As detectives Miller and Beluga are leaving the pizza house, a tall, gray-haired man of sixty, dressed in brown suit, white shirt, brown tie, brown socks and brown shoes, climbs out of a black limousine, nods thanks to the chauffeur and trots up six steps to the foyer of Metro City's Hottenstadler Hotel. He gestures hello to the uniformed door attendant and enters the lounge, intent on using the elevator. A discreet call from a blond female receptionist stops him. "There is a message for you, Mr Abrizzi."

     His Gucci shoes stride over thick carpet to the cream and blue veined marble counter. The receptionist, with Jonie showing on a coat lapel badge, turns to the mailbox behind her and extracts an envelope marked with his name. He accepts the envelope, slides a manicured fingernail under the flap, breaks the seal and withdraws a single sheet of paper. It is unsigned and reads:

                                                SEE LEPTON.

     Abrizzi, not understanding the message, smiles at the receptionist, knowing he has met her before, but cannot recall where. She is in her middle twenties, sleek, attractive, with no rings on her fingers. "Thank you, Miss...?

     "Miss Jensen, sir."

     Her full name does not stir his memory. He asks are there any other messages.

     "Yes, sir, Mr Bernard Lepton is waiting for you in room thirty-five, second floor."

     Angelo Abrizzi does not smile at this news for Lepton is a high rank Mob leader who does not deal with ordinary day-to-day problems. Abrizzi thanks Miss Jensen and uses the elevator. He knocks on the door of room thirty-five. It is opened by a Spanish cohort who frisks Abrizzi then escorts him to a lounge where two men are seated. Both are wearing dark suits, have gelled hair, are in their middle forties and look brothers, although they are unrelated. The room is heavy with cigar fumes.

     Bernard Lepton, of Italian origin, points Abrizzi to a chair. "Have a good flight, Angie?"

     "Yes, Mr Lepton."

     "Good." Lepton waves Alonzo away.

     Abrizzi is uncomfortable. A meeting with Lepton means risk. Lepton, true name Lepatoni, lights a cigar and puffs blue smoke at the ceiling. "We are having problems with a former friend of yours. I believe you are familiar with Maxine Hayes?"

     "I sure am, Mr Lepton. I started her place from scratch."

     "And you know her well."

     "I do - or I did."

     Lepton nods. "She is one awkward bitch who is holding an asset that we want. We own real estate on Fifth and Lime, but we do not own Maxine's Bar or Ed's Eatery. We need those properties. We prefer buying them instead of bumping off the owners, and so we have made offers, but both owners have said 'no'."

     "You could offer Maxine more, Mr Lepton."

     "We have done that already and she has turned us down. That is not a smart thing to do, so we turn the screw by sending in young Leo Petrofski, telling him to rough her up. You know, get her round to our way of thinking. Then we send in a hit man to bump off young Leo - strictly to make her think again."

     Lepton smiles without humor. "Maxine ignores this warning. We telephone her after the shooting and make her another offer. And you know what? She tells us to piss off - and she hangs up!" Lepton nips off the end of the burning cigar and allows it to burn his palm. He crushes the cigar remains, coughs into a handkerchief and stares with dark brown eyes at Abrizzi. "Nobody, but nobody tells us to piss off, Angie." Abrizzi feels tingling sensations down his spine. Lepton smiles. "I see you've gone white. That's hard to do when you have a deep California sun tan. Maybe the name Leo Petrofski does things for you?"

     "Yes, it does, he was a distant cousin of mine."

     Lepton grins at his companion then his eyes swing back to Abrizzi. "He's sure distant now. I'll explain why we gunned him. We put him on small jobs, mainly collecting numbers and slot machine money. He collects for us eighty-five thousand bucks a week, but on the side, he pockets for himself five grand - has been doing that for months. We do not like that. That is not how we work. If we cannot trust an employee - then we rub 'em out. Leo upsets our system. Our financial accounts do not add up. Worse, he upsets our board of directors. I answer to that board. They scream if we are one cent down. They read me the 'get wise' act. And they tell me to get rid of Leo, and to check on his cousin - you."

     After another cough into the handkerchief, Lepton lights another cigar, blows more smoke and glances to his companion, who nods. Lepton continues. "Leo is dust now, Angie, but what do we do with you? We already pull you from the west coast because the Fraud Squad is on your ass. The Board tells me this: use Angie to help us take over Fifth and Lime. If we succeed, give Angie a bonus. If we fail, then you, Angie, get a one-way ticket to Dreamland." Abrizzi gulps. Lepton nods. "However, there are two reasons why we give you chance to redeem yourself."

     Abrizzi feels his own silk tie tightening about his throat. "What are they, Mr Lepton?"

     "First, there are other parts of the city we wish to purchase. You can help us by combining with our connections on the City Council. It's simple: we knock down what we don't want and we replace it with what we do want. In five years, we will own Metro City. Then second," Lepton glances to his companion; receives another nod, comes back to Abrizzi," we have a problem with the owner of the Applebank Hotel. Are you familiar with that one?"

     "I'm familiar with the hotel name, but not with the owner."

     "But you do know the manager."

     "I do?"

     "Yeah, it's Jean Beluga."

     Abrizzi nods. "I know her. She used Maxine's bar in the old days."

     "And she attended with that fathead cop husband of hers, Harry Beluga?"

     "That's right."

     Lepton hitches himself forward. "This Beluga cop turns up at Maxine's to investigate the Leo killing. Our connection tells us Beluga replaces two cops called Flanagan and Maybrook, because these goons put themselves into hospital beds by driving flat out into the Mazola Restaurant. We do not like this, because the Mazola is our property. We spend zillions making this place a swell eatery and we get two cops torpedoing the joint! We ask ourselves - is there no law and order in this fucking city? We also ask ourselves why Beluga is taking on the Maxine killing."

     The cigar tip is sagging to a deep red, Lepton draws until the tip is glowing, then says, "This Beluga rushed you outa Metro City years back, and he's here again. But he's slipped up. We give Leo a card tying him in with the Cedar Hotel. We hope the city cops will visit that dump. They do - or at least Beluga does. He finds our field man, who is clean. We know this because we give him a false name and a spurious background. Our man telephones us saying Beluga has fallen for our plan so now we have another insight in police work. Our man is Benny Thompson."

     "We should be careful with Beluga," says Abrizzi. "That bastard has eyes in his ass. He knows I am in town: he'll come looking for me."

     "No problem," says Lepton, settling back on the sofa. "We have Jean Beluga to work on. If necessary, she, and this cop husband of hers will be bumped." Lepton draws again on the cigar and blows smoke at Abrizzi. "We know that killing a cop is trouble, but we will do what is necessary. Oh, and one more thing - we find there is leakage in our set-up. On the west coast the cops know what we are doing before we do, so we sent the people we suspect to Met City, and what happens? We have leakage here! That can only come from an insider opening their big mouth."

     "Must be the same person," says Abrizzi.

     Lepton nods. "That's right. Six weeks before we bring you back, we ship across three personnel of whom we are not sure. The names are written on this letter." Lepton drops a sealed envelope on Abrizzi's lap. "After you leave here, open it, act personally to trace the leak. Contact us when you are sure. Then we take action. If it all pans out, then you get off the hook and the Board thanks me for a job well done."



Abrizzi leaves the meeting feeling on edge. He has the letter in his coat pocket and determines to study it later. He needs to unwind. The flight from California has tired him. The Mob can wait - Angelo Abrizzi is on the prowl for female company. He goes back to Jonie Jensen at Reception and asks would she care for dinner early tonight at the Casa Lopez Restaurant. They do a beautiful Vera Cruz shrimp, sauteed in tomato sauce. She will love it there; leather chairs; fresh flowers; high-class service, and a bottle of Dom Perignon accompanies the meal. Is she interested?

     Joan Jensen, unattached, has a lovely body and is not averse to using it to get what she wants. She smiles, showing gleaming white teeth. "I'm delighted to accept, Mr Abrizzi. I finish at six o'clock. I can tidy myself in the Ladies Room."

     "Pick you up at six-thirty, then?"

     "That will be fine, thank you."

     Abrizzi retires to a room set aside for him. He telephones the Casa Lopez Restaurant and orders dinner for two at seven o'clock, including two dozen red roses and a bottle of Dom Perignon for table twenty-six.



Beluga and Sandy Miller return to the Cavalier after lunch and as they get in, the radio crackles and a voice says, "Message for you, Harry. Been calling you ten minutes."

     Beluga presses a button. "Okay, go ahead."

     "An unknown caller suggests you visit the Base Hit Jazz House on Craven Street. Says you could find something on the Maxine job."

     Beluga says okay, fires the engine, and merges into traffic.

     "You know this place, Harry?"

     "Yeah, it's a dive run by a bonehead called Mike Rand. It's a basement clip joint where bad musicians play loud. You will love it."

     Beluga finds room to park the Cavalier and tells Miller to leave the talking to him. They get out to the sidewalk and Beluga leads Miller down an ill-lighted wooden staircase loaded with cobwebs and dust. Somebody is blowing a mean saxophone. They stop at an entrance where, to their left, sits a skinny old woman behind a table, holding a ticket roll and a tin money box

     "How much?" asks Beluga.

     "Ten bucks each," she says, as the sax player bends notes around three squealing octaves.

     "Ten bucks each!" says Beluga. "Hey, I want to visit this dump, not buy it."

     Her thin lips twist in a sneer. "Twenty bucks big shot. Take it or leave it."

     "We ain't paying ten bucks each."

     "Okay - then beat it."

     "How about ten cents each?"

     The woman snarls, pulls a shawl closer to her shoulders. Her left forefinger presses a button at the back edge of the table. "You want trouble, big shot? You can have it."

     Within seconds, a thickset man wearing a tight tee shirt over impressive muscles comes through a beaded curtain, bringing noise, beer fumes and cigarette smoke. His fists are ready.

     The woman jerks a thumb at Beluga. "This guy won't pay the entrance fee, Elroy."

     Elroy, six and one half feet tall, yells at Beluga, "Are you looking for a smack in the mouth?"

     "No. We ain't paying ten bucks each to get into this dump - that's all."

     The saxophonist screeches high notes. A drummer slams cymbals and tom-toms. Elroy grins. "You're not getting past me unless you pay."

     "We're not paying," says Miller.

     The old woman grins. "Throw them out, Elroy."

     He reaches for Beluga. Beluga intends action but somehow, Miller pushes him aside. "Come on, Elroy," she says. "Try me first."

     Elroy blinks, unsure what to do. Beluga brings out his police badge, shoves it in front of Elroy's face. "Recognize one of these, big man? My partner also has one."

     "Cops, eh? What is it you want?"

     "To see Mike Rand," says Miller. "Now do we see him, or do I break your arm?"

     "Okay," says the old woman. "You two stay here. Elroy, you go see Mike."

     Elroy hesitates - just for a moment. Could this woman cop break his arm? He decides against finding out, pushes aside strings of beads covering a door, and merges with the racket, the smoke and the stink.