The music swung the inhabitants of the room in a dizzying rhythm that Mario couldn't escape. Though he had heard the tune before, he had never really felt the tune, so given as he was to wiling away in his cloistered existence. He realized that for the first time he could understand the attraction of hedonistic living: the pure sensual pleasure, the heart-pumping thrill. Even without the addition of mind-altering chemicals, Mario felt a little high.

Reigning in his thoughts, he forced himself to remember where he was and why he had come. First of all, he would be a fool to relax for even a minute in a place so filled with opportunists, not excluding Sam Lincoln. Secondly, he still knew nothing of Marissa's fate since she entered the raucous club. He had seen no evidence that she had ever stepped foot in the place, and the complete absence of her trail boded ill for her.

While the club filled a large portion of the lower level of the building, from what Mario had observed both inside and out, a large portion of the building's space lay outside this room. Too many unpleasant possibilities teased the edges of Mario's mind when he considered what had happened to his naïve friend.

As he considered, Mario tried to find a safe place to rest his eyes. Between the abundant consumption of alcohol and the immodest dress of the women, Mario had trouble feeling even the least bit comfortable. He finally found one large table, conspicuous because of its emptiness amidst the crunch of bodies in the room. At that table sat one man, somewhat unpolished in demeanor and of medium height and build, unremarkable except for the respect with which those around him treated him. Only one man sat with him at the table, a man as out of place as, if a bit more comfortable than, Mario. This man did not look around him but stared down at what appeared to be a notepad in front of him. Occasionally, the man would look up at his companion and then scrawl something on the paper before him.

Mario averted his eyes for a moment, not wanting to be caught in his observation, but he covertly glanced up at the two men on occasion, desirous to find out, if not what business the men engaged in, at least who the men were.

For several minutes, the medium-built man spoke to his companion, a definite air of command on his face. Every exchange elicited a spurt of writing from the more refined man, and Mario grew ever more curious.

So interested was Mario in the two men that, though he knew he needed to figure out what had happened to Marissa, when the writer rose from his seat, Mario did the same. Something told Mario that the rougher man held a position of authority, perhaps even over the entire establishment. What the other man's role might be, Mario couldn't venture a guess beyond noting the man's obvious mental acuity.

When the more polished man left the table, a rush of activity ensued surrounding the apparent boss still seated at the table. Women mobbed him, waiters solicited his orders, and a man descended from the stage to speak obsequiously to the otherwise unremarkable man who held such command of the place. Instantly, the band switched from the lazy ballad it had played for the last few minutes to a romping swing that changed the pace of action in the room from sultry dance to furious mob. At the transformation, the man at the table smiled.

Mario turned back to find the other man who had deserted the table. Providentially, the refined man had maneuvered to within a few feet of Mario and now reached for the handle of a nearby door. When the man opened it, Mario glanced inside to see a dimly-lit corridor on the other side. Mario moved to follow but stopped suddenly at the sound of Sam Lincoln's voice.

"Sean!" came Sam's exclamation, and a large brawny man looked up from where he sat with a shimmery woman seeming to cascade across his lap. "Sean!" came the call again, and the man named Sean jumped to his feet, the woman agilely dodging Sean's rather large hands as they tried to push her from his lap. Though Mario had frozen in shock at the sound of Sam's voice, Sam immediately turned back into the doorway from whence he had exited. Mario didn't know whether to feel relieved or anxious. His response depended on whether he saw the circumstance as an opportunity to investigate the polished man or as an indication that some ill fate had befallen Marissa.

Since Mario had no desire to follow Sam, especially accompanied by such a large companion, through a dark doorway, Mario opted to continue his investigation and see if he could find out the identity of either man from the table. When Mario pulled the nearby door open and stepped intrepidly inside, he felt a bit abashed. Immediately upon stepping inside, he realized he had followed the man not into a hallway, but into a restroom.

"Pardon me," Mario smiled awkwardly as he nearly bumped into the man.

"Hmm," the man responded noncommittally.

Mario began to wash his hands, taking his time in each step so that he could maximize his time alone with the man. "The boss has been a little cranky lately," Mario ventured a topic from which he hoped he could elicit conversation. "But you seemed to put him in a pretty good mood."

As he spoke, Mario didn't glance in the man's direction, hoping by his casual attitude to put the man off guard.

"He is not my boss," the man answered flatly.

Mario didn't have an answer immediately, but searched his mind for a way to perpetuate conversation.

"I should have known," he offered off-hand. "Someone of your class obviously doesn't fall from the regular breed in this establishment.

At Mario's comment, the man sneered superciliously, glancing at Mario as if sizing him up. "You don't exactly fit in here either."

Mario smiled internally at the companionable expression the man had offered him.

"Well, I'm just a messenger. I have certain knowledge that is needed here, so here I am."

Again, the man gazed at Mario. "We have that in common, then. I was sent here by my boss to speak with Mr. Moran."

So, the situation outside seemed to make sense now: Mr. Moran of the Rats sat in state at Calloway's Pub.

"I'm sure we don't have that much in common," Mario belittled his position. "I'm just a student."

"Well, Just-a-student, you might not want to continue in your roll as messenger to Mr. Moran. You may start with delivering information, but you'll wind up out of school and working for the man sooner or later. Stay in college, and you can go to work for someone like my boss."

"Who's your boss?" Mario asked innocently.

Smirking, the man shook his head. "Not for you to know," the man chastised. "But if you get an education, you can do this." The man waved his note pad in the air.

"Take notes?" Mario feigned ignorance.

"Write in secret codes," the man held the book up for Mario to see, and Mario noticed some very interesting figures on the page.

To the untrained eye, the figures would have seemed almost foreign in nature, but Mario knew the writings very well, though he didn't betray the fact to the man. Shorthand writing spelled out the names Moran and McReynolds, and following those, several rows of numbers and other names. If the numbers meant what Mario thought they meant, Mr. Moran and Mr. McReynolds were currently engaged in some very interesting business transactions. Mario reined in his breath which threatened to speed at the news. Instead of betraying his excitement, he shrugged and grinned stupidly, reaching for a towel that hung by the sink.

"I'd better get back," Mario apologized. "I don't want the boys to find me missing when they come looking. You're right, though," he peered at the older man conspiratorially. "After my first run here, I don't think I have any desire to make a second."

The man chuckled and followed Mario out the door. Neither acknowledged the other once they stepped out into the ruckus.

To his consternation, when Mario turned to approach his table, Sean stood glaring around the room, an apparent search underway in his mind. When he saw Mario leave the restroom, however, the larger man's expression relaxed, and Mario sighed in relief.

"Your contact is unable to speak with you tonight. You're to give the message to me, and I will deliver it to the right person."

Mario balked, robbed by this turn of events of finding out anything about Marissa. Still, peering up into the eyes of the massive Sean, Mario did not wish to seem insistent.

"Well, I had hoped to speak directly with Sam," he pressed gently, hoping that Sean would not take offense.

"Mr. Lincoln and his date had another appointment. You missed your chance when you went to the restroom."

Mr. Lincoln and his date! So someone had seen Marissa here, and if Sean told the truth, Marissa had left with Sam, ostensibly of her own free will. Mario swallowed the lump that had arisen with Sean's first words and forced himself to speak evenly.

"Of course. I understand." He pulled the rehearsed story up from his memory. "I am a student at the university. I overheard some other students talking near the student newspaper headquarters. They said something about a meeting after hours, and they didn't want to get caught because they were afraid they'd get in trouble."

"Fine. I'll let Mr. Lincoln know."

"Why did he want to meet me here?" Mario fished. "He only lives a couple of blocks from my house?"

Sean glared suspiciously at Mario for a moment, but obviously decided Mario meant no harm.

"This is where he conducts a lot of business transactions. If you're worried about getting paid, don't try to contact him. He'll get in touch with you if he thinks your information is good enough for money."

I wonder how often that happens, Mario mused cynically.

"I guess that will do," he said with feigned dejection.

"Ha!" the large man guffawed. "I guess it'll have to!" Then Sean showed Mario unceremoniously to the door.