Theo flipped down the sun visor and checked his reflection. He seemed utterly fascinated with the fact that Jack’s rental car had a light-up mirror that worked. “Why don’t we ask God what he thinks?”

“What?” said Jack as he started the car.

“It’s a special offer, limited time only. The last guy to get a chance like this totally blew it, so don’t you screw up. God has decided to let you ask Him just one question. What’s it going to be?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you want to ask Him something like, ‘Did Jessie know you weren’t the father when she filled out that birth certificate, or didn’t she?’ ”

“I don’t like this game.”

“Then think of something else to ask. Come on. What’s your one question?”

“Okay. How about, Why did my mother have to die?”

Theo made a face, as if he’d just sucked lemons. “Shee-it, man. You’re such a fucking downer sometimes, you know that, Swyteck?”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Yeah, but-damn. A few more people like you in the world, poor God’s gonna end up on Prozac.”

“Okay, smart ass. What would your one question be?”

“Whattaya havin’?”

“Huh?”

“Whattaya havin’? As in to drink, moron. That’s what I’d ask Him.”

“God gives you one question, and all you want to know is what He’d like to drink?”

“Isn’t that the way all great conversations get started?”

Jack shook his head and backed the car out of the parking spot.

Theo looked at him and said, “So, Jack: Whattaya havin’?”

Jack hit the brake, then shifted in to gear. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“True, true. It’s getting late. But if we start with tequila for lunch, we could easily be talking to God by dinnertime. With any luck, you could have an answer to that one question before sunset.”

Jack shot him a bemused expression. “You’re a sick man, Theo.”

Theo checked the light-up mirror one more time, smiling at himself as Jack drove out of the parking lot. “Yeah. I am, ain’t I?”

August 2004 marks the tenth anniversary of the publication of my first novel, The Pardon. I’m old school, and I think relationships matter. So, nine novels later I feel lucky to say that they were all published by the same publisher (HarperCollins), represented by the same agents (Richard Pine and, now in spirit, Artie Pine), and shaped by editors I like and respect (the last seven by Carolyn Marino, who adopted this orphan).

Even more important, 2004 marks the tenth anniversary of marriage to a woman who was willing to take a ride with a lawyer who wanted to be a writer. I probably never would have had the guts to quit my day job, so thank God that the love of my life turned out to be an English literature major who simply said “Go for it, honey.” So I did. And so did you, Tiff. I’d say “All’s well that ends well,” but this will never end.

I’m also grateful to many others who answered my cries for help in writing and researching Hear No Evil, including the American Speech Language Hearing Association; the Cuban-American National Federation; Carlos Sires (interviews and translation); Steve Sawatzky (Mustang expert); Tito at Galiano’s Market (Cuban food); Dr. Gloria M. Grippando and Eleanor Rayner (manuscript comments); and Michelle Starke, M.D. (obstetrics). Others prefer to remain anonymous, but I’m equally grateful to them.

In support of a good cause, I’ve named a character in Hear No Evil after Janis Wackenhut, the winner of a fund-raising auction for the Gold-Diggers, Inc. The Gold-Diggers is a nonprofit organization that has raised over one million dollars for the benefit of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of America, Inc., Southern Florida Chapter, and the Food for Life Network. It’s a beautiful thing when the arts can feed the hungry and fight disease.

JAMES GRIPPANDO is the bestselling author of eight novels-Last to Die, Beyond Suspicion, A King’s Ransom, Under Cover of Darkness, Found Money, The Abduction, The Informant, and The Pardon-which are enjoyed worldwide in nineteen languages. He lives in Florida, where he was a trial lawyer for twelve years. Visit his Web site at www.jamesgrippando.com.