The next day was more research. Not more of me pounding the pavement (or, as what happened the previous day, the pavement pounding me), but more looking into business records, to see who owned what. Or, in the case of Roy's former business partners, who owned who.

The laundromat, the bookstore, the deli run by Roy's partner in a land deal, and a couple others were owned in part by some funds and holding companies that turned out to be papers in a lawyer's drawer. It took some digging, but I was able to determine that those papers belonged to the Grimaldi organization. They were all legitimate businesses, paid their taxes and declared a profit on paper, but it was still interesting that they all took different paths to get to the same place. So what was the path from Roy Carver to Frankie Grimaldi?

Francesco Grimaldi had come onto the scene about twelve years ago. He'd started out small, but worked his way up quickly through a lot of unproven accomplishments and a couple unexplained disappearances.

Within ten years he had gone from being an underling to being high in the organization to being the organization. He didn't own the city, but he had a firm hold on his piece of it. No one would officially say what illicit activities he was running, but he proved good at dumping money into legitimate business concerns. Stores, restaurants, services and real estate, usually going through an "investment fund" or a "real estate trust", or even a "charitable foundation" for tax purposes.

Most of his activities had stayed out of the Herald, though one or two of the smaller papers would run a police interview or an "expose'". A lot of the city didn't seem to care. As long as the rare shootout in the streets wasn't his doing, Frankie seemed to work as the lesser of a lot of evils.

I checked the names of some businesses I knew against his holdings. Some of them surprised me; some kinda made sense. One of the few businesses actually having his name attached, though, was an upscale italian restaurant called Rico's. From what I could find in the press, he wasn't just an owner, he was their best customer. I decided to go check out the atmosphere.

Rico's was another place that escaped my radar, and this time I didn't have a pretty girl to get me in. Their maitre d' didn't try anywhere near as hard to be polite. I wasn't allowed to just wander in and look around, and when I mentioned "Mr. Grimaldi" I thought I wouldn't be allowed to stay. So I decided to play my hand.

"Please tell him it's about Clara."

They kept me waiting a bit while more suitable customers stepped around me. Finally I was led back to a table by two men too big for waiter uniforms.

Frankie was sitting with a blonde at a booth in the back. One of his boys meandered at the table as the other one gave me a pat-down. He nodded to his boss, who gestured with his hand, and the blonde went off to the powder room while the boys moved off a bit and did a furniture impression.

I slid in at the table. "Good evening, Mr. Grimaldi. My name's Warren. I'm a private investigator."

"Good for you. So who's Clara?"

"Clara Collins. She's my client. She's looking for her father, Roy Carver."

"And what's that got to do with me?"

"I noticed you own some businesses run by his former partners."

"You've been nosy. I've bought a few distressed businesses. I make them make money for me. That a problem?"

"Not at all. You've been very successful with your investments. Especially the holdings of the Cornucopia Group, which has an interest in L'Orange Grand. Clara took me there. She loves the place and she gets a house discount."

Frankie didn't respond.

"It's real convenient to her place at The Hartford. Nice place. Way outside my range. Good thing she's got a rent-control deal. That apartment house is owned and managed by Far Horizon Real Estate Trust. I believe that's another one of yours."

Still no response. Only a stare.

"Can't prove a connection to the Herald, but I know they're always good to you. You've got an editor? Higher? Someone who can make sure a high school grad got a decent-paying job?"

Frankie's stare drifted away at that point. He picked up his glass, studying it a moment before taking a drink. "Guess I've been sloppy."

"Not really. I couldn't have found her starting with you. But I started with her. So...what should I tell Clara, Roy?"

The man across from me drained his glass and set it aside. "You won't be telling anybody anything, Mr. Warren." He gestured to his gorillas and pointed at me. One of them took me by the arm, and I felt a gun in my ribs as I was pulled from the booth.

As they were leading me toward the kitchen door I wondered what sort of fuss I could put up that wouldn't get me shot on the spot. Fortunately someone took care of that for me.

"CARVER!"

I hit the floor as the shooting started. The goons headed back to try to cover their boss. I led a charge of innocent bystanders on hands and knees for the kitchen door. We joined the kitchen staff in streaming out the back door, into the alley, and on out into the street. I turned a corner and slowed to a walk, then moseyed into a drug store.

I kept myself busy with the magazine racks as the sirens went by. When things quieted down enough I picked a magazine to take home with me and went off into the night.