I never did find him, though. He found me.
He came walking in on me in a shabby little hotel room, and I hardly recognized him, he looked so prosperous and healthy.
"You're looking just great, Greek," I said enthusiastically, seeing it was true. The years hadn't added a pound or a wrinkle—just the reverse, in fact.
"You're not looking so bad yourself," he said, and gazed at me sharply. "Especially for a man not long out of prison."
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "You know about that."
"I heard that Pudge Detweiler prosecuted."
"I see." I got up and began uncluttering a chair. "Well," I said, "it's certainly good to—How did you find me?"
"Detectives. Money buys a lot of help. I've got a lot of money."
"Oh." I cleared my throat again.
Greco looked at me, nodding thoughtfully to himself. There was one good thing; maybe he knew about my trouble with Pudge, but he also had gone out of his way to find me. So he wanted something out of me.