Pete rolled over to our booth with a big smile, leaning in to see how we were doing.

“Join us for a moment,” I said.

He glanced around, saw nothing needing his attention, and slid in on Velda’s side of the booth.

“It’s good to see you again, Mike, so soon. Been too long between visits. I can’t promise you one as memorable as last time, though!”

“Well, that’s fine by me,” I said. “But Velda and I are here for more than a late-night snack, good as that steak sandwich was. This is actually business.”

“How so?”

I was keeping my voice down, way down, Sinatra providing cover. “I’m looking into that hit-and-run,” I said, “working for young Colby’s father.”

My client had given me permission to drop his name if I felt that would help, which with somebody like Pete it did.

I continued: “Vincent Colby himself isn’t pleased to have me poking in, but that can’t be helped.”

Pete was frowning; he didn’t seem thrilled that this was turning out to be more than host/patron happy talk.

“Young Mr. Colby dines here frequently,” he said, “but I don’t know him beyond that.” He lowered his gaze. “But, Mike—I’m not comfortable talking about my customers.”

“You’d be helping him.”

He raised a palm. “You said Mr. Colby was unhappy with you looking into—”

“His father feels otherwise. I feel otherwise.”

Shaking his head, Pete said, “I still don’t see how I can help.”

Velda put a hand on his sleeve and said, “Just answer a few questions, Pete. Please. What could it hurt?”

The restaurant owner swallowed. “Well…all right. But I reserve the right to decline to answer.”

Velda smiled. “Take the Fifth all you like, Pete.”

“So,” he said, “what do you want to know?”

“You can tell me,” I said, “if your hostess is banging your bartender.”

The crudity of that made him blink, but his answer was damn near a non sequitur. “I have several bartenders on staff.”

I gave him a narrow-eyed look that was less than friendly. “Not tonight you don’t. You know what I’m talking about, Pete. Who I’m talking about.”

He shrugged. “You mean Gino.”

“If that’s his name, I do. The dark-haired jamoke working the tap right now.”

“Yes. Gino Mazzini. Does a good job. Doesn’t cause trouble. Not super-friendly, not a tell-your-troubles-to type bartender, but skilled. Efficient. Not surly.”

Not surly. What a commendation.

I said, “So. Is he involved with Sheila?”

Pete shook his head, but that didn’t exactly mean no. “You should ask her that.”

“Okay. Fair enough. But do you think she might be? Hooking up with him?”

After a moment, he nodded.

“Could she be involved with Colby, too? Banging both at the same time?”

Velda frowned at me, then quickly smiled at Pete. “What Mike means, could she be seeing both of them?”

“Right,” I said, “I wasn’t talking ménage a twat or anything.”

Velda rolled her eyes.

Pete was shaking his head again. “You’d have to—”