smile.
“Odds are on the other .”
Twelve
DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database
Transcript Cell Phone Track and Trace
Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation
Target: Tito Raykovic
Date: Sunday, August 8, 2010
Time: 1405–1408 EDT
TITO: IDI?
IDI: YES, HOW ARE YOU, DEAR?
TITO: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? MY GOD, I WAS WORRIED.
IDI: SPIKIC WANTED TO SEE ME.
TITO: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
IDI: OF COURSE, ABOUT THE ROBBERY.
TITO: FUCK A RODENT! WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM? WHY DID HE NOT ASK ME?
IDI: YOU HAVE PANTS FULL OF CRAP, TITO, YOUR COCK FOLDED IN TWO. IMAGINE IF YOU HAD SPOKEN WITH HIM? HE WOULD SEE YOUR PANIC AND ASSUME YOU ARE GUILTY.
TITO: IS IT WRONG TO WORRY? NO, IT IS RIGHT THAT I WORRY. GRAVEDIGGERS LICK SPIKIC’S TESTICLES. IF HE BLAMES US, HE WILL KILL US.
IDI: THANKS TO ME HE DOES NOT BLAME US.
TITO: HE DIDN’T TOUCH YOU, DID HE?
IDI: AND WHAT IF HE DID? WHAT WOULD YOU DO ABOUT IT?
TITO: TELL ME!
IDI: WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU ANYTHING, YOU FAT LITTLE LIZARD? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN WHILE I WAS PUTTING THINGS RIGHT WITH SPIKIC? CURLED UP IN A BOTTLE, I HAVE LITTLE DOUBT. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HELD THEIR COCKS. YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN IN BUSINESS WITH THESE CRIMINALS TO BEGIN WITH.
TITO: THAT CUNT DOESN’T HOLD WATER, YOU WANTON FEMALE DOG! WERE IT NOT FOR YOU AND YOUR FURS AND DIAMONDS, I WOULD NOT HAVE NEEDED THE MONEY THEY PAY. I AM A WEALTHY MAN WITH LARGE DEVELOPMENT DEALS, BUT YOU—A FARMER’S DAUGHTER—MAKE ME POOR WITH YOUR FANCY WAYS AND OPERATIONS TO MAKE YOURSELF A GODDESS. AND BY MY MOTHER’S CUNT THAT DOG LIVES BETTER THAN A SULTAN!
IDI: DO YOU NOT DROOL OVER MY BREASTS AND TAKE MY LIP ON THAT BUG’S COCK OF YOURS? I BEND OVER PLENTY FOR YOU.
TITO: WHAT I DID WAS A FAVOR FOR THEM AND FOR YOU AND FOR US. DON’T PUSH ME, IDI! EVEN I HAVE LIMITS.
IDI: YOU STILL HAVE NOT ANSWERED THE QUESTION. WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
TITO: DID YOU LET HIM FUCK YOU?
IDI: ANSWER THE QUESTION, BUG COCK!
TITO: I WOULD KILL YOU AND HIM!
IDI: [LAUGHTER]
TITO: HELLO? HELLO? WANTON FEMALE DOG!
*END*
Thirteen
Down the block was a stationer that did passport photos. I did my best to slick my hair all the way back, got the photo, and dropped it back at Doc’s with the plump counter girl.
I made my way to Union Street and the door to Mr. Zim. There was a neon sign in the window: Acupuncture—Cupping—Healing . These Chinatown herbalists do their magic in normal retail shop space, and this one could easily have been a beauty shop or travel agency. Except there were acupuncture charts on the walls and dark shelves lined with jars full of dried roots, berries, twigs, and who knew what. In front was a counter stacked with bright Chinese boxes of elixirs and a mortar and pestle; in back was an examination table, a Chinese screen, and a rollaway instrument cart loaded with acupuncture needles, cups, and incense. The place smelled like tea and licorice.
Behind the counter was a chipper man with a wrinkled head, the kind that looked like a dried apple on a stick. Except it had black hair with white roots and matching wispy beard. Bad dye job. Vanity is boundless.
Mr. Zim removed his specs: “Huang called.” And then he peered over my shoulder at the shop window to make sure nobody had followed me. “For this service I charge a thousand.”
“A thousand?”
“What would cat doctor ask?” He wagged a finger at me. “Much more.”
“Can you help?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If she not dead.”
“Bullet went through right here, came out the other side.” I pointed to my side. “Now it’s all blown up and yellow. She has a fever.”
“Not good.” He shook his head, and wagged his finger again. “Wait. Few minutes.”
He went past the examination table and around the corner, out of sight.
I stepped out front, burned a Winston, and fished around my pockets for ten hundreds. When I was done Zim was at the counter with a box of slim glass vials, a jar of something slimy, and a bag of something crispy. His
“Odds are on the other .”
Twelve
DCSNet 6000 Warrant Database
Transcript Cell Phone Track and Trace
Peerless IP Network / Redhook Translation
Target: Tito Raykovic
Date: Sunday, August 8, 2010
Time: 1405–1408 EDT
TITO: IDI?
IDI: YES, HOW ARE YOU, DEAR?
TITO: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? MY GOD, I WAS WORRIED.
IDI: SPIKIC WANTED TO SEE ME.
TITO: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
IDI: OF COURSE, ABOUT THE ROBBERY.
TITO: FUCK A RODENT! WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM? WHY DID HE NOT ASK ME?
IDI: YOU HAVE PANTS FULL OF CRAP, TITO, YOUR COCK FOLDED IN TWO. IMAGINE IF YOU HAD SPOKEN WITH HIM? HE WOULD SEE YOUR PANIC AND ASSUME YOU ARE GUILTY.
TITO: IS IT WRONG TO WORRY? NO, IT IS RIGHT THAT I WORRY. GRAVEDIGGERS LICK SPIKIC’S TESTICLES. IF HE BLAMES US, HE WILL KILL US.
IDI: THANKS TO ME HE DOES NOT BLAME US.
TITO: HE DIDN’T TOUCH YOU, DID HE?
IDI: AND WHAT IF HE DID? WHAT WOULD YOU DO ABOUT IT?
TITO: TELL ME!
IDI: WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU ANYTHING, YOU FAT LITTLE LIZARD? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN WHILE I WAS PUTTING THINGS RIGHT WITH SPIKIC? CURLED UP IN A BOTTLE, I HAVE LITTLE DOUBT. YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HELD THEIR COCKS. YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN IN BUSINESS WITH THESE CRIMINALS TO BEGIN WITH.
TITO: THAT CUNT DOESN’T HOLD WATER, YOU WANTON FEMALE DOG! WERE IT NOT FOR YOU AND YOUR FURS AND DIAMONDS, I WOULD NOT HAVE NEEDED THE MONEY THEY PAY. I AM A WEALTHY MAN WITH LARGE DEVELOPMENT DEALS, BUT YOU—A FARMER’S DAUGHTER—MAKE ME POOR WITH YOUR FANCY WAYS AND OPERATIONS TO MAKE YOURSELF A GODDESS. AND BY MY MOTHER’S CUNT THAT DOG LIVES BETTER THAN A SULTAN!
IDI: DO YOU NOT DROOL OVER MY BREASTS AND TAKE MY LIP ON THAT BUG’S COCK OF YOURS? I BEND OVER PLENTY FOR YOU.
TITO: WHAT I DID WAS A FAVOR FOR THEM AND FOR YOU AND FOR US. DON’T PUSH ME, IDI! EVEN I HAVE LIMITS.
IDI: YOU STILL HAVE NOT ANSWERED THE QUESTION. WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
TITO: DID YOU LET HIM FUCK YOU?
IDI: ANSWER THE QUESTION, BUG COCK!
TITO: I WOULD KILL YOU AND HIM!
IDI: [LAUGHTER]
TITO: HELLO? HELLO? WANTON FEMALE DOG!
*END*
Thirteen
Down the block was a stationer that did passport photos. I did my best to slick my hair all the way back, got the photo, and dropped it back at Doc’s with the plump counter girl.
I made my way to Union Street and the door to Mr. Zim. There was a neon sign in the window: Acupuncture—Cupping—Healing . These Chinatown herbalists do their magic in normal retail shop space, and this one could easily have been a beauty shop or travel agency. Except there were acupuncture charts on the walls and dark shelves lined with jars full of dried roots, berries, twigs, and who knew what. In front was a counter stacked with bright Chinese boxes of elixirs and a mortar and pestle; in back was an examination table, a Chinese screen, and a rollaway instrument cart loaded with acupuncture needles, cups, and incense. The place smelled like tea and licorice.
Behind the counter was a chipper man with a wrinkled head, the kind that looked like a dried apple on a stick. Except it had black hair with white roots and matching wispy beard. Bad dye job. Vanity is boundless.
Mr. Zim removed his specs: “Huang called.” And then he peered over my shoulder at the shop window to make sure nobody had followed me. “For this service I charge a thousand.”
“A thousand?”
“What would cat doctor ask?” He wagged a finger at me. “Much more.”
“Can you help?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If she not dead.”
“Bullet went through right here, came out the other side.” I pointed to my side. “Now it’s all blown up and yellow. She has a fever.”
“Not good.” He shook his head, and wagged his finger again. “Wait. Few minutes.”
He went past the examination table and around the corner, out of sight.
I stepped out front, burned a Winston, and fished around my pockets for ten hundreds. When I was done Zim was at the counter with a box of slim glass vials, a jar of something slimy, and a bag of something crispy. His
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