The big Fiat sedan turned the corner and paused as the driver checked the street. With the car lights off, the street lamps reflected eerily in the rain dappled pavement. The men in the car sat silently, their focus on one thing only. Satisfied, the driver accelerated the car down the empty street and veered close to the sidewalk as the Tommy guns appeared from inside, spitting flame.

Bullets shattered the large windows and splintered door and window frames, moving through to tear up office furnishings and walls. With a screech of tires on the damp pavement, the car raced away into the night, headlights blinking on only when it was well away.

Headlines the following day showed several pictures of what once was the office of Cardinal Imports. Police attributed the damage to gangland elements, probably some revenge or warning. The night janitor was the only casualty in the shooting.

Dennis Creighton put down the phone after reading the news report and then changed his mind and picked it up, dialling his employer.

"It seems our friend at Cardinal was trying to do a deal with Garber and was being pressured because he had offers ready to commit. It sounds like another greedy Trevor employee is trying to do the same as we are."

Karl listened and frowned. His hound was against his trousers and he brushed at its head receiving a growl.

"Do we know who is making the offer?"

"That I intend to get from Garber."

"Make sure you keep a distance, Dennis, we don't want to jeopardize our own business."

"I have a man who gathers that kind of information for me."

Crawford set the paper aside and held his forehead; he had been there that very night. Rodney came in and immediately expressed concern over his father's appearance.

"Thank God you ended the relationship when you did." He busied himself pouring drinks for them both.

"Yes, as far as you and I and Lester Betz know . . . but what about- about them?" He pushed at the newspaper on his desk.

"The police are grilling Betz over the possible reasons for the attack and he named us as his lawyers. I'm obliged to do this, Rodney. If I don't the police will be onto me wanting an explanation why I wouldn't represent a client."

"But we can tell them we withdrew our service because we're business not criminal lawyers."

"Tell that to all the desk sergeants you've placated for your sister." Crawford sighed. "It might work, they can check our business record."

"What do we do now then?"

"I want you to talk to your sister, this is exactly the kind of mess she loves to get mixed up in and from the questions she's been asking you . . . well, you know your sister. Will you do that - quickly?"

"I can try but don't be angry with me if she ignores me."

Crawford nodded, accepting his son's proviso. "God how I miss your mother . . . she had a magic touch when it came to family matters."

Portia called and suggested another lunch, she had information David would love to hear. When he suggested she just tell him she pouted over the phone and as usual, David caved.

"A lunch, Portia, I still have to work you know."

"I've made reservations at the Bowl. Meet you outside your office. Kiss, kiss."

The Bowl. David heaved a sigh, checked his watch and tried to concentrate on work.

"Portia, this is Ellie Stillman. Ellie, Portia DeLysle. Ellie is the assistant to the manager of Trevor Galleries." They had intercepted Ellie on her way to Mildred's apartment while walking to their lunch date.

"A pleasure, Ellie. Is that an Adelaide's bag, I admire your taste in clothing shops?"

"Oh I'm just delivering something for Mildred, my boss. Say, isn't your father the eminent lawyer Crawford DeLysle?"

Portia gave a head bow, smiling. "Yes, that's father although around the house he isn't considered eminent."

"We're off to lunch at the Bowl," David interjected, hoping to move on.

"Why don't you join us, Ellie, or are you on the clock?"

"Oh I think El–"

"Gee that would be great. I hate eating alone."

"What about Mildred's bag?" David pleaded.

"I have lots of time to deliver that."

"Great. It's decided." Portia linked arms with herself in the middle.

The Bowl was filled with office types, idle rich and attention seekers. Portia was welcomed by the maître de' with a brief hug and the trio was led to a reserved table under a fringed Tiffany lamp in a bamboo screened corner. A third chair appeared magically and Mildred's bag was whisked away to the cloakroom.

"Gee, you must come here a lot." Ellie exclaimed over the greeting and the choice table.

"Melvin is an old family friend. He and father grew up together." Portia lifted a hand and a waiter appeared with menus and a recital of luncheon specials.

"Gee, you must be rich."

"Ellie!"

"It's alright, David."

David opened his menu and glanced at the offerings, having Ellie along was cramping his mood and the reason for his being there at all.

"Anyone for the Chicken à la King?"

"Oh . . . it's awfully expensive . . ." Ellie licked her dry lips.

"Lunch is on David, Ellie, you have what you like and let's get some drinks shall we?"

"Thank you, Portia. Your generosity knows no bounds." David frowned and made some mental calculations. "No drinks, we," he indicated Ellie and himself, "are still working."

"Chicken à la King it is then and how about stuffed pear for a starter?" Portia lifted a hand again and ordered a bottle of wine for the table without consultation.

Food arrived creating an awkward silence from Ellie as she kept looking at David to see what he was thinking. He did a slow blink and faint hand gesture, indicating for her not to worry and just enjoy.

"So, Ellie, how do you like working for Mildred Emmanuel?"

"Gee I just started but it's exciting."

Portia scooped some cheese and nut stuffing from her pear and slipped it into her mouth, eyes twinkling. David gave her a blank look causing a smile to join the twinkle.

"Father does some business with people who deal with the gallery I think."

Ellie finished chewing some pear and nodded. "Really? I don't know but if he does it's probably with Mr. Garber. He does the same as David . . . finances, only for the gallery side."

Portia sipped some water. "Right. I think heard father mention something about questionable funds . . . I really have no head for business."

David caught her sly look and his mind clicked in to what she was angling for.

"I uh, I really don't know much about that . . ." Ellie looked nervously at David, uncertain what to say.

"Ellie is just learning her duties, right, El. She took the minutes of our meeting yesterday for Mildred. Did Ralph mention anything to Mildred about . . . problems. He seemed quite anxious to join in Rolly's scheme."

"Gee, I didn't hear anything. Should I be asking about stuff like that?"

"Yes–" Portia started.

"NO!" David coughed and smiled at Ellie. "Sorry, no you needn't bother, that's between Ralph and Mildred. Don't let the chicken get cold. Let's drop the business and enjoy the food." David scalded Portia with his look.

The lunch finished with Ellie oozing thanks in a thrilled voice and almost curtsying to Portia before rushing off, Mildred's bag flapping around her back.

"I pay for lunch and you get the royal treatment."

"She probably could have learned something if you hadn't said no." They followed shortly after Ellie.

"I don't want her getting mixed up in anything . . ." He gave a bleak smile and looked away for a moment. "You never told me the information that prompted this luncheon date."

"I need to verify something first. I'll see you later." She pecked his cheek and hailed a passing cab.

David sagged, feeling just like his bank account . . . thinner.