“Let’s get out of here before I jump the counter.”
I dropped Ted at home and headed straight out again. Amy had called right after I finished my yummy “haw dawk”, and asked me to meet her at Starbucks for a coffee. I guess she had been on duty since I saw her that morning, though she looked just as good, maybe better.
“Turns out it was Rev. Narcotics have been on my ass all day, wanting to know where I got the stuff. So you’ve officially become my confidential informant. That means I’m keeping a CI file with your name and contact details in it, but the file is confidential.”
“I’m cool with that. Do I get a code name?”
“Sure. How about — Mr. Dimples? Freckles Malloy?”
Great. I hated it when chicks played the “cute” card. Often the first sign I was headed for the friend zone, or at least the first sign I was capable of reading. Yes, I have dimples. And yes, I have so many freckles I look like I have a perpetual tan. That does not detract from my manliness.
“Nah. How about Studly Doright?”
“Ha! Yeah. Mr. Dimples it is.”
She tweaked my cheek, and I felt very small.
“You may need to meet with my supervisor at some point. He’s going to let me know.”
I wasn’t looking forward to that, but one thing I was sure about — I wasn’t leaving Amy out to dry on any of this. “OK. Whatever you need. So, what does all of this mean for Niki?”
“It means Narcotics are putting a team on him, starting right now. Once they find him, he’ll be put on surveillance.”
“If they don’t have any luck, tell them to try the Ruscan Industries’ head offices on St. Clair.”
“We figured that. They’ll head over there if they don’t spot him at his apartment.”
I returned home to a litany of questions from my dear brother. Did we do the deed? Was she wearing handcuffs? Was I wearing handcuffs? Who did the cavity search?
Ted needed to get out more.
He went to bed just after eleven, but I was too wound up to sleep and ended up watching an hour of MMA fighting. Mixed Martial Arts, or no-holds barred beat’em bloody fighting, as I like to think of it. You would imagine I had seen enough violence for one day, but it was just nice to see someone else throwing punches for a change.
Some guy was bending his opponent’s arm in spectacularly abnormal angles when the phone rang.
“We got him!”
What?
“Niki?”
“Yup. Right in the middle of a deal, four grams of Rev. And he was carrying a gun.”
“No kidding.” Jeez, how long had the guy been wearing the ring? He was getting it even worse than Jamar had. Sweet.
“Oh yeah. High fives all around. Narcotics love me right now. I owe you dinner.”
My heart leaped and I admit it was not the only part of my anatomy that experienced a surge.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Don’t get any ideas. Anyways, keep an eye out. We’ve got him, but he’ll probably make bail and be back on the street in a day or two.”
“He’s a hard guy to miss.”
“True, but he’s also a real hardass. They’re still questioning him, but he refuses to give up any names. Guy’s been in the system awhile. He’ll be a tough one to crack.”
“You get the sense he was supposed to be dealing, or is he doing this on the side?”
“Can’t figure that out yet. He was definitely dealing in the club when our guys arrested him, but he had enough at his apartment that we think he might also be a middle man.”
“I thought that was a real no-no in the drug world.”
“No kidding. The whole idea is to maintain cut-outs, not rely too much on any one player in the game. The guys up the chain stay off the street to reduce their visibility. If Kuzmenko really is a distributor, then he’s in for a heap of shit. We’re squeezing him like crazy, trying to climb the chain.”
“Any links to Legenko?”
“Nothing. But we’re going to keep searching. If he’s a supplier, there may be some leads from the surveillance. If we’re lucky, his tracks will lead us to Legenko.”
CHAPTER 24
Hard as it is to believe, the next few days were quite pleasant. The thought of Niki’s ass lodged in jail was of tremendous comfort to me. Not only that, but Amy had been calling me every night, to update me and just to chat.
That gave me a chance to sort out a few things back in the office, including following up on our suspicions regarding Bindings, Dr. Galt and the fearstone. I had Kara make an appointment for me to meet with Dr. Galt, and I dropped by their offices at the end of the day on Thursday.
Bindings was located in the Theatre District, which was hopping at this hour. The mid-day trickle of suits had been replaced by casual blazers, open collars and ladies in evening wear.
The store was open for business, and several customers were milling about. Galt spoke with two men in suits who looked like bankers, and one of his associates checked in with the other shoppers, pulling out a book for examination by one fellow, and reviewing the history of another text with a younger couple. The receptionist was the same blonde I had met on my first day — Mary O’Connell, according to Kara.
I’m pretty sure the good doctor registered my polo shirt when I entered, but it still took a good ten minutes and three reminders from the receptionist before he excused himself and gestured for her to lead me in. Not so much as an insincere apology.
Ms. O’Connell led me to a small sitting room tucked in an alcove I had not registered on my last visit. Galt lowered himself into a wicker chair in the corner, and I opted for a matching chair facing him. I eased myself down, conscious of my long-standing view that wicker is a fragile substitute for oak or metal. The checkerboard strips creaked as my weight settled in, and I tried to hide my wince.
“…was saying this was about a lost package?”
“Yes,” I drew the trench coat out of the gift bag Kara had provided for the trip. “I guess last year this coat was left with us to deliver to your offices, but your receptionist at the time,” I referred to my notes, anal fellow that I am, “Ms. Morgan? I guess she told Clay you hadn’t ordered any coats.”
He extended a manicured hand, and I passed him the coat. He turned it over in his hands, checked the label and length, and even sniffed the damned thing. I took the opportunity to observe my customer. Omega watch and bespoke suit. Apparently old books were good business. His motions were precise and delicate, with the fine dexterity I associated with a dentist. Or a pianist. I suppose that made sense for someone handling antique papers on a daily basis.
“Well, this appears to be one of my own coats. I thought I had lost this some time back. But you’ve had this for several years now — why did you take so long to contact us?”
Prick. “Well, as I said, we tried to effect delivery, but your receptionist refused to accept the package. The file indicates we called on several subsequent occasions, as well.”
“Well if you had spoken to me, I would have confirmed immediately that it was my coat.”
He sniffed. “Unfortunately it is now ruined. Stained here, and here.” He gestured to two areas of discoloration. I figured if he kept this up, there might be a few more stains on that coat.
“As I said, we did attempt delivery. We don’t maintain goods in long-term storage, particularly when we have no idea of ownership.”
“I presume our account will be credited with the cost of a replacement?”
He stared at me with his weasel eyes, and I debated driving my thumb through his larynx. Nervy bastard, for sure. I had no intention whatsoever of crediting him one damned dime, but I wasn’t up to the fight. So I took the chicken route.
“Let me take that into consideration. I’ll see what we can do.” Cluck cluck.
He obviously wasn’t satisfied, but seemed intent on returning to his customers.
He stood as though to see me out, but I could see he was lost in thought. His right thumb and index finger stroked the cloth of the coat as though it were a soothing stone.