Two hours later, I’m part way through the first drawer. I don’t know any more businesses than I did before; the burned-down shoe factory and the Topaz. A clattering sound overlies the usual traffic noise. A man comes through a nearby door and notices me.

“What are you looking for?”

I tell him.

“Are you a PI?” I roll my eyes. “Oh, on the q.t.,” he says, looking pleased. “Well, let me show you something.”

He leads me through the door into a large room; this is where the clattering lives. Several squat gray machines eat and spit out cards. Attendants wheel trays of cards between them. He goes to a tray, and shows me a card. “Business license.”

It’s covered with little holes. “Let’s set up a run for you,” he says. He pulls out a metal drawer full of wires, and rearranges them in a particular way. “Carpozi’s number is 37295. That starts in column 17 …”

I look around for a chair, sorry I ever started this. Ten minutes later I have a list of 23 companies.

“Thank you …”

“George,” he says, shaking my hand.