At the far end of the bar three steps led up to a low landing, and a door opened off of that into a big office that belonged to Manny Lipshultz. He was in, sitting behind a desk the size of a shuffleboard court.

"Marlowe," he said. "Sit down. You want a drink?"

He got up, went around a rosewood sideboard, took a decanter from it and filled two thick chunky glasses half full. He handed me one and went around behind his desk.

"It's okay, Leonard," he said to the tall hood. "Beat it."

Leonard and his little buddy disappeared silently into the dimness. I sipped my drink, Scotch, better than I was used to, even if my wife did have ten million bucks.

"Glad you could make it, Marlowe," Lipshultz said.

"Me too," I said. "Got to make a living."

"Married to Harlan Potter's daughter?"

"That means she doesn't have to make a living," I said.

Lipshultz nodded. "I got a problem, Marlowe."

I waited.

"What we do here ain't, you know, quite legal."

"I know," I said.

"Ever wonder why we don't get the arm laid on us?"

"No," I said, "but if I did, I'd figure you had backing, and the backing had the kind of money which keeps people from getting the arm laid on them."

Lipshultz smiled. "Smart, Marlowe. I knew you was smart even before I had you checked out."

"So with that kind of connection, what do you need me for?"

Lipshultz shook his head sadly. He had a thick nose to go with his red face, and slick black hair parted in the middle and combed tight on each side of his bullet head.

"Can't use that backing in this," he said. "Fact if you don't help me out, the backing is going to maybe send some people out to see me, you follow?"