breathe. It was like he had his eyes pasted to her chest.
‘Maro n,’ he murmured.
‘So?’ I asked him again.
‘Somethin’ to do with computers.’
I looked over at Doc. We needed to fill Jack in about McGinn, our computer nerd.
‘They got some kinda code they use over that fuckin’ Internet, you know?’
‘What code?’ Jack asked him.
‘Shit, I don’t know - I dropped out after the tenth grade. All I know is that you want to look for Imperial Products of Bridgeport.’
‘That’s the listing they’re hiding behind?’ Doc queried.
‘If I get any deeper, Jimmy P, you’ll be my pallbearer ... It’s all I got. I ask any more shit and they’re gonna know I’m passin’ it on.’
‘Okay, Billy. That’s good. We don’t want you dead,’ I told him.
‘We’re stil l famili a , Jimmy P. Even if you got a really shitty way to make a fuckin’ livin’.’
‘Yeah, we’re still family, Billy. And you gotta take care of yourself. You did good, partner. Let me buy you a pitcher of your own.’
‘Fuck, no. I get hammered, I’ll flop the fuckin’ lift at work on top of my dumb ass. I got to eat and run. This is a long drive from the shop.’
The overripe server again showed up with our order, and Billy and Jack Wendkos scoped her every wiggle all the way back to the kitchen. Jack got up and caught the chestnut-haired beauty before she could return to her station. She was smiling and Jack was smiling, and then Wendkos returned to the table.
He sat down and began to eat.
‘Well?’ Doc wanted to know.
‘She’s gay,’ Jack said through a mouthful of deep pan.
‘You’re fuckin’ strokin’ me!’ Billy bellowed.
‘Yeah. I am,’ Jack replied.
Doc let out a belly laugh. I had to join him.
Then the blush left Billy Cheech’s cheeks.
‘You fuckin’ cops. You’re always fuckin’ with people.’
Chapter Eleven
The computer nerd prevailed. We got the call from Matty McGinn on a Tuesday morning just as Doc and Jack and I were about to go off duty from midnights. The kid’d been up all night with the information we received from Billy Cheech, and he didn’t let go until he found it.
We walked into Computer Services at 7.12 a.m. Matty looked as fresh as if he’d just arrived at work, but I knew he had been around his computer for going on sixteen hours.
‘I found it just two hours ago. I tried to get a hold of you on the street, but they said you were doing surveillance,’ McGinn told the trio of us.
‘What’d you find?’ Doc wanted to know.
Jack Wendkos was standing behind the red-headed kid, looking over his right shoulder.
‘Imperial Products of Bridgeport has a very specialized clientele. They sell goods that are available nowhere else — except, I think, in southeast Asia on the black market. So they’ve got no competition ... It took me three hours to get past their code. See, they front themselves by saying they’re selling ceramic works of art. You know, junk stuff you’d put on your coffee table or whatever. But when you get past the first series of phony pitches, and when you continue showing interest in them, they start with a series of questions that find out what you’re really interested in. They ask you if you’d like to see a brochure of what they have to offer. And you have to see that brochure in person. They won’t present it on the Internet, naturally. So I set up a meet with one of their ‘representatives’ for Thursday afternoon. Two o’clock, at Brookfield Zoo.’
McGinn looked at us as if he’d just watched his young wife deliver a healthy set of twins.
*
The ‘representative’ was supposed to meet us at the giraffes. Someone was supposed to show up wearing a kelly green windbreaker — that was Jack Wendkos. Doc and I and twelve plainclothes detectives were going to surround whoever showed up, and there were another ten patrol cars waiting outside the zoo. They would be charging in on my command.
It was late fall.
‘Maro n,’ he murmured.
‘So?’ I asked him again.
‘Somethin’ to do with computers.’
I looked over at Doc. We needed to fill Jack in about McGinn, our computer nerd.
‘They got some kinda code they use over that fuckin’ Internet, you know?’
‘What code?’ Jack asked him.
‘Shit, I don’t know - I dropped out after the tenth grade. All I know is that you want to look for Imperial Products of Bridgeport.’
‘That’s the listing they’re hiding behind?’ Doc queried.
‘If I get any deeper, Jimmy P, you’ll be my pallbearer ... It’s all I got. I ask any more shit and they’re gonna know I’m passin’ it on.’
‘Okay, Billy. That’s good. We don’t want you dead,’ I told him.
‘We’re stil l famili a , Jimmy P. Even if you got a really shitty way to make a fuckin’ livin’.’
‘Yeah, we’re still family, Billy. And you gotta take care of yourself. You did good, partner. Let me buy you a pitcher of your own.’
‘Fuck, no. I get hammered, I’ll flop the fuckin’ lift at work on top of my dumb ass. I got to eat and run. This is a long drive from the shop.’
The overripe server again showed up with our order, and Billy and Jack Wendkos scoped her every wiggle all the way back to the kitchen. Jack got up and caught the chestnut-haired beauty before she could return to her station. She was smiling and Jack was smiling, and then Wendkos returned to the table.
He sat down and began to eat.
‘Well?’ Doc wanted to know.
‘She’s gay,’ Jack said through a mouthful of deep pan.
‘You’re fuckin’ strokin’ me!’ Billy bellowed.
‘Yeah. I am,’ Jack replied.
Doc let out a belly laugh. I had to join him.
Then the blush left Billy Cheech’s cheeks.
‘You fuckin’ cops. You’re always fuckin’ with people.’
Chapter Eleven
The computer nerd prevailed. We got the call from Matty McGinn on a Tuesday morning just as Doc and Jack and I were about to go off duty from midnights. The kid’d been up all night with the information we received from Billy Cheech, and he didn’t let go until he found it.
We walked into Computer Services at 7.12 a.m. Matty looked as fresh as if he’d just arrived at work, but I knew he had been around his computer for going on sixteen hours.
‘I found it just two hours ago. I tried to get a hold of you on the street, but they said you were doing surveillance,’ McGinn told the trio of us.
‘What’d you find?’ Doc wanted to know.
Jack Wendkos was standing behind the red-headed kid, looking over his right shoulder.
‘Imperial Products of Bridgeport has a very specialized clientele. They sell goods that are available nowhere else — except, I think, in southeast Asia on the black market. So they’ve got no competition ... It took me three hours to get past their code. See, they front themselves by saying they’re selling ceramic works of art. You know, junk stuff you’d put on your coffee table or whatever. But when you get past the first series of phony pitches, and when you continue showing interest in them, they start with a series of questions that find out what you’re really interested in. They ask you if you’d like to see a brochure of what they have to offer. And you have to see that brochure in person. They won’t present it on the Internet, naturally. So I set up a meet with one of their ‘representatives’ for Thursday afternoon. Two o’clock, at Brookfield Zoo.’
McGinn looked at us as if he’d just watched his young wife deliver a healthy set of twins.
*
The ‘representative’ was supposed to meet us at the giraffes. Someone was supposed to show up wearing a kelly green windbreaker — that was Jack Wendkos. Doc and I and twelve plainclothes detectives were going to surround whoever showed up, and there were another ten patrol cars waiting outside the zoo. They would be charging in on my command.
It was late fall.
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