Carlton remained in his hotel suite nursing his injuries, and cursing his luck. He prayed the call to Bernie Bonducci would relieve him of all his problems; he had no intention of paying Reg Devers for the rest of his days. The fact that Julie had gone home and not called gave his conscious some vindication. There would be no more meetings for them at the Dunbar.

When he saw the TV news about the mystery 911 call and the mention of Karen Winsett, and then a report on the shooting of the Howden Hotel bartender, Carleton felt his stomach drop. He saw Bonducci's fingerprints all over both items. He wondered briefly about Julie.

During his earlier investigations he had learned that Cynthia's private eye was a denizen of the Howden and that the bartender and he were close friends. He needed to see Cynthia for a hard talk about what she planned to do with the trust. He hurried out of the hotel room and down to his car; the drive to Cynthia's was a slow, trembling experience.

When he met the emissary from Bernie in the parking garage of her condo, and was held against the side of his car by an immovable hand while his face was compared to a photo held in the other hand, he gave up Jill's name the instant the man asked for information.

Broken ribs and nose were enough personal damage to accept without what might have been a thorough drubbing from the strange Goliath. Jill had first provided information about Wallace to Lawrence, and so she was his first sacrifice. He gasped for air as the man left, and then staggered from the garage to the elevators.

●○●○●○●○●

Jill made her way down the street from the Broadway Club, happy to be finished for the night. She just wanted to get home, strip and settle into her tub with a glass of wine and some soothing music. The evening had arrived with a cool breeze and litter fluttered out of the lane alongside one of the office buildings as she passed by.

A horn honked and instinctively she glanced around, seeing the dark automobile glide up to the curb and keep pace with her. She bent down and tried to see inside but the tinted windows showed nothing but her own reflection.

As she came to the corner the car sped up and blocked her way. The door opened and the barrel of a gun glinted dully in the glow from the street light. Without a word, Jill stepped into the car, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, and when she saw the driver she nearly fainted.

"I am not intend to frighten you with gun." The voice filled the car like a drum roll. "It was just to have you join me without fuss. You tell me how to find Christopher Wallace."

"W- Who?"

"The detective you meet in coffee shop."

Jill frowned and then sat up. "The P.I.?"

"Yes, him."

"I don't know where he is. Why ask me?"

Zeet pulled the car to the curb and shut off the engine. "You tell Lawrence Bravo about him, now you tell me."

"But I just said that I'd met him, I don't know where—" A huge hand rested on her thigh and Jill thought it was an anvil. "Rory Smith at the Howden, he asked me to meet with him. He knows where he lives."

Zeet turned and stared out the window thoughtfully. He already knew where Wallace lived. He knew where he worked. He knew that the three people he'd visited so far only when combined had all that knowledge. Rory Smith was the bartender in hospital; Bernie had made him deliver flowers. The lawyer said that Lawrence Bravo found out about Wallace from this woman. He turned back to Jill. "Where is Lawrence Bravo?"

"Who?"

The hand seemed to increase in weight and Jill thought her leg would be severed. "I don't know a Lawrence Bra—" A light suddenly went on and she blurted out the only Bravo information she had - the licence plate, Bravo 2. Zeet nodded with a sigh and removed his hand. Her leg actually began to rise from the tension on the muscle and she pushed it down, reaching for the door handle.

"Can- can I go?"

"I will drop you at address. Give to me."

She did and Zeet was good to his word.

●○●○●○●○●

The tracing of the licence and the visit to Lawrence's home, delayed by refusal of admittance, and the tearing down of the front gate, netted Zeet little more than the telephone number of the Howden Hotel, and by now he was building a mood of quiet frustration.

Lawrence sat rigidly in the side chair next to his office desk, every nerve playing a different, excruciating tune on his system. The intruder loomed menacingly in front of him, ten-pin fists opening and closing with each inhale and exhale from the barrel chest.

"I am tired from running around." Lawrence just stared. "You give to me something I don't know, or I give to you something you don't want to know."

Lawrence held up his hands and pleaded in a helpless voice that he didn't know anything, and when the huge fist cocked, he squealed out his father's name. Better he give this beast something - anything.

"My father! He probably knows because my daughter hired the detective in the first place and she's my father's favourite... person..." The words trailed off as Zeet straightened up, lifting Lawrence from the chair easily in one hand.

"Address." A second later he was leaving and Lawrence rushed through the house to the bathroom.

●○●○●○●○●

The half hour wait yielded nothing but an unanswered ring and the finger of fear I'd felt earlier grew to an entire hand, pressing hard on my heart. I left the little booth and started back up the road to Ellington's. The car motor was so quiet I barely heard it and jumped as it glided to a slow crawl beside me.

The face that looked out at me gave me an instant flash of all the movie tough guys rolled into one. I stopped, as did the car, and waited.

"I look for this address," Zeet handed a slip of paper out the window. It looked like a postage stamp in the large hand.

"Oh that's..." I suddenly felt my throat close. This could only be one of Bernie's goons. "I pretended to study the paper and scratch my chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Maybe you passed it already." I handed it back, keeping all my fingers clear of the driver's hand. "Sorry." I smiled and continued walking, hoping the man wouldn't follow because I didn't have a clue as to where else to go on this road.

Zeet looked at the paper and then in the mirror and then at the man walking down the road ahead of him. A man walking in this district could only be someone who lives here, he thought, and if that's true he would know this address. He put the car in gear and stepped on the gas.