 I didn't know whether he was the Leo Mr. Otter didn't like, and I hoped I wouldn't find out. The best way I could think to keep from finding out was to shake Woody. On the way uptown, I walked him past four police stations. Crossing Market Street, I pushed him straight into the arms of a traffic cop who begged his pardon and let me off with a warning. At the Blue Bottle Bar and Grill, I gave Joe, the bartender, the Mickey Finn sign, but Woody liked it. He ordered another. Then he said he knew a place on Columbus where the drinks were even better. It was called Leo's Place. I wondered if that meant anything.