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"Ialways thought you were gracious and understanding, Dave," Wohl said.
"-and said he would never forget it, etcetera, and said if there was ever anything he could do for me-"
"And he probably meant it too," Sabara said. "Anybody you want knocked off, Dave? Your neighbors playing their TV too late at night, anything like that?"
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"Shit, Mike!" Pekach exploded.
"Sorry," Sabara said, not sounding overwhelmed with remorse.
"What I thought he was doing was letting me know he'd grab the tab for dinner. But on my way back to the table Baltazari handed me that matchbook and said I dropped them, and I said no, and he said he was sure, so I kept them."
"You see the name inside?" Wohl asked.
"Yeah. It didn't mean anything to me. Baltazari gave me the same line of greaser bullshit, something about 'Mr. Savarese's friends always being grateful when somebody does him a favor.' What I think he said was 'him or his family a courtesy.' By then I was beginning to wish I'd tossed the little bitch in the can."
"No you didn't." Wohl chuckled. "You really are gracious and understanding, Dave."
Pekach glared at him.
"That wasn't a knife," Wohl said.
"So, anyway, when I got home, I called Records and got a make on this guy. Sort of a make. Black male. He's supposed to be a gambler, but what he really is, is a pimp. He runs an escort service."
"Marvin P. Lanier," Sabara said, reading the name inside the matchbook. "I never heard of him."
"Misterioso," Wohl said.
"I figured I better tell you about it," Pekach said.
"Yeah," Wohl said thoughtfully. "Neither of them gave any hint why they gave you this guy's name?"
"Nope," Pekach said.
One of the phones on Wohl's desk rang. Wohl was in his customary position, on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Pekach, who was leaning on Wohl's desk, looked at him questioningly. Wohl nodded. Pekach picked up the phone.
"Captain Pekach," he said, and listened, and then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "There's a Homicide detective out there. Wants to see you, me, or Dave. You want me to take it?"
"Bring him in," Wohl said.
"Send him in, Sergeant," Pekach said to the phone, and put it back in its cradle. He went to the door and pulled it open.
Detective Joseph D'Amata walked in.
"Hey, D'Amata," Wohl called. "How are you?"
"Good morning, Inspector," D'Amata said. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"Captain Pekach was just telling Captain Sabara and me about his dinner last night," Wohl said. "What can we do for Homicide?"
"You hear about the pimp who got himself blown away last night?"
"I haven't read the overnights," Wohl said.
"Black guy," D'Amata said. "Lived on 48^th near Haverford."
"His name wouldn't be Marvin P. Lanier, would it?" Wohl asked.
