“Ask my receptionist,” Daniel said. “Just tell her you’re a personal friend.”

“Thank you,” Raymond said.

“But just remember,” Daniel said. “I deserve and want the percentages that are due to me regardless of what happens between you and Vinnie Dominick.”

At first the receptionist was reluctant to give Raymond the phone number and the addresses, but after a quick call to her boss, she relented. Wordlessly, she copied the information onto the back of one of Dr. Daniel Levitz’s business cards and handed it to Raymond.

Raymond wasted no time getting back to his apartment on Sixty-fourth Street. As he came through the door, Darlene asked how the meeting with the doctor had gone.

“Don’t ask,” Raymond said curtly. He went into his paneled study, closed the door, and sat down at his desk. Nervously, he dialed the phone. In his mind’s eye, he could see Cindy Carlson either scrounging around in the medicine cabinet for her mother’s sleeping pills or hanging out in the local hardware store buying a length of rope.

“Yeah, what is it?” a voice said on the other end of the line.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Vincent Dominick,” Raymond said with as much authority as he could muster. He detested the necessity to deal with the likes of these people, but he had little choice. Seven years of intense labor and commitment were on the line, not to mention his entire future.

“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 Queensborough 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 expresso. A lighted cigarette lay in a glass ashtray.

Four other men were smoking at the bar, sprawled on bar stools. Two of them Raymond recognized from their visit to his apartment. Behind the bar was an overweight bearded man washing glassware. The rest of the restaurant was empty.

Vinnie waved Raymond to his booth.

“Sit down, Doc,” Vinnie said. “A coffee?”

Raymond nodded as he slid into the banquette. It took some effort because of the nap of the velvet. The room was chilly, damp, and smelled of the previous night’s garlic and the accumulated smoke of five-years’ worth of cigarettes. Raymond was happy to keep on his hat and coat.

“Two coffees,” Vinnie called out to the man behind the bar. Wordlessly, the man turned to an elaborate Italian expresso machine and began manipulating the controls.

“You surprised me, Doc,” Vinnie said. “I truly never expected to hear from you again.”

“As I mentioned on the phone there’s another problem,” Raymond said. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice just above a whisper.

Vinnie spread his hands. “I’m all ears.”

As succinctly as he could, Raymond outlined the situation with Cindy Carlson. He emphasized the fact that all suicides were medical examiner cases and had to be autopsied. There were no exceptions.

The overweight man from behind the bar brought out the coffees. Vinnie didn’t respond to Raymond’s monologue until the bartender had gone back to his glassware.

“Is this Cindy Carlson the daughter of Albright Carlson?” Vinnie asked. “The Wall Street legend?”

Raymond nodded. “That’s partly why this situation is so important,” he said. “If she commits suicide it will undoubtedly garner considerable media attention. The medical examiners will be particularly vigilant.”

“I get the picture,” Vinnie said as he took a sip of his coffee. “What is it exactly that you would want us to do?”

“I wouldn’t presume to offer any suggestions,” Raymond said nervously. “But you can appreciate that this problem is on a par with the Franconi situation.”

“So you want this sixteen-year-old girl to just conveniently disappear,” Vinnie said.

“Well, she has tried to kill herself twice,” Raymond said limply. “In a way, we’d just be doing her a favor.”

Vinnie laughed. He picked up his cigarette, took a drag, and then ran his hand over the top of his head. His hair was slicked back smoothly from his forehead. He regarded Raymond with his dark eyes.

“You’re a piece of work, Doc,” Vinnie said. “I gotta give you credit for that.”

“Perhaps I can offer another year of free tuition,” Raymond said.

“That’s very generous of you,” Vinnie said. “But you know something, Doc, it’s not enough. In fact, I’m getting a little fed up with this whole operation. And I’ll tell you straight: if it weren’t for Vinnie Junior’s kidney problems, I’d probably just ask for my money back, and we’d go our separate ways. You see, I’m already looking at potential problems from the first favor I did for you. I got a call from my wife’s brother who runs the Spoletto Funeral Home. He’s all upset because a Dr. Laurie Montgomery called asking embarrassing questions. Tell me, Doc. Do you know this Dr. Laurie Montgomery?”

“No, I don’t,” Raymond said. He swallowed loudly.

“Hey, Angelo, come over here!” Vinnie called out.

Angelo slid off his bar stool and came to the table.

“Sit down, Angelo,” Vinnie said. “I want you to tell the good doctor here about Laurie Montgomery.”