Charles laughed a cold laugh. “Do you honestly think I’d go to jail because of that little tramp? Rest assured my revenge, such as it is, won’t ever take that path, or be allowed to get out of hand.” As he slid off the bar stool he clamped a hand over his friend’s shoulder, partly to support his own leaden legs and partly in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry about me, Rico. I’ll survive. What are you doing tomorrow?”

      “Tomorrow? I’m—er—going to the races.”

      Charles frowned. “But none of our horses are running, are they? They’re all out on spells till the spring.” Charles and Rico usually only went to the races when they had a runner.