background information.”
Her forehead furrowed into a deep frown.
“What is it? What do you want?” she asked. Her tone was becoming more formal.
“I need the access number for the bank?s computer, and Cohen?s account number or numbers.”
She was shocked. For two full minutes she stared at me in disbelief, then she lowered her eyes to the
floor.
“So,” she said, “we both wanted something.”
There was no response to that. It was true.
“If it?s at all risky I said, but her stare killed the sentence while it was still in my mouth.
“Isn?t giving out that information a felony?” she asked.
“Only if you?re caught.”
“Seems to me somebody said that to Tony once.”
I was prepared to take whatever abuse she might throw my way. It was a rotten thing to ask, a rotten
position to put her in. Had it not been for her concern over Tony and my promise to try and help, I
could never have broached the subject. I?m sure all of that was racing through her mind.
“Look,” I said, “if you don?t trust me, forget it. I?m still going to get a line on Tony for you, if it?s
possible.”
“Thanks for telling me that, anyway,” she said. She stared at the floor some more. I decided to push it.
“There are laws that make it possible to put people away,” I said, “people who deserve to be put
away, if we can prove their money is earned illegally. I believe Cohen is a money man for the Mafia.
That?s who tried to kill us last night.”
She looked up sharply, her concern tempered by curiosity.
“It isn?t the first time they?ve tried to put me away,” I said. “I have a bullet hole in my side as a
memento from their last try.”
She kept staring without comment, making me work for it.
“Would you like to hear how they make their money? Or what they do to people who get in their
way?”
“I got a hint of that last night,” she said, getting up and taking the tray back to the kitchen. When she
returned, she said, “Come on, I?ll take you to the hotel.”
She didn?t say anything else. She got her things together and checked the door to make sure it was
locked when we left. Just a couple of normal folks heading off for the daily grind. In the daylight her
street was like a picture from an eighteenth-century history book. I almost expected to see Ben
Franklin strolling by with a kite or Thomas Paine ranting on the street corner. It didn?t seem possible
