“Who’s calling?”

“Dr. Raymond Lyons.”

There was a pause before the man said: “Hang on!”

To Raymond’s surprise he was put on hold with one of Beethoven’s sonatas playing in the background. To Raymond it seemed like some sort of oxymoron.

A few minutes later Vinnie Dominick’s dulcet voice came over the line. Raymond could picture the man’s practiced and deceptive banality as if Vinnie were a well-dressed character actor playing himself.

“How did you get this number, Doctor?” Vinnie asked. His tone was nonchalant, yet somehow more threatening because of it. Raymond’s mouth went bone-dry. He had to cough.

“Dr. Levitz gave it to me,” Raymond managed.

“What can I do for you, Doctor?” Vinnie asked.

“Another problem has come up,” Raymond croaked. He cleared his throat again. “I’d like to see you to discuss it.”

There was a pause that went on for longer than Raymond could tolerate. Just when he was about to ask if Vinnie was still there, the mobster responded: “When I got involved with you people I thought it was supposed to give me peace of mind. I didn’t think it was supposed to make my life more complicated.”

“These are just minor growing pains,” Raymond said. “In actuality, the project is going extremely well.”

“I’ll meet you in the Neopolitan Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst in a half hour,” Vinnie said. “Think you can find it?”

“I’m certain I can,” Raymond said. “I’ll take a cab, and I’ll leave immediately.”

“See you there,” Vinnie said before hanging up.

Raymond rummaged hastily through the top drawer of his desk for his New York City map that included all five boroughs. He spread the map out on his desk, and using the index, located Corona Avenue in Elmhurst. He estimated that he could make it easily in half an hour provided the traffic wasn’t bad on the Queensboro Bridge. That was a concern because it was almost four o’clock: the beginning of rush hour.

As Raymond came flying out of his study, pulling his coat back on, Darlene asked him where he was going. He told her he didn’t have time to explain. He said he’d be back in an hour or so.

Raymond ran to Park Avenue, where he caught a cab. It was a good thing he’d brought his map along because the Afghan taxi driver had no idea even where Elmhurst was, much less Corona Avenue.

The trip was not easy. Just getting across the East Side of Manhattan took almost a quarter of an hour. And then the bridge was stop-and-go. By the time Raymond was supposed to be at the restaurant, his cab had just reached Queens. But from there it was easy going, and Raymond was only fifteen minutes late when he walked into the restaurant and pushed aside a heavy, velvet curtain.

It was immediately apparent the restaurant was not open for business. Most of the chairs were upside down on top of the tables. Vinnie Dominick was sitting by himself in one of the curved, red velvet–upholstered booths that lined the walls. In front of him were a newspaper and a small cup of espresso. A lighted cigarette lay in a glass ashtray.