Luca Moretti's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

Luca slid the folded slip into a soft leather envelope and pressed the flap shut. The creased thing had carried other men's secrets across the old districts. It would carry his now. A name on paper was not leverage. A name was a thread. He needed something heavier before he pulled it. He drove past the gate that bore the carved name above its iron bars. Stone arch. Spear tips along the top. A man inside who would not break from a knock and a question. Luca did not slow. He kept his hands easy on the wheel and counted the windows that watched the street. He went instead to a narrow brick building with dusty glass and a lit sign. A retired investigator kept files there, the kind no badge would request. Luca paid in cash and laid out what he needed. Bank records. Mistresses. Anything crooked enough to bend a proud man. The old detective took the envelope, copied the name, and gave it back. Two weeks, he said. Maybe less. Luca walked out lighter and heavier at once. He had not approached. He had not burned the thread. He had bought himself the leverage he lacked, and a clock had started ticking on the man behind the carved arch.