; two - I have the element of surprise and stealth, two key elements of corporate espionage; and three - my secret weapon - Drew." As he thought this, he laughed. His secret weapon was currently cooking up schemes on how to get into her school's cheerleading team.

As he tried on clothes, he thought of how he could use his secret weapon without putting her in danger, but he didn't come close to any kind of a plan. Yet.

He had a late lunch (or early supper, depending on one's point of view) at the golf/country club, and had a couple of beers with his buds, who seemed to have made the golf course their second home.

At about four, Alice called and said the trucks were now twenty minutes from his house, so he said goodbye to his friends and hurried home.

As he got to his house, the trucks were just arriving. He also saw a black car parked in front. Memories from that day Marie was killed filled him, and he instantly became suspicious until he saw a sticker on the car door. It was from that department store from this morning. Hmmm.

He parked his Beemer in the garage and, as soon as the garage door swung closed, he heard the doorbell.

"Just a second!" he called, and went to the living room. He peeked through the peephole and saw it was the store manager from this morning and the Italophobe head of their delivery department.

He pulled open the drawer of the desk by the door, got the little voice recorder there and put it in his breast pocket.

"Good afternoon," Carson said as he opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nance," the store manager said. "I'm Penny Ford, from this morning."

"Hello again, Ms Ford."

"I'm sure you remember Gordon Ash, my deliveries supervisor."

"How can I forget the delightful Mr. Ash? Would you like to come in?"

The two came in, and Carson's quietly elegant suburb-ish living room had the intended effect. Drew would be pleased.

"You have a wonderful home, Mr. Nance."

"Thank you, Ms Ford." He gestured at the living room sofa. "I'm sorry, our housekeeper..."

"Quite all right, sir."

"My skills may not be up to Marie's standards, but can I get you guys something? I can fix you guys a drink at least."

"Very kind of you."

"Scotch on the rocks all right?"

"Fine, sir."

As he handed them their drinks, the doorbell rang again.

"Those are my delivery staff," Carson said (he deliberately chose those words). "Excuse me, please."

He opened the door.

A man in coveralls with a clipboard was there. "I'm from Amalgamated Freight, Mr. Nance. We picked up a consignment for you. Here's the list Ms. Alice Moss sent us, and a list from someone named Mary-Beth at the department store." He handed Carson the clipboard. "May we bring in the consignment?"

"Of course."

The movers brought in several packing boxes, three shoeboxes and maybe a dozen wardrobe bags. They hung up the bags on a portable wardrobe hanger.

"You brought the hanger?"

"Yes, sir. Ms Moss made sure we had one for the truck. We can leave it here for the meantime and pick it up later."

Carson went through the items on the hanger, opened the boxes on the mover's insistence, and went through their contents as well.

"Yep, everything's here," he said, and signed the form.

"Thank you, sir," the mover said, and gave Carson his copy.

"Would you and your men like a drink or something?"

He smiled. "Thank you, sir, but we are not allowed."

"Oh. Well, thanks for the help. I appreciate it." Carson shook the man's hand and saw him to the door.

He went back to the living room and sat down. He noticed the store manager unobtrusively reach into her purse, but she didn't pull anything out. He thought as much. He surreptitiously switched on his voice recorder as well.

"Sorry," he said, and reached for his drink. "A hundred and twenty thousand dollars of merchandise takes a while to check. I apologize for making you wait."

"I thought it was..." the delivery guy said.

"I also bought a couple of watches and some fancy pens as well."

"Oh..."

"Mr. Carson," Penny Ford said. "I cannot apologize enough for the misunderstanding earlier."

"No need, Ms Ford," Carson said. "It's just a delivery thing. What your guy said was pretty clear: I couldn't get my stuff delivered. So I made other arrangements. No big deal."

"Please do call me Penny. Mr. Nance, it is policy to try and provide what our customers need, and it is policy to provide delivery if the customer needs it. In fact, if he purchased more than a thousand dollars, there is no charge for delivery."

"Well, then, with my purchases, -"

"A hundred twenty thousand..." the delivery guy said, shaking his head.

"Mr....?"

"Gordon Ash..."

"Thank you, Mr. Ash. I'm sorry. You did not deign to give me your name before. Anyway, I guess my purchases make me more than qualified for delivery, But then again, it's too bad I live in Staten Island - the most déclassé of New York's five boroughs."

"Déclassé?" Ash asked.

"You know - déclassé? Common, humble, ignoble, lowly, mean, plebeian, unwashed, vulgar - you know? Déclassé."

"I never meant that, -"

"Then what did you mean?"

"Mr. Nance," Penny interrupted, "we don't know who told you that we don't deliver to Richmond County. In fact, we do deliver anywh..."

"Mr. Ash told me."

Penny paused. "Ummm. Well, Mr. Ash was mistaken. Perhaps you could have called me and I could have, -"

"Mr. Ash said you were unavailable."

Penny could not respond to that.

Carson sighed. "Anyway, I did find a lot of good stuff in your place. And your other staff were most helpful."

"I hope, Mr. Nance, we won't lose your patronage over this misunderstanding..."

"I think that ship has pretty much sailed, Ms. Ford."

"I don't get it," Ash exclaimed. "Why's your nose so bent out of shape! You're not even a wop..."

"I'm not a what!"

"Sorry, I meant..."

"Mr. Nance..." Penny interrupted.

Carson turned to Ash.

"What do you mean, 'I'm not a wop?'"

"I, ummm, I meant that, -"

"That I'm not a wop? I'm not a goombah? A greaseball, a dago, a ginzo, a wog..."

"I meant..."

"... a guido, a guinea pig, a meatball, a mario, a pizza nigger..."

"All right!" Ash exclaimed. After a while, he continued. "All I meant was that you weren't Italian..."

"Yes, I'm not Italian! So what?"

"Ummm..."

Carson turned to Penny.

"Penny, in this day and age, prejudice and bigotry are considered outré, or at the very least unfashionable. And Italophobia? Why couldn't it be something more current, like homophobia?"

The two couldn't respond.

"By the way, I'm not a homosexual. I am also not catholic, nor Jewish as well. I am sorry if that disappoints Mr. Ash. I will also tell my friends at Tate & Company about it, and that in the extremely unlikely event that they should mistakenly wander into your store, although there is virtually no danger of that since you are now on our Red List - I will tell them they should ask about delivery first - if you can deliver to their homes, and they should tell you of their ethnicity and religious affiliation ahead of time, and perhaps their sexual orientation as well, just to be on the safe side."

Penny looked at Carson with resignation.

"Well," she sighed. "I guess there's really nothing more to say." She reached into her bag again.

"Turning off your tape recorder?"

She looked at him, incredulous! "How did..."

"I saw you reach in your bag earlier to switch it on."

She sighed again.

"When you start spreading that recording around," Carson said, "you will note that I did not say anything that may be incriminating, tone aside. By the way, my tone can be construed as justifiable being I was denied something I was entitled to given your store policy. And if you think I cannot subpoena witnesses to that... 'misunderstanding' this morning, or subpoena your books on store policies, you're badly mistaken."

He turned to Ash. "I'm a lawyer. I am, in fact, a very, very good lawyer - something you should consider."

He turned back to Penny. "Ms Ford, I am not saying that you will, but if you should consider trying to doctor that recording, or taking the conversation out of context, please know that I have my own recording." He showed her his own recorder. "And if you feel that it is... inappropriate for me to be recording our conversation, then I suggest you think about your own actions. Bring in your lawyers if you feel you need to, but this case is clear cut, as I am sure they will tell you. And besides, there really is nothing to sue about. All that happened was that your store lost some good customers."

He smiled sweetly. "Like I said, I am a very good lawyer."

"Yes, you are," she smiled. "And cute, too."

Carson raised an eyebrow at that.

"Mr. Nance, thank you for your time. Once again, we apologize for the misunderstanding, and please do contact me if we can ever do anything for you in the future." She took out a card, scribbled something on it and handed it over.

"That's my number. Please call me anytime. My home number's on the back if you need to contact me and I am unreachable from my office phone."

She handed him a small package. "Here's something we wanted you to have, as a small token of our appreciation for your business, and..." She fished inside her purse, took out her recorder and handed it over as well.

"Here's my recording as well."

"Ummm..."

She shook his hand.

"We'll show ourselves out. Apologies for bothering you on your day off."

And, with that, they left.

"Aha..." Carson said, to no one in particular.