The Big Bang

"I learned to swim a long time ago."

"Not in this river of blood. Years ago, as a young buck, you went up against the old Evello mob, and even then were lucky to come out alive. If the aftermath hadn't been a shakeup between rival Syndicate factions, back then, somebody would've come after you."

"What makes these slobs any different? The old pistoleros were tougher."

"Tougher maybe. Not more ruthless. There's so much at stake now—it's going worldwide, with these drug cartels, violence on a scale even you can't picture. It's big business, Mike."

"What was booze in Prohibition?"

"A fucking cottage industry by way of comparison."

Pat rarely swore, so that got my attention.

I wasn't joking when I said, "I appreciate it, pal. I really do. I'll watch my ass."

"You better. I can't do it for you. Can't keep up with you in these circles. Best I can do is come in and tell the photographer what to shoot and the morgue wagon boys who to fit for a rubber shroud. And I can't even cover for you on my end, not anymore."

"Why not?"

He grimaced. "Because this dope racket is federal—Narcotics Division of the Treasury Department. And you can't go home yet because two of their boys are coming over."

What Pat didn't know was, it was old home week—Agents Radley and Dawson in their gray tailored suits and black neckties. Tall, thin Radley didn't just take over Pat's chair, he took over the whole damn office and threw the captain of Homicide politely out. This was confidential, between the Treasury Department and a loyal taxpayer.

I was sitting opposite Radley, with the shorter but just as skinny Dawson standing just behind and to one side of him, like a shadow with clothes on. They weren't unfriendly, just heart-attack serious, giving me stares so unblinking and cold I almost busted out laughing. Almost.

"Is there any possibility," Radley asked, "that Dr. Harrin was the target?"

"I don't think so," I said, and I didn't.

I supposed it was possible that the Syndicate found out the doc had been using sodium pentothal to go fishing for info, but I figured they'd pull him in and question and maybe torture him, before any rubout. Not just order up a drive-by assassination.

Of course, I didn't share these thoughts with the T-men.

"Mr. Hammer," Radley said, "we have solid intel that Dr. Harrin was friendly with Syndicate leaders. That he had been a source of narcotics via prescription for select Mafia customers."

I shrugged. "Evello and maybe Wren. I heard that."

"Did you discuss it with the doctor?"

"I might have. Why?"

Radley and Dawson traded tight glances.

Then Dawson spoke for the first time tonight: "Harrin just returned from Europe."

"Yeah, France. That's in Europe."

Dawson paused, as if selecting words from invisible file cards. "We have reason to believe that Dr. Harrin may have been involved with a certain major shipment of contraband."

"The big shipment of H, you mean?"

He drew in a breath, let it out. "Yes, the, uh, big shipment we discussed. In Paris, Harrin was observed talking to individuals who may be part of the French faction that is believed to have supplied the American Syndicate in the past."

"Okay. And what do you make of that?"

Radley picked back up: "There's the possibility that Harrin was acting as an intermediary for Junior Evello—or possibly for Jay Wren, who we think is hoping to either take over from Evello's old guard, or eclipse them."

"In a bloody war?"

"Perhaps just by controlling the product. And then there's your theory to consider."

"My theory? Remind me."

Dawson twitched a smile. "That a third party may be attempting to assert himself in this illegal trafficking. That a new drug kingpin, or let's say someone who aspires to that position, may have inserted himself into the picture."

"And you think that was Harrin?"

Radley said, "Again, Harrin may only have been playing intermediary for a party we've not yet identified—it can be very useful to criminal types to engage a respected citizen as a front." His eyebrows rose. "Or Harrin could indeed have been setting himself up for a power play."

I shifted in the chair; it creaked, or maybe that was my bones. "And you think the doc got himself shot for that?"

Radley lifted a shoulder. "Possibly. Of course, the previous attempts on your life would seem to make you the logical target, Mr. Hammer."

I let out a short laugh. "You're forgetting something, fellas. Doesn't matter whether we're talking the Evello bunch or Wren's up-and-comers. Unless they already know the specifics of the shipment, its arrival date and place and the nature of the smuggling scheme? Then killing Harrin makes no sense."

Radley and Dawson frowned at each other.

"No, somebody tried to hit me, boys, and if I hadn't killed their asses, their boss probably would have, for the stupidity of missing me and hitting the doc. You don't kill the Golden Goose, and that's what Harrin potentially was."

Radley stayed silent for a while, then in an overly measured fashion said, "We can't know what you and Dr. Harrin discussed. Unfortunately, we did not have his apartment wired for surveillance—a day or two later, and ... well. No use bemoaning what wasn't." He gave me the Uncle Sam pointing finger. "But if by some chance, for whatever reason, he shared with you any information about that shipment..."

"Like what day it's coming in, you mean, and at what pier?"

The eyes on the two T-men popped; it was comical, like one of those rubber dolls you squeeze.

Radley, a tremor in his voice, asked, "What do you know, Mr. Hammer?"

"Not a damn thing."

Radley's voice grew hushed and it grew tight. "Listen to me. We've been patient with you. We've not subjected you to a recitation of your record with its alarming number of killings."

"Justifiable homicides, you mean."

"Self-defense cannot excuse the outrageous number of vigilante actions you've taken... yes, vigilante actions, Mr. Hammer, and we will not suffer such foolishness, not in a situation so dire, so critical."

I grinned. "Few days ago, you guys were encouraging me to keep investigating. You were saying how I could go places and get away with things you couldn't. Why is my fan club turning on me?"

Radley ignored that. "Never in history has a shipment of this magnitude been in the offing. We can save lives, and we can put a real dent in the Syndicate with this one. It's important. If you learn anything, anything at all, you need to share it with us. It's your patriotic duty, Mr. Hammer."

Whenever they start talking to me about my patriotic duty, I check my wallet.

"I served in the Pacific," I said. "Draft somebody younger." I stood. "Is that all, gentlemen? I like to get in bed before sunup—otherwise I have trouble nodding off."

Radley swallowed thickly. "You know where to reach us. If you learn anything, bring the information to us. Do not take it upon yourself to deal with this situation, Mr. Hammer. You really are in over your head on this one."

Second time I'd been told that tonight.

"Then I better go home," I said, "and put on my water wings."

On my way out through the bullpen, Pat came up and took me by the arm. With his back to the rest of the room, he carefully slipped me a manila folder. "I could get my ass in a wringer, helping you."

"Sounds like a safe bet. What are these?"

"The Jay Wren surveillance shots you asked for, courtesy of the Miami PD. Nothing from the feds, but maybe these'll tell you something."

"Thanks, buddy."

I didn't look at the photos till I got to my car. They showed Wren in the walled-in pool area of a fancy Spanish stucco villa with the expected palm trees. The angle was high, from one of those palms maybe or an adjacent house.