I just couldn't figure out what. As I'd followed the taxi, I thought he might be headed to Emmett Merkel's place. But the taxi pulled over while we were still half a mile away from the millionaire's mansion. I wondered if Calderon had passed him a note in the bundle of cash. Or maybe Sleeth had called the mobster when he slipped away from the table at dinner. Did he expect to find Holmes here? I parked behind the cab. The driver glanced back at me. I walked to his door. "Hey," I said, nodding to the driver. "Your fare changed his mind. He won't need you any longer." The driver, a white male a year or two younger than me, drew his face into a disappointed pout. "He promised me a sawbuck if I waited." I sighed and dug in my pocket. My ready cash was dropping faster than rain in a tropical storm. I'd collect from Sleeth when I found him. The cabby snatched the bill from my hand and gunned into the night. I walked back to the corner. Nothing stirred on the street ahead. Where had Sleeth gone?
