''Hungry,'' Sell-More said. ''Haven't ate in two days.''
Lucas dug in a pocket, took out a small clip of bills, and pulled out a ten:
''Where's the boss?''
Sell-More licked his bottom lip: ''Who?''
''Daymon, for Christ's sakes,'' Lucas said.
''Oh, Daymon.'' Sell-More looked up at the apartment. ''He said the cops was hassling him because of these white boys killing cops. So he went on a trip.
With Jas-Min.''
''You know where?''
''He said maybe Mexico. Someplace warm,'' Sell-More said. ''Is that good for the ten?''
''You lyin'?'' Lucas asked.
''No way,'' Sell-More said. He shivered. ''If the boss was here, I'd be eating.''
Lucas handed him the ten and said to Del, ''Mexico.''
Del looked around at the snow: ''Wish I was with him.''
Stadic nodded, happy with the story. If Davenport thought Harp was involved, he'd just keep coming back. He didn't want Davenport poking around Harp's operation: not now.
They'd taken a couple of steps away from Sell-More when Lucas stopped and said,
''You wanna go for a hundred?''
Sell-More said, ''What?''
''We're looking for cops who might be… dealing. If you want to ask around, get a name or two, it'd be worth some cash.''
Stadic tensed: he hadn't planned on this. ''Do I get the bread now?'' Sell-More asked hopefully.
''Hell no,'' Lucas said. ''When I get the names-and the names better be good.''
Sell-More said, ''That's pretty dangerous, what you want.''
''Yeah, well, that ten won't last long,'' Lucas said. He took a card out of his pocket and handed it to Sell-More. ''You get hungry again, get a name and call me. Nobody has to know about it.''
Sell-More's eyes seemed to roll inward, and after a moment of silence, he looked from Lucas to Del to Stadic, and then he said, ''I think I might know somebody.''
LACHAISE LOOKED AT MARTIN: ''THEY'RE GONE.''
Martin nodded. ''Yup.''
''I can't believe it,'' LaChaise said. He looked down at Sandy and said, ''We're good as gold.''
Sandy nodded. She could still feel her heart thumping. The cops had hit the
Frogtown house the day after the first shootings. She didn't know how they'd done it, but they'd killed Butters and they would have killed all of them, probably. Now they were knocking on the door of the new place. The whole thing was coming apart, just like Elmore had said it would. Elmore had never been bright: now he was looking like a prophet.
She didn't say any of that: instead, she thought, Telephone.
LUCAS CHECKED ON HIS CREW: SLOAN AND SHERRILL were probing sources in the local biker groups. Del and Franklin were working independently, running more dopers.
Anderson, who worked for Lester, was running lists of names though personnel, asking who might know enough to crack the personnel computers. Lucas stopped by his office: '' Anything?''
Anderson said, ''Your name keeps coming up.''
''I think we can eliminate that one,'' Lucas said.
Anderson yawned and said, ''Well, that leaves about sixty more, including everybody in your group, and I'm not finished running the roster.''
''Give me a list when you get it,'' Lucas said.
He also got a copy of Buster Brown's tape and carried it back to his office and listened to it again.
''… need to know where this Weather is, and be good to know where Capslock's old lady is, her room number. And we need to know where Davenport is working, andCapslock, Sherrill, Sloan, Franklin and Kupicek. You know the list.''
Long pause.
''That don't sound right; you better be tellin' the truth, or your name'll be on the list, motherfucker… Hey, listen to what I'm telling you. .. No, not you. Did you find out anything about Elmore?''
Another pause.
''That's what we thought. We'll look those boys up when we're done here…
Now listen, we need that shit and we need it right now. We'll call back in… two hours. Two hours, got it?''
Pause.
''I don't know. And you let us worry about getting back to you. You might be pulling some bullshit. And if you are, you better think twice.. .''
Pause.
''Yeah, yeah. Two hours.''
He rolled it back and listened for background sounds: he'd seen a movie where they figured out where something was by the sound of a train… but there was nothing. Buster thought he could hear a television, but Lucas couldn't pick it out of the tape noise. Then he thought, What was that about Elmore?
LaChaise:
Did you find out anything about Elmore?… That's what we thought. We'll look those boys up when we're done here…
Huh. That sounded like they hadn't killed Elmore Darling. That sounded like they thought they knew who had-and so did the cop talking to them. Lucas puzzled through it: the cop was telling them that Elmore had been killed by other cops, probably the Michigan prison people, in revenge for the killingof Sand. That was absurd-but something a con might believe. But if the Michigan people hadn't killed Elmore, and LaChaise hadn't…
Lucas launched himself out of his chair and took a quick turn around his desk.
Had to be the cop. But how had he known to kill Elmore? How had he known that
Elmore was even involved? Was the cop that deep with LaChaise, that he'd know all of it? Had he been involved in the escape itself?
That didn't seem likely: the voices on the phone had been antagonistic.
So how did he know? They had enough pieces of the picture that he should be able to put it together. And when he found it, maybe the cop…
STADIC WAS FRANTICALLY TRYING TO LOCATE Sell-More. The junkie had said he might know somebody. And as one of Harp's dealers, he might. Harp and Stadic were careful in their rare meetings, always taking them well out of town. But money had to be moved, information had to be worked through, pictures had to be looked at. And with dopers, you could never telclass="underline" they were as likely to wake up in
Chicago or Miami as at home, and somehow, somebody might have seen him, and
Harp, and put two and two together.
Stadic hit all the spots, braced a few dealers with questions about cops, as cover. Davenport would probably shit if he found out that Stadic was covering the same ground as his own people, but that couldn't be helped.
Just after dark, he talked to a convenience store clerk who had sold Sell-More a doughnut not ten minutes earlier. Sell-More was walking, the clerk said. Stadic crisscrossed the side streets, and five minutes later found Sell-More wandering along a sidewalk, hands in his pockets, eyes glazed. Stadic pulled over, ran the window down: ''Get in,'' he said.
Sell-More looked at him, then spoke slowly, a thin glimmer of intelligence: ''I ain't got much.''
''We want to talk to you anyway,'' Stadic said, the car grinding through the lumpy ice at the edge of the road. ''Get in.''
Sell-More shuffled around the car, got in the passenger side, slumped, then leaned forward and rubbed his hands in the air from the car's heater. ''Fuckin' hungry,'' he said.
''You spent the money on dope?''
''I am a dope,'' Sell-More said. ''What you want, anyway?''
''Where're your gloves?''
''Ain't got no gloves. Where're we going?''
''Just gonna drive around a minute, keep the heat going,'' Stadic said. ''What'd you find out?''
Sell-More shrugged. ''My man said that Daymon Harp's got a cop, 'cause every time somebody tries to edge in on Daymon, they get busted the next day. He says everybody knows that.''
''That's it?''
''Dude gotta be in narcotics,'' Sell-More said.
Though he was driving, Stadic closed his eyes for a moment. He felt the world slipping out of control, like one of those nightmares where something goes wrong, and you can't ever get it quite right again. If a dumbass like Sell-More could figure this out, then other people could figure it out, too. He hadn't been given away by the name, but by the pattern. And if anyone looked at the pattern of arrests closely enough, they'd find Stadic's name.