"Figured I'd drop by, see how things were going. You know, shoot the shit. See if you'd finished the assignment I gave your black ass."
The gangbanger straightened, narrowed his eyes. He poured cognac into the snifter, threw it back, poured another. "You want one?"
"Sure."
Dion turned the bottle upside down so the brown liquor poured out in a ropy stream, glug glug. Smiled. "Just ran out."
Anthony shook his head. "See, that's what's wrong with you people. Trying to come off hard, but all you did, you poured booze on your nice white carpet."
"Carpet don't mean shit to me," tossing the empty bottle aside. "I got the bank, have new stuff down before I'm even home tomorrow."
"Yeah, but see, it didn't do any good. You ruined your carpet for nothing. I mean, if wanted to use the bottle as a weapon, that I could understand. Of course," gesturing with his left hand while his right jerked the Smith, like a magician distracting his audience, "a bottle would be a little outclassed. But at least it would suggest some, what do you call it, proactivity."
Dion glanced at the pistol, then into Anthony's eyes. "What you want?"
"I want you to close your damn robe."
The man moved slow, insolent, his eyes heavy-lidded, showing this weren't nothing but a minor annoyance. Anthony waited till he had the sash tied, then holstered the Smith, smiled like they were buddies. "Now, tell me what's happened with Jason Palmer."
"I got crews out all over the place. His crib, his brother's, even watching the bar y'all burned down. He pops his head out anywhere, I got a hard-eyed brother ready to take care of business. Boy's a corpse, he just don't realize it yet."
"That so?"
Dion nodded, took a sip of cognac.
"So then, I gotta ask, how did he and his little cop girlfriend show up at Lower Wacker, screw up a deal I was making?"
Dion coughed, lowered his drink fast. "What?"
"All of a sudden, there he is, like he don't have a care in the world. Not acting like a man got a hundred angry niggers on his tail."
"Lower Wacker." The drink slipped, spilling a few drops before he caught it. "You're shitting me."
Anthony felt his eyes narrowing. This wasn't the reaction he'd anticipated. Something unexpected was going on here. "That ring a bell?"
"Motherfucker." Dion drank the rest of the cognac. Shook his head. "Martinez."
"Martinez?" What was this? DiRisio replayed the conversation in his head. Lower Wacker. The jig had reacted to Lower Wacker. Now why would that be?
It hit. "Oh, you stupid monkey. You made a deal."
"Shit no." The words coming too fast.
"Yes, you did." Pussy-assed amateurs. "You talked to Palmer, didn't you? He offer you money or something?"
"Nah, man, I ain't seen him." His eyes edgy, glancing at the night table. That would be where he had a weapon.
"So who's Martinez?"
"Just some cop, white dude. Came into my crib running game, you know? Said it was like cowboys and Indians."
Anthony stared at him. "I don't speak Ebonics."
"This Martinez said the cavalry was waiting, gonna roll us all up unless I gave him something. I didn't have no choice. But I didn't give up shit he could use, no names or nothing. I figured you're a man who can take care of business. Handle hisself, you know?"
Who was this Martinez? He could be a friend of the woman cop's. But why bring Palmer? And why hadn't Galway heard about it? It didn't make any sense. If the police had known about the buy, they wouldn't have sent just Cruz and Palmer. It would have been a circus of red and blue lights. But if Martinez hadn't told them, how else could Palmer have gotten there? Unless… "You said this cop was white?"
"Yeah, just had a Latin name."
"Was he by any chance about six foot? Built, surfer hair, drove a Caddy?"
Dion stared. "How you know?"
Oh, the fucking humanity. Anthony laughed. Jason Palmer had some sack, no doubt about it. Some serious swinging sack.
Good. Better that way. More fun.
"This Martinez, what did he do to get you to talk?" Savored that sweet tingle. Spoke slow, contempt in his voice. "He get up in your grille? He dis your hoopdy?"
"Man, what you talking about?"
"Nothing, Dion. I'm talking about nothing at all." He did his magic trick with the cop's Smith again.
The first shot hit just above the cheek, ripping the skin up and back, and for a split second, just before it tore off a sizable chunk of his head, the bullet made it look like Dion Wallace really got the joke.
CHAPTER 28
Jason hadn't realized how hungry he was until they'd walked in the diner and the smells hit, bacon and coffee and grease.
"The X-Factor," Cruz said.
"Yes." He spoke around a mouthful of tuna melt.
"I entered a lot of data. I mean, you wouldn't believe how much data I've entered. And every now and then, it started to seem like there was a pattern. You know, something moving behind the scenes. Only I could never put my finger on it."
"Right." He gestured at her untouched fries. "You going to eat those?"
She pushed the plate across the Formica tabletop. "And then yesterday, something you said made me look at it differently."
"Something I said?"
"Yeah. You said something about how in Iraq, people just got used to living in a world that was burning. It made me think, shit, sounds like Crenwood. The arson stats are really high – much higher than they should be. I'd noticed that before, just in the course of entering data. But I didn't realize what it meant, because I hadn't found my X-Factor."
"Galway and DiRisio."
"Exactly." She held a fork in both hands, spun it, staring at the tines. "It's funny."
"What?"
"I hated this assignment. The database. You know, I thought, this is no kind of work for a cop. They put it on me to keep me off the streets. Only it turns out that the cops working the streets are bad, and that the database is the weapon we need."
He nodded. "I think they call that irony."
"Yeah," she said and stiffened.
Jason followed her gaze, saw the blue-and-white out the window. Two men inside. She turned to face him, put a hand up to play with her hair, hiding her profile. Her eyes darted. "Are they watching?"
Jason popped a fry in his mouth, looked out the window, just a guy having breakfast. Ready to move if he had to, thinking a sprint through the kitchen and out the back exit would probably be the best route.
The light changed, and the cruiser pulled away.
"They're gone." He reached for the Tabasco, shook till the fries turned crimson.
She glanced out the window, glanced back. Shook her head. "I still can't believe this is happening."
"I know that feeling." Thinking of Michael, of Billy. This dirty little conspiracy had cost his brother's life, had saddled him with responsibility he wasn't prepared for. That he hadn't even had time to think about. But now wasn't the time either. First he had to make sure his nephew was safe. Then he could figure out the rest of his life. "You're sure it will have what we need?"
She nodded. "My computer at work is basically an abacus. You wouldn't believe the equipment we have to deal with. So I always work on my personal laptop, then just upload the database to the CPD system every day. I've got data on every recent gang incident, from graffiti to homicide to arson. Somewhere in there we'll find what we need. Then when we go in to IAD, it's not just us talking. We've got facts and stats. Maybe not exactly proof, but enough to get a good cop's attention."