Dante’s current Mardi Gras float was loosely modeled on Persephone emerging from the sea after her long sojourn out of the sun. He was particularly pleased with the visual impact of her large, mostly bare breasts just cresting the wave that mingled with the flow of her long hair down the length of the float.
He made a minor adjustment to a measurement, then looked up as Max came in and cleared his throat.
“What is it, Max?”
“I have some information on Arvin—not much—but it’s a start.”
“Ah.” Dante leaned back. “Took you long enough. Tell me where the bastard is.”
“Thing that’s made it so hard is Arvin Marvin didn’t appear to exist before he met your aunt. Had to be an alias. I put out some feelers. One of Giancarlo’s men remembers seeing a man answering Arvin’s description in Salt Lake
