“Three murders,” the deaf man corrected.
“Even better,” Buck said, and pulled a face.
“I assure you I’m expecting much more than a one-percent return. On Friday night, we execute–if you’ll pardon the pun–the final phase of our plan. By Saturday morning, there’ll be no disbelievers.”
“How many of them do you think’ll come through?”
“Most of them. If not all of them.”
“And what about the fuzz?”
“What about them? They still don’t know who we are, and they’ll never find out.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“I worry about fuzz,” Buck said. “I can’t help it. I’ve been conditioned to worry about them.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Don’t you realize why they’re called fuzz?”
“No. Why?”
“Because they’re fuzzy and fussy and antiquated and incompetent. Their investigatory technique is established and routine, designed for effectiveness in an age that no longer exists. The police in this city are like wind-up toys with keys sticking out of their backs, capable of performing only in terms of their own limited design, tiny mechanical men clattering along the sidewalk stiff-leggged, scurrying about in aimless circles. But put an obstacle in their path, a brick wall or an orange crate, and they unwind helplessly in the same spot, arms and legs thrashing but taking them nowhere.” The deaf man grinned. “I, my friend, am the brick wall.”
“Or the orange crate,” Buck said.
“No,” Ahmad said intensely. “He is the brick wall.”
Chapter 10
The first break in the case came at ten o’clock the next morning, when Fats Donner called the squadroom.
Until that time, there were still perhaps two thousand imponderables to whatever La Bresca and Calucci were planning. But aside from such minor considerations at where the job would take place, or at exactly what time on March fifteenth, there were several unknown identities to contend with as well, such as Dom (who so far had no last name) and the long-haired blond girl who had given La Bresca a lift last Friday night. It was the police supposition that if either of these two people could be located, the nature of the impending job might be wrung from one or the other of them. Whether or not the job was in any way connected with the recent murders would then become a matter for further speculation, as would the possibility that La Bresca was in some way involved with the deaf man. There were a lot of questions to be asked if only they could find somebody to ask them to.
Donner was put through immediately.
“I think I got your Dom,” he said to Willis.
“Good,” Willis said. “What’s his last name?”
“Di Fillippi. Dominick Di Fillippi. Lives in Riverhead near the old coliseum, you know the neighborhood?”
“Yeah. What’ve you got on him?”
“He’s with The Coaxial Cable.”
“Yeah?” Willis said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, what’s that?” Willis said.
“What’s what?”
“What’s it supposed to mean?”
“What’s what supposed to mean?”
“What you just said. Is it some kind of code or something?”
“Is what some kind of code?” Donner asked.
“The Coaxial Cable.”
“No, it’s a group.”
“A group of what?”
“A group. Musicians,” Donner said.
“A band, you mean?”
“That’s right, only today they call them groups.”
“Well, what’s the coaxial cable got to do with it?”
“That’s the name of the group. The Coaxial Cable.”
“You’re putting me on,” Willis said.
“No, that’s the name, I mean it.”
“What does Di Fillippi play?”
“Rhythm guitar.”
“Where do I find him?”
“His address is 365 North Anderson.”
“That’s in Riverhead?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know he’s our man?”
“Well, it seems he’s a big bullshit artist, you know?” Donner said. “He’s been going around the past few weeks saying he dropped a huge bundle on the championship fight, made it sound like two, three G’s. It turns out all he lost was fifty bucks, that’s some big bundle, huh?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“But he’s also been saying recently that he knows about a big caper coming off.”
“Who’d he say this to?”
“Well, one of the guys in the group is a big hophead from back even before it got stylish. That’s how I got my lead onto Di Fillippi. And the guy said they were busting some joints together maybe three, four days ago, and Di Fillippi came on about this big caper he knew about.”
“Did he say what the caper was?”
“No.”
“And they were smoking pot?”
“Yeah, busting a few joints, you know, social.”
“Maybe Di Fillippi was out of his skull.”
“He probably was. What’s that got to do with it?”
“He might have dreamt up the whole thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did he mention La Bresca at all?”
“Nope.”
“Did he say when the job would be coming off?”
“Nope.”
“Well, it’s not much, Fats.”
“It’s worth half a century, don’t you think?”
“It’s worth ten bucks,” Willis said.
“Hey, come on, man, I had to do some real hustling to get this for you.”
“Which reminds me,” Willis said.
“Huh?”
“Get rid of your playmate.”
“Huh?”
“The girl. Next time I see you, I want her out of there.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought it over, and I don’t like the idea.”
“I kicked her out twice already,” Donner said. “She always comes back.”
“Then maybe you ought to use this ten bucks to buy her a ticket back to Georgia.”
“Sure. Maybe I ought to contribute another ten besides to the Salvation Army,” Donner said.
“Just get her out of there,” Willis said.
“When’d you get so righteous?” Donner asked.
“Just this minute.”
“I thought you were a businessman.”
“I am. Here’s my deal. Let the girl go, and I forget whatever else I know about you, and whatever I might learn in the future.”
“Nobody learns nothing about me,” Donner said. “I’m The Shadow.”
“No,” Willis said. “Only Lamont Cranston is The Shadow.”
“You serious about this?”
“I want the girl out of there. If she’s still around next time I see you, I throw the book.”
“And lose a valuable man.”
“Maybe,” Willis said. “In which case, we’ll have to manage without you somehow.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I bother helping you guys at all,” Donner said.
“I’ll tell you why sometime, if you have a minute,” Willis said.
“Never mind.”
“Will you get the girl out of there?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to send me fifty, right?”
“I said ten.”
“Make it twenty.”
“For the birdseed you just gave me?”
“It’s a lead, ain’t it?”
“That’s all it is.”
“So? A lead is worth at least twenty-five.”
“I’ll send you fifteen,” Willis said, and hung up.