‘Probably not.’
‘Definitely not. They’d have taken action against him immediately. And I’ve read nothing about that in the Overnights. Have you?’
‘No,’ she admitted.
Striker continued: ‘District 2 is the low end, the free-for-all, mainly because it’s a crack cocaine district. That’s what sells here, crack. The meth is just an afterthought – but afterthought or not, Sleeves needs somewhere to sell his product. My bet is he’s doing it here.’
‘Which means he needs a legitimate street trafficker,’ Felicia said. ‘A guy who has the street cred to move decent amounts of product but isn’t a total junkie himself.’
‘Which means Lucky Eddie.’
‘Who won’t be so lucky today.’
Striker grinned. ‘Bingo.’
When Felicia still looked uncertain, Striker prodded her. ‘Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet. If I win, you have to give me a full body massage tonight; if you win, I’ll give you one.’
‘Sounds like you win either way.’
Striker laughed. ‘And you say I have an ego.’
Felicia just smiled at him.
Then the wait began.
It didn’t take long. Lucky Eddie was an easy man to spot, mainly because he suffered from Marfan syndrome. Because of this, he was almost 200 centimetres tall and had unusually long arms and legs. When Striker saw the outline of a tall stickman lumbering up to a much smaller individual behind the convenience store, he knew they had found their man.
‘Beautiful,’ Striker said.
Felicia saw it too. ‘He’s making a deal right now.’
‘Hold on.’
Before Felicia could respond, Striker hit the gas. They cut across the main drive of Lakewood and came to a screeching halt behind the convenience store. The swerve of the car and the cry of the brakes caused Lucky Eddie to jump back in surprise, and he dropped his collection of baggies in the process.
Striker jumped out of the car, grabbed Eddie by the arm, and slammed him over the hood of the cruiser. As he handcuffed him, Eddie’s customer ran frantically across the park towards Wall Street.
Striker smiled at Felicia. ‘Where’s the loyalty?’
She looked down at Eddie. ‘This will definitely affect your customer approval rating.’
Lucky Eddie said nothing, he just stared back at them through dark eyes that communicated nothing. Striker gave the prisoner a cursory search, clearing the man of knives and guns, and then pulled him off the hood. In behind them, Felicia picked up four dropped baggies, each one containing roughly twenty pills. She held them up and looked at their contents.
‘It’s jib. Maybe some E too.’
Striker nodded: Crystal meth and ecstasy. He turned to Lucky Eddie and smiled. ‘Well, this certainly is a dilemma we find ourselves in.’
Eddie’s posture sagged. ‘You gonna book me or not, Striker?’
‘Striker? Wow, you remember me. How thoughtful. And here I thought you’d forgotten.’
‘You almost ran me over last time too.’
‘Almost – that’s the key word.’ Striker took one of the bags from Felicia. ‘Let’s see, what charges have we got here? Possession. Trafficking. Evading Arrest. And the last time I checked, you were also out on bail, were you not? So there’ll be a breach here somewhere too.’
‘It’s like a smorgasbord of charges,’ Felicia said.
Striker nodded. ‘And I’m still hungry.’
Eddie scowled at their banter, then looked away. ‘So what? Charge me. I’ll be out in two months – max.’
‘Oh, you’ll be out today,’ Striker replied. When the drug trafficker looked at him sideways, Striker added, ‘It’s your lucky day, Lucky Eddie – I don’t want to arrest you.’
There was a long pause, then Eddie asked, ‘What’s the catch?’
‘I need some information – an answer to a very important question. One which I know you have . . . Where is Sleeves hiding?’
Recognition and surprise filled Eddie’s eyes. But there was also something else there. Fear.
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Actually, you have heard of him. In fact, you’re dealing for him right now.’
‘Then book me.’
Striker raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure, I could do that – or I could take a different approach here. You see, my partner and I just had a conversation with Vicenza Montalba.’
Eddie flinched at the name, and Striker continued.
‘Vicenza Montalba is none-too-happy with Sleeves right now. Now if you want, we could always pay Montalba another visit, let him know who’s got the balls to sell for the very guy Montalba excommunicated from his criminal enterprise.’
Eddie said nothing but his face hardened.
The reaction made Striker smile. ‘Yeah, I think Montalba would deliver a slightly different sentence than the courts, don’t you, Feleesh?’
She grinned. ‘I’d say Life . . . in some form or another.’
Eddie licked his lips. ‘This is bullshit, man, this is fucking bullshit!’
Striker lost the smile. He gripped Eddie’s collar and got right in his face.
‘I’ll tell you what’s bullshit, Eddie. I got two innocent women murdered and a personal friend of mine who’s been targeted by some fuckin’ whack-job bomber. You get it? That is fuckin’ bullshit. All the cards are off the table on this one.’
Felicia nodded in agreement. ‘The moment you target a cop, there are no rules.’
Eddie’s eyes took on a distant look. ‘I never targeted no—’
‘We’re not messing around here,’ Striker said. ‘Time is critical. And every minute that goes by endangers a cop’s life more. So here’s the deal, Eddie: we know you have an address for Sleeves. You give it to us, and we let you go and never say a word about this again. You don’t cough it up, and we’ll charge you with everything I can think of – and then I’ll call Montalba myself.’
Eddie looked back, deadpan. ‘I call bluff.’
Striker fished the business card Montalba had given him out from his wallet. He held it up for Eddie to see.
‘We’re talking a cop’s life here, Eddie. Your scumbag rights don’t count for shit.’ He took out his cell and began dialling. ‘The moment this call is answered, the deal is off.’
He put it on speakerphone, and the line began to ring.
One, two—
‘Okay, okay, o-fucking-kay!’ Eddie snapped. ‘For God’s sake, man, Montalba will kill me!’
‘That’s the general idea.’ Striker put the cell away. ‘Now where can we find him?’
Eddie let out a long breath, then relented. ‘House up on Lakewood. Right behind the 7-Eleven. White, with boarded-up windows.’
‘He lives there?’
‘He stays there with some girl. When he’s doing business. Calls it the bunker.’
‘Where is it?’
‘I dunno, man. Serious. He never tells no one ’bout it. He’s paranoid.’
‘Who’s the girl?’
‘I dunno. Some chick. She’s a freak. Never comes out, never talks to no one.’ Eddie shrugged. ‘Creepy, if you ask me.’
Striker changed the subject. ‘I want his cell number too.’
‘Sleeves ain’t got no cell.’
‘All dealers have a cell.’
‘Well he never gave the number to me. He got a pager instead. Like I told you, he’s friggin’ paranoid, man.’
‘Because he’s got too many enemies,’ Felicia said.
Eddie just shrugged like he didn’t much care. ‘Look, I don’t make no rules. This is just how it is. I call that number, punch in three 8s, and Sleeves brings more product. Same amount every time – twenty dime-bags . . . We got a thing going on here, him and me.’
‘Where do you meet?’ Striker demanded.