"When'd you get that?"
"Saturday morning."
Vicki interjected, "So you were in the hospital Friday night?"
"Yeah. They took me in to run the tests, then they cut it off the next day, jus' like that."
Vicki planted herself in front of Reheema. "Mr. James, when did you get the phone?"
"When I ge' home, next day."
"When was that?"
James blinked dully. "What's today?"
"Thursday. When did you come home from the hospital?"
"I come home Saturday." James seemed to lose focus, his eyelids drooping to a close. "Saturday mornin'."
Vicki nodded. "So Chucky gave you the cell phone on Monday."
"Yeah, Chucky gi' it to me."
"Did Chucky tell you where he got the phone?"
"No."
Reheema couldn't take it anymore, demanding, "Where'd you get the phone, Ray?"
"I tole you. Chucky. Chucky got everythin', everythin' you need, he got it. Chucky like a store," James mumbled, his eyes still closed. "Alls I do now lay here and talk onna phone. Can't do no business, can't do nothin'. I watch the TV and talk to my homes, all day long."
Hmm. Vicki realized that would explain the HIDTA frequency reports; James was making the same calls but the substance was different, and in time the call pattern would change. ATF never would have gotten the warrant for James, on that record.
"You better be tellin' me the TRUTH!" Reheema spat out, and James waved her away like a fly.
"Le' me alone, le' me in peace. I din' kill nobody. I din' do nothin'."
"Thank you, Mr. James," Vicki said, then turned to Reheema. "I think we're finished here, don't you?"
"Hmph!" Reheema edged away from the bed.
Now. Vicki walked ahead of her, because she had a Secret Plan. She couldn't let this happen again. Suddenly, she bumped Reheema's side like a common pickpocket, grabbed the car keys from her hand, and ran down the hall and toward the front door with them.
"What are you doing?" Reheema shouted, caught by surprise and momentarily left behind.
Go, go, go! Vicki flew out the front door and into the cold, ran for the Intrepid and jumped inside, locking the doors.
"What the HELL YOU DOIN'?" Reheema reached the car a split second later and hit the glass window, furious.
But Vicki wasn't staying to answer. She'd twisted on the ignition, hit the gas, and driven off, with Reheema giving chase.
Yikes! Vicki hadn't counted on Reheema trying to run down a car, so she floored the gas pedal. The Intrepid picked up nicely, and she tore down the street and took a swift right onto the main drag, heading for the PNC Bank at Jefferson Street. She checked the rearview, and Reheema was sprinting down the block. Vicki hit the gas, caught the next two green lights, and spotted the PNC Bank. By then, Reheema had disappeared from the rearview mirror.
Yippee! Vicki turned right onto Jefferson and raced toward the house with the red door. She would get this job done without bullies, interference, or illegality. Chucky Cheese didn't sound dangerous. And if Vicki had to defend herself, she had a law degree.
It turned out that Chucky was not only harmless, he was eighty-proof, and he leaned way too close to Vicki as they sat in the front seat of the Intrepid. They had parked behind a CVS three blocks from his house, where Reheema would never find them. Chucky was about sixty-five years old, African-American, and a diminutive five foot three in a thick green parka. He had shrewd brown eyes with a mercantile glint and, as James had suggested, served as the eBay of the hood.
"Ya want information, that'll be twenty bucks," Chucky said, his breath scented with Budweiser.
"Another twenty?" Vicki had already spent twenty to get him in the car with her, once she had convinced him she didn't want to "party."
"Money talks, or Mr. Chucky walks." Chucky grinned, showing the gap between his front teeth that had undoubtedly given him his nickname.
"Fine." Vicki reached into her wallet yet again and handed him the twenty. "Okay, so tell me-"
"Ya need a watch, a new watch?"
"I got a watch."
"Classy girl like ye'self, ya gotta wear Rolex."
"I don't want a fake Rolex, Chucky."
"Ain't fake!"
"Of course it is." Vicki had already bought from him a fake Vuitton bag, a counterfeit pink-and-black Burberry scarf, and a bootleg copy of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The stuff sat between them on the seat like a barricade of knockoffs. She watched with dismay as Chucky started digging again in the backseat, where he'd insisted on putting his bedsheet, like Santa with his bag of copyright violations.
"Ya need a Rolex, Miss Vicki." Chucky plopped back into the passenger seat, holding a fake stainless Rolex. "Ya need ta buy this."
"No, I don't."
"Ya do if you wanna know where I got that cell phone."
"Do you really know where you got it?"
"Yes, I do, swear I do." Chucky nodded, his bald head dotted with tiny gray hairs, covering a veiny brown scalp.
"I don't believe you. I'm guessing you sell a lot of cell phones."
"I do all right with the phones, this time a year."
"So tell me what my phone looked like."
"Little silver one, Samsung, blue daisies, green center in each one."
Vicki couldn't help but be impressed. She liked a fence who knew his inventory.
"Watch is thirty dollars." Chucky handed her a Rolex that gleamed like Reynolds Wrap.
"Thirty dollars for this? Come on!"
" 'Scuse me, twenty."
"Excuse me! Ten!"
"Twenty."
Maybe bribes are deductible. Vicki handed over another twenty, and Chucky slipped it into his pocket.
"You won't be sorry, Miss Vicki. Lemme show you what I been savin' for you, special for you." Chucky reached for the backseat, rummaging again.
"No, I'm not buying anything else. Now tell me where you got that cell phone."
Chucky sat down and dangled a fake gold chain with a humongous Mercedes symbol. "Like it?"
"No."
"It's real big."
"True, no subtlety there."
"Eighteen karat!"
"I'm sure."
"P. Diddy got one just like it." Chucky swung the necklace back and forth like a cartoon hypnotist. "Yours for twenty bucks."
"No. Absolutely not."
"Come on! Ten bucks! You got ten bucks, girl!"
"No!" Vicki raised a firm, final hand. "Now tell me what I need to know."
Half an hour later, Vicki was steering the Intrepid back onto the main drag. She had dropped Chucky off at his house and picked up Reheema, who had been sitting on his front steps, simmering despite the frigid temperature. Reheema didn't say anything, remaining opaque behind her sunglasses and knit hat. Or maybe she was just thawing out.
"Reheema, you don't have to talk to me, if you don't want to." Vicki slipped on her sunglasses against the sunlight. "Even though I bought you all this nice stuff, including that lovely Mercedes-Benz necklace."
Reheema looked out the window.
"P. Diddy has one, you know. It's twenty-four karat."
Reheema didn't respond.
"Okay, have it your way. I found out where Chucky says he got the cell phone and I'm taking you there, right now. I'm taking you with me this time, because even you will behave yourself in these circumstances."
Reheema stayed turned away.
"I understand why you're angry, and I would be, too. Very angry and very hurt. In pain. But you were way out of line with James, and I couldn't let you do that again. It was wrong."