OU SUFFERN ALWAYS HAD TWO places to be at one time. When asleep, he dreamed. In between dreams, he ran through the events of the previous day while making plans for the next, so when he was awakened by his alarm at six a.m. every day, he never felt very rested. When in the shower, he rehearsed presentations, often while responding, one hand outside the shower curtain, to e-mails on his BlackBerry. While eating breakfast he read the newspaper, and when being told rambling stories by his five-year-old daughter, he listened to the morning news. When his thirteen-month-old son demonstrated a new skill each day, Lou’s face displayed interest, his mind feeling the exact opposite. When kissing his wife good-bye, he was usually thinking of someone else altogether.

Every action, movement, appointment, doing, or thought of any kind was layered by another. Driving to work was also a conference call by speakerphone. Breakfasts ran into lunches, lunches into pre-dinner drinks, drinks into dinners, dinners into after-dinner drinks, after-dinner drinks into…well, that depended on how lucky he got. On those lucky nights when he felt himself appreciating his luck and the company of another, he, of course, would convince those who wouldn’t share his appreciation—namely his wife—that he was in another place. To them, he was stuck in a meeting or at an airport, finishing up some important paperwork, or buried in the maddening traffic. Two places, quite magically, at once.

Everything overlapped, and he was always moving, always had someplace else to be, always wished that he was elsewhere, or that, thanks to some divine intervention, he could be in both places at the same time. He spent as little time as possible with each person during his day, but always left them feeling that it was enough. He wasn’t a tardy man; he was precise, always on time. In his personal life he may have been a broken pocket watch, but in business he was a master timekeeper. He strove for perfection and possessed boundless energy in his quest for success. However, it was these bounds—so eager to attain his ever-growing list of desires, so full of ambition to reach new dizzying heights—that caused him to soar above the heads of the people who mattered most in life. Nothing, and no one, could lift him higher than a new deal at work.

On one particularly cold Tuesday morning, along the continuously developing dockland of Dublin city, Lou’s black leather shoes, polished to perfection, strolled confidently across the sight line of one particular man. This man watched the shoes in movement that morning, as he had yesterday and as, he assumed, he would tomorrow. There was no best foot forward for this man; for both feet were equal in their abilities. Each stride was equal in length, the heel-to-toe combination so precise; his shoes always pointing forward, heels striking first and then pushing off from the big toe, flexing at the ankle. Perfect each time. The footsteps rhythmic, almost magical as they hit the pavement. There was no rushing or heavy pounding with this man, as was the case with the seemingly decapitated others who raced by at this hour, their heads still back at home on their pillows. No, his shoes made a tapping sound as intrusive and unwelcome as the patter of raindrops against a windowpane, the hem of his trousers flapping slightly like a flag in a light breeze on the eighteenth hole.

The watcher half expected the slabs of pavement to light up as the man stepped on each one, and for him to break out into a tap dance about how swell and dandy the day was turning out to be. And as the watcher was soon to find out, a swell and dandy day it was most certainly going to be.

Usually these shiny black shoes beneath the impeccable black suit would float stylishly by the watcher, through the revolving doors, and into the grand marble entrance of this latest modern glass building to be squeezed through the cracks of the quays and launched up into the Dublin sky. But this morning the shoes stopped directly before the watcher. And then they turned, making a gravelly noise as they pivoted on the cold concrete. The watcher had no choice but to lift his gaze from the shoes.

“Here you go,” Lou said, handing him a coffee. “It’s an Americano; hope you don’t mind, they were having problems with the machine, so they couldn’t make a latte.”

“Take it back then,” the watcher said, turning his nose up at the cup of steaming coffee being offered to him.

This was greeted by a stunned silence.

“Only joking.” The watcher laughed at the man’s startled look, and very quickly—in case the joke was unappreciated and the gesture was rethought and withdrawn—reached for the cup and cradled it with his numb fingers. “Do I look like I care about steamed milk?” The watcher grinned, before his expression changed to a look of pure ecstasy. “Mmmm.” He pushed his nose up against the rim of the cup to smell the coffee. He closed his eyes and savored it, not wanting the sense of sight to take away from this divine smell. The cardboard cup was so hot, or his hands so cold, that the liquid burned right through to his fingers, sending torpedoes of heat and shivers through his body. He hadn’t known how cold he was until he’d felt this heat.

“Thanks very much indeed,” he said to the man.

“No problem. I heard on the radio that today’s going to be the coldest day of the year.” The shiny shoes stamped the concrete slabs, and the man’s leather gloves rubbed together as proof of his word.

“Well, I’d believe them, all right. Never mind the brass monkeys, it’s cold enough to freeze my own balls off. But this will help.” The watcher blew on the drink slightly, preparing to take his first sip.

“There’s no sugar in it,” Lou apologized.

“Ah, well then.” The watcher rolled his eyes and quickly pulled the cup away from his lips. “I can let you off for the steamed milk, but forgetting to add sugar is a step too far.” He offered it back to Lou.

Getting the joke this time, Lou laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the point.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, isn’t that what they say? Though is that to say choosers can be beggars?” The watcher raised an eyebrow and smiled and finally took his first sip. So engrossed in the sensation of heat and caffeine traveling through his cold body, he hadn’t noticed that suddenly he, the watcher, became the watched.

“Oh. I’m Gabe.” He stuck out his hand. “Gabriel, but everyone who knows me calls me Gabe.”

Lou reached down and shook his hand. Warm leather to cold skin. “I’m Lou, but everyone who knows me calls me a prick.”

Gabe laughed. “Well, that’s honesty for you. How’s about I call you Lou until I get to know you better.”

They smiled at each other and then were quiet in the sudden awkwardness. Two little boys trying to make friends in a school yard. The shiny shoes began to fidget slightly, tip-tap, tap-tip, Lou’s side-to-side steps a combination of trying to keep warm and trying to figure out whether to leave or stay.

“Busy this morning, isn’t it?” Gabe said easily.

“Christmas is only a few weeks away, always a hectic time,” Lou agreed.

“The more people around, the better it is for me,” Gabe said as a twenty-cent went flying into his cup on the ground. “Thank you,” he called to the lady who’d barely paused to drop the coin. From her body language one would almost think it had fallen through a hole in her pocket rather than being an intended gift. He looked up at Lou with big eyes and an even bigger grin. “See? Coffee’s on me tomorrow.” He chuckled.

Lou tried to lean over as inconspicuously as possible to steal a look at the contents of the cup. The twenty-cent piece sat alone at the bottom.

“Oh, don’t worry. I empty it now and then. Don’t want people thinking I’m doing too well for myself.” He laughed. “You know how it is.”

Lou agreed, but at the same time he didn’t.

“Can’t have people knowing I own the penthouse right across the water,” Gabe added, nodding across the river.

Lou turned around and gazed across the river Liffey at Dublin quay’s newest skyscraper. With its mirrored glass it was almost as if the building was the Looking Glass of Dublin city center. From the re-created Viking longship that was moored along the quays to the many cranes and new corporate and commercial buildings that framed the Liffey to the stormy, cloud-filled sky that surrounded the higher floors, the building captured it all and reflected it back to the city like a giant plasma screen. At night the building was illuminated in blue and was the talk of the town, or at least it had been in the months following its launch. The next best thing never lasted for too long, as he knew well.

“I was only joking about owning the penthouse, you know,” Gabe said, seeming concerned that his humor was a little off today.

“You like that building?” Lou asked, still staring at it in a trance.

“That’s one of the main reasons I sit here. That, and because it’s busy right along here, of course. A view alone won’t buy me my dinner.”

“We built that,” Lou said, finally turning back around to face his new acquaintance.

“Really?” Gabe took him in a bit more. Mid to late thirties, dapper suit, his face cleanly shaven, smooth as a baby’s behind, his dark groomed hair with even speckles of gray throughout, as though someone had taken a saltshaker to it. Lou reminded Gabe of an old-style movie star, emanating suaveness and sophistication, all packaged in a full-length black cashmere coat.

“I bet it bought you dinner.” Gabe laughed, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy at that moment, which bothered him, since he hadn’t known any amount of jealousy until now. Since meeting Lou he’d learned two things that were of no help, and there he was, all of a sudden cold and envious, when previously he had been warm and content. Bearing that in mind, and despite always being happy with his own company, he foresaw that as soon as he and this gentleman were to part ways, he would experience a loneliness he had never been previously aware of. He would then be envious, cold, and lonely. The perfect ingredients for a nice homemade bitter pie.

In fact, the building had bought Lou more than dinner. It had gotten the company a few awards, and, for him personally, a house in Howth and an upgrade from his present Porsche to the new model—the latter arriving right after Christmas, to be precise, but Lou knew not to announce that to the man sitting on the freezing cold pavement, swaddled in a flea-infested blanket. Instead, Lou smiled politely and flashed his porcelain veneers, as usual doing two things at once. Thinking one thing and saying another.

“Well, I’d better get to work. I just work—”

“Next door, I know. I recognize the shoes.” Gabe smiled. “Though you didn’t wear those yesterday. Tan leather, if I’m correct.”

Lou’s neatly tweezed eyebrows went up a notch. Like a pebble dropped in a pool, they caused a series of ripples to rise on his as-yet-un-Botoxed forehead.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.” Gabe allowed one hand to unwrap itself from the hot cup so he could hold it up in defense. “If anything, you people keep turning up at my place.”

“Incredible.” Lou laughed, self-consciously looking down at his shoes. “I’ve never noticed you here before,” he thought aloud.

“All day, every day,” Gabe said, with false perkiness in his voice.

“Sorry…” Lou shook his head. “I’m always running around the place, on the phone with someone or late for someone else. Always two places to be at the same time, my wife says. Sometimes I wish I could be cloned, I get so busy.” He laughed again.

Gabe gave him a curious smile, then nodded toward Lou’s feet. “Almost don’t recognize them standing still. No fire inside today?”

Lou laughed once more. “Always a fire inside there, believe you me.” He made a swift movement with his arm, and, like the unveiling of a masterpiece, his coat sleeve slipped up just far enough to reveal his gold Rolex. “I’m always the first director into the office, so there’s no great rush.” He observed the time with great concentration, and in his head he was already leading his first meeting of the day.

“You’re not the first in this morning,” Gabe said.

“What?” The meeting in Lou’s head was interrupted, and he was back on the street again, outside his office, the cold Atlantic wind whipping at their faces.

Gabe scrunched his eyes shut tight. “Brown loafers. I’ve seen you walk in with him a few times. He’s in already.”

“Brown loafers?” Lou laughed, first confused, next impressed, and then quickly concerned as to who had made it to the office before him.

“You know him—a pretentious walk. The little suede tassels kick with every step, like a mini cancan. It’s like he throws them up there purposely. They’ve got soft soles, but they’re heavy on the ground. Small wide feet, and he walks on the outsides. Soles are always worn away on the outside.”

Lou’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“On Saturdays he wears shoes like he’s just stepped off a yacht.”

“Alfred!” Lou said, recognizing the description. “That’s because he probably has just stepped off his ya—” But then he stopped himself. “He’s in already?”

“About a half hour ago. In a kind of a rush, by the looks of it, accompanied by another pair of black slip-ons.”

“Black slip-ons?”

“Black shoes. Male shoes. A little shine but no design. Simple and to the point. Can’t say much else about them apart from the fact they move slower than the other shoes.”

“You’re very observant.” Lou examined him, wondering who this man had been in his previous life, before landing here on the street. At the same time, his mind was on overdrive, trying to figure out who these people were. Alfred showing up to work so early had him nervous, an emotion that was rare for Lou.

Recently, a colleague of theirs—Cliff—had suffered a nervous breakdown, and this had left them excited—yes, excited—about the opening up of a new position. Providing Cliff didn’t get better, which Lou secretly hoped for, major shifts were about to take place in the company, and any unusual behavior by Alfred was questionable. In fact, for Lou, any of Alfred’s behavior at any stage was questionable.

Gabe winked. “Don’t happen to need an observant person in there for anything, do you?”

Lou parted his gloved hands. “Sorry.”

“No problem, you know where I am if you need me. I’m the fella in the Doc Martens.” He lifted his blanket to reveal his high black boots.

“I wonder why they’re in so early.” Lou looked at Gabe as though he could provide the answer.

“Can’t help you out there, I’m afraid, but they had lunch last week. Or at least they left the building at what’s considered the average joe’s lunchtime, and then came back together when that time was over. What they did in between is just a matter of clever guesswork.” He chuckled.

“What day was that lunch?”

Gabe closed his eyes again. “Friday, I’d say. He’s your rival, is he, brown loafers?”

“No, he’s my friend. Kind of. More of an acquaintance, really.” On hearing the news of this lunch, Lou, for the first time, showed signs of being rattled. “He’s my colleague, but with Cliff having a breakdown it’s a great opportunity for either of us to, well, you know…”

“Steal your sick friend’s job,” Gabe finished for him with a smile. “Sweet. The slow-moving shoes? The black ones?” Gabe continued. “They left the office the other night with a pair of Louboutins.”

“Lou…Loub—what are they?”

“Identifiable by their lacquered red sole. These particular ones had one-hundred-and-twenty-millimeter heels.”

“Millimeters?” Lou questioned. Then, “Red sole, okay.” He nodded, absorbing it all.

“You could always just ask your friend-slash-acquaintance-slash-colleague-slash-rival who he was meeting,” Gabe suggested, with a glint in his eye.

Lou didn’t respond directly to that. “Right, I’d better run. Things to see, people to do, and both at the same time, would you believe?” He winked. “Thanks for your help, Gabe.” He slipped a ten-euro note into Gabe’s cup.

“Cheers, man,” Gabe beamed, immediately grabbing the bill from the cup and tucking it into his pocket. He tapped it with his finger. “Can’t let everyone know, remember?”

“Right,” Lou agreed.

But, at the exact same time, he didn’t agree at all.