Free Back Story by Renee Pawlish

Rachel Cohen.
    “More stolen art?”
    I nodded. “But there’s no way I’ll ever be able to track down the Matisse. Not all these years after the war.”
    “But if this fellow Milner is in town selling artwork, you know where to look, right?”
    “Gresham,” I said. Morten Gresham owned a local pawn shop. He was also known to deal in stolen goods.
    “That’s where I’d go first,” Chet said as he stood up and walked me to the door. “The problem is getting Gresham to talk to you.”
    “I have ways.”
    “What else are you working on?”
    “Following a dame who was with Fat Phil Moretti.”
    “Not good.” He grimaced. “Moretti’s one tough fellow. What’s she want with him?”
    “She’s cheating on her husband.”
    “She couldn’t pick someone better?”
    “I guess not.”
    Chet clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
    I shook his hand, opened the door, and strolled out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    Reed – 2015
     
    I sat back and stared at Dewey’s journal. Powell did have Mafia connections…great. I put the journal on the passenger seat and then called Cal.
    “O Great Detective,” Cal said. It was his typical greeting for me, and although I was doubtful I would ever live up to the name, I tried.
    “Am I interrupting anything?” I asked.
    “Just the research you asked me to do. And I haven’t come up with much yet.”
    “I need to add a name to your list.”
    “Who?”
    “Anthony Cinisi.”
    “Another Mafia guy?”
    “Yeah. He was part of the Lucchese crime family.”
    “Sure. Part of the Lucchese crime family. A Mafia family. Right, no problem.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “You really should bark up another tree.”
    “I wish I could, but this guy Cinisi was somehow involved with Floyd Powell, so I need for you to find out as much as you can about him.”
    Cal grunted. “I’ll do what I can.”
    “I owe you.”
    He laughed. “And you know I never collect.” Then he hung up. He was not happy about having to research Cinisi. He reminded me a bit of Dewey’s friend Chet. They both had a healthy aversion to the Mafia. Maybe I should learn from them.
    I pocketed my phone, put the journal in my backpack, and drove away from Lorraine’s house. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 4:15. Denver Public Library closed at six. I could squeeze in a little more research before I headed home, so I turned west on 8 th Avenue and drove to Lincoln, then turned north. A few minutes later, I parked at a meter and walked back into the library. Since it seemed that so much of the information about Powell and his companies was not online, it looked like I might be spending a lot of time at the library.
    I sauntered back to the archives, pulled out the microfilm for the local newspapers for the 1950s, and started reading. I wished I was doing research about film noir – movies with mobsters in them, like Key Largo with Bogie. In that movie, Bogie plays a war-scarred veteran who visits an old friend’s hotel and finds gangster Edward G. Robinson and his molls there. Of course I love the film. Or Force of Evil , with John Garfield as a corrupt mob attorney. Another great flick.
    “Focus, Reed,” I whispered to myself and continued reading.
    After an hour, I was beginning to get discouraged, but then I stumbled upon a few articles that discussed Powell’s acquisition of four laundromats around the Denver area. And then I found an article discussing how Powell Construction had won a bid for a large office complex in southeast Denver. It mentioned a man named Jack O’Malley, who was the vice-president of Powell Incorporated, but I couldn’t find anything else on him. Still, he was someone who might be able to shed more light on Floyd Powell, if O’Malley was alive. I jotted the name down, then continued scrolling through the microfilm.
    I soon grew bored and suppressed a yawn. Then Humphrey Bogart’s voice interrupted the quiet in the archives room. A woman in a cube near mine glanced