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wondered if the Mafia had anything to do with it?”
    “I’ve never heard anything about that.”
    That was her standard line, but she seemed sincere, and I believed her.
    “Are you finished?” a voice interrupted from the other room. “We need to be going.”
    “My husband,” Lorraine said.
    We stood up, and Lorraine walked me to the hallway. I glanced left and glimpsed a man with a thick mop of gray hair pass by the kitchen doorway. He was as neatly dressed as she was, his dark pants and cotton shirt starched and pressed, and I saw what I was pretty sure was an expensive watch on his left wrist as well.
    I turned to Lorraine. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
    “Not at all.” She opened the front door. “Have a good evening.”
    I got back to the 4-Runner, started it, and let the air-conditioning cool me as I mulled things over. I still didn’t know much about Floyd Powell, and I wondered what more Dewey had discovered…

CHAPTER TEN
     
    Dewey Webb – 1955
     
    I sat at the table in Baur’s, lit a cigarette, and smoked for a few minutes, thinking about what Elmer had said. Powell was hanging around Anthony Cinisi. Cinisi was a dashing figure, and more civilized than many of the mob guys. It wasn’t just that he dressed really well; he was clean-cut and well-spoken. He was also the suspect in a number of crimes, including murder. To say he was dangerous was an understatement. And he worked for the Lucchese crime family. You didn’t mess with the Luccheses, unless you wanted to sleep with the fishes. Elmer was right. I needed to be very careful. But why would Powell, this “upstanding citizen,” associate with Cinisi?
    A couple more puffs and I tamped out the cigarette. Then I slowly stood up, feeling a weight bearing down on me. The mob could do that to you, even from afar. I put a few more bills with the ones Elmer had left on the table, donned my hat and straightened my tie, then walked up to the hostess standing behind a pedestal near the front door of the restaurant. She had on a brown dress, her hair smooth, bright red lipstick on thin lips. She smiled as I approached.
    “You got a phone?” I asked.
    I must’ve come across gruffer than I meant to, or she picked up on my grimness. The smile vanished. She nodded, and without a word, pulled a phone out from a little shelf behind her. She set it on the pedestal.
    Words finally formed. “Help yourself,” she said, the bright lips downturned.
    “Thanks, doll.” I picked up the receiver, dialed a number from memory, then paused. “Chet, you’re there.”
    “Yeah, you’re lucky you caught me,” he said softly. “A rare day in the office.”
    “Do you have time for an old friend?”
     “For you, sure.”
    “I’m around the corner. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
    “I’m not going anywhere right now,” he said and hung up.
    I cradled the receiver, then winked at the young woman. “See you around.”
    “Of course, sir,” she said, the smile returning.
    Why let my mood ruin her afternoon?
    ***
    I walked a few blocks to Eighteenth and Glenarm Place, feeling the hot August heat drill through my coat. Chet Inglewood worked in the Continental Oil Building, a ten-story structure of polished granite and terracotta facing, with corner towers and battlements. A huge, red electric Conoco sign on top of the building could be seen for miles.
    I strolled into the lobby and took the elevator to the eighth floor. Directly across from the elevator was a large wood door with “Masters and O’Reilly” on it. I turned the knob and stepped inside. Since I used to work at Masters and O’Reilly, I didn’t bother to ask to be announced. Miriam, the receptionist, barely gave me a nod as I walked by. Although she was dreamy to look at, with soft ivory skin and large sultry eyes, her curly hair perfectly coiffed, she carried herself with the brutal harshness of a winter storm. She’d never liked me when I worked there, but I hadn’t