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Fagin.”
    â€œWhat do you want, Otto? Stealing the greenback from the Preacher’s collection plate got my attention.”
    The man laughed. He gestured for Lucas to move closer.
    â€œYou never learned the art of small talk. We should discuss Frank over there behind the bar and why he’s so intent on getting you to drink.”
    â€œDrugs,” Lucas said. “He’s never seen me before, so he thinks I am easy pickings.”
    â€œThat’s why you don’t need small talk. You size up people fast. Goes with being a gambler.”
    â€œLittle Otto,” he said, “never steals just to talk to me.”
    â€œI saw you in the crowd. You still working at the Emerald City?”
    â€œI am.” Lucas waited but Little Otto didn’t expand on the question. Taking the bull by the horns, Lucas said, “I need information about a stolen dog.”
    If the request surprised Little Otto, he didn’t show it. His blue eyes blazed, but with what emotion? Lucas found himself at a loss to describe it. Otto knew more about the underbelly of Denver thievery than anyone else. For a price he would deliver all Lucas needed to know, wrapped up in brown paper and tied with a pretty bow. But he was a passive source of such scurrilous knowledge. He never offered it for sale.
    He wanted something only Lucas could give. The change in supply and demand put him on edge. Anything out of the ordinary with Little Otto always did.
    â€œI can tell you some things but not much.”
    â€œWhat’ll it cost me?”
    Otto reached into his vest pocket, took out a small silver ball bearing, and using only thumb and forefinger, flicked it at Frank behind the bar. The man ducked in time to keep from getting a nasty bruise between his eyes. The ball bearing broke a bottle of whiskey.
    â€œYou keep quiet,” Little Otto said in a voice low, level and utterly frightening with its promise of real destruction to follow if he wasn’t obeyed. The barkeep grumbled and kicked the broken bottle out of his way. Otto turned back to Lucas. “An introduction, nothing more.”
    â€œYou’re proposing a swap? I need information about a missing dog and you want an introduction to . . .”
    Lucas left the sentence hanging for Little Otto to supply the proper name.
    â€œA missing dog? Is this important or are you joshing?”
    â€œI’ll give you a hundred dollars for real information.”
    â€œIt’s real, then,” Otto said, stroking his beardless chin. He looked up. “I can ask. And will you provide the introduction I seek?”
    â€œIf I know the person well enough.”
    â€œYou do. Introduce me to Carmela Thompson.”
    For a moment Lucas struggled for words. Nothing came as his brain jumbled everything. Then he tried to put Little Otto and Carmela into the same mental picture. Still nothing came. The combination was too absurd, and he almost said as much. The expression on Little Otto’s face told him that would be a terrible mistake.
    â€œShe’s scheduled to perform tonight at—”
    â€œAt the Emerald City,” Otto finished for him. “I know. Her itinerary is etched in my brain, like words carved into stone.”
    Lucas tried to find a reason for the request other than one of pure adulation. Little Otto adoring anyone, even Carmela, struck him as wrong. It went against everything he knew of the man, which, granted, was not much. The only sane reason he could conjure up was that Carmela had information Little Otto could broker for something even more valuable.
    â€œI’ll do it,” Lucas said, regretting it even as the words slipped free from his lips. “Here’s all I know about the missing dog.” He handed Little Otto the scrap of paper with Amanda’s address and related what he could of the theft.
    â€œIt does seem that a person or persons stole away the dog. A wolfhound?”
    â€œA puppy, she