As Harry strode through the lobby of the Kusi on the way to his bungalow, he found Aldo sitting alone, having a Sambuca Romano at the bar. The Italian had on the same distinguished tailored suit he’d worn to Victor’s. He looked tired.
“More meetings with attorneys?” Harry asked him.
“Not all of my business concerns you. If you don’t mind, I will have a sandwich here and turn in early.” He knocked back the rest of the liquor. “And have you also enjoyed a productive day?”
Harry took a seat, signaled to the barman, and ordered his usual whiskey. “I’ll skip the sandwich and try the Italian joint up the road. I’d go for the gnocchi, my favorite, but it’s too heavy. Perhaps crabmeat ravioli and a salad. I paid a visit to Esther’s house, met her family, and they stuffed me with beans at lunch.
