I replaced the receiver and left the booth.
The taxi driver was at the bar, working on his beer. My glass of V.O. was waiting for me beside my change. I took a drink and glanced at the bartender. He looked as if he’d been tending bar a long time. I called him over and separated one dollar from the rest of the change. I pushed it across the bar.
“For your piggy bank,” I said.
He took the bill without saying anything and put it in a glass back of the bar. He turned back to stare at me impassively.
“Been working here long?” I asked.
“Twenty years. My brother-in-law owns the joint.”
“Is this the bar where Tony Minetti was killed seven years ago?”
He hesitated. “Yeah, it happened here. But we was in the clear. The ABC looked it over and said so.”
“I believe you,” I said. “I just suddenl
