A few days, Joe had said—maybe he had already gone. But the Bauer still had a Sullivan registered, and while I was using the house phone to call him, I spotted him at breakfast in the dining room facing the rio. “Late start?” I said, going up to the table. “Late night. You just caught me. Sit, but don’t expect too much.” He rubbed his temples, wishing away the hangover. “Thanks.” I took a cornetti from the bread basket in front of him. “Eat something. It helps.” “Did I call you or did you call me?” “I called you. I need a favor.” “Too late. I go back to Verona at fourteen hundred.” “That’s where I need the favor.” He raised his eyebrows over the coffee cup. “Could you run a check on somebody? See what you’ve got hiding in the files?” “Italian?” I took out the photograph. “Isn’t this the guy from the other day? You always run a check on your friends?” “He’s not a friend.” “Bad boy?” “I think so.” “What’d he do?” “Cooperated with the SS rounding up Jews.”
