Loquasto sat back in the booth and looked at me for a few seconds. “I’d say that kind of information would be of… considerable interest.”
“There’s one thing you were wrong about, earlier, Counselor.”
I got the raised eyebrow treatment again. “Indeed?”
“Delatasso Senior’s got bodyguards, sure, both for daytime and at night – but only a few, and they’re not what you might call high-quality guys.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. It’s been more than ten years since anybody made a serious move against Delatasso. He’s been top dog down there for so long, he’s grown complacent. And so has his security.”
“And you reached this conclusion how, exactly?”
“By reading the OCU’s file – the one I told you about.”
“I see.” Loquasto stared into his empty glass as if it were a crystal ball. Then he looked up. “I believe I’ll have another drink,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” I figured Loquasto wanted another shot of that bourbon about as much as I wanted another hemorrhoid, but if the guy wanted some time to think, I was happy to give it to him.
The service in the Brass Shield isn’t what you might call speedy, so it was almost five minutes before Loquasto returned with his fresh drink.
He sat down, took a sip, and grimaced slightly at the taste. Then he leaned forward. “Alright, Markowski – what do you want?”
“Two things,” I said. “One of them is information.”
“Concerning?”
“Patton Wilson.”
Loquasto’s eyes narrowed. “That rich fool who was behind all the ‘helter-skelter’ nonsense last year? What about him?”
“I want to know where he is.”
“Somewhere in Australia, the last I heard.”
“Then your information is out of date. He’s here.”
Loquasto blinked a couple of times. “Here?”
“In Scranton. Or close by.”
“What’s the source of your information?” he said quickly.
“Sorry, that’s confidential,” I said. “But it’s reliable.” I didn’t want to have to explain that I was working from deduction here, rather than cold fact. I wanted results from Loquasto, not an argument. Anyway, a guy named William of Occam once wrote something along the lines of “The simplest explanation that fits the known facts is probably true.” And there was only one thing that made sense out of the chaos I’d been dealing with – Patton Wilson was back.
“I find it difficult to believe that Wilson could be in the area without any of our people even catching so much as a glimpse of him.”
“Somebody with Wilson’s money can buy a lot of concealment,” I said. “Besides, you had no reason to look for him – until now.”
“Alright,” Loquasto said. “I’ll have all our people start beating the bushes. If Wilson is in the area, they’ll locate him. I hope you’re not also expecting us to… deal with him for you.”
“No, just tell me where he is – I’ll take it from there.”
“Very well. So, you want an address for Mister Wilson. What else is that file of yours going to cost us?”
I hesitated. What I’d done in the past twenty minutes or so had probably broken about six different laws, but what I was about to say now was really over the line.
“You ever hear of Dimitri Kaspar?” I asked him.
Loquasto thought for a moment. “Local vampire, isn’t he? Not affiliated with the Family. Fancies himself some kind of politician, I understand.”
“That’s the guy. He’s also Patton Wilson’s candidate for the office of Supefather.”
“For what?”
“Sorry. That’s the name some of us use for whoever’s the head of the local supernaturals.”
“Like the late Victor Castle, you mean.”
“Exactly.”
He made a face. “Mister Calabrese has never paid much attention to the local power structure, such as it is. The Family makes its own rules.”
“I figured as much. But plenty of others do pay attention, which is why Wilson is bankrolling Kaspar. The guy’s a militant supe-premacist – humans are just walking blood bags, blah, blah, blah. If he becomes head of our supe community, he’s gonna cause just the kind of trouble that Wilson can take advantage of to spread his helter-skelter bullshit.”
“What do you expect us to do about it?”
I took in a deep breath and let it out. No turning back now. “I want you to kill him.”
My car was right where I’d left it – parked in the shadows but with a clear view of the Brass Shield’s front door – and so was my partner. As I slid behind the wheel, Karl turned off the radio. The volume was so low that I couldn’t even tell what he’d been listening to, although it was probably that Pittston station that plays golden oldies.
“Everything go OK?” I asked him.
“Sure, no sweat. I was waiting near that big fucking Caddie that Loquasto drives. When he came out of the bar, I handed him the envelope. He didn’t seem too surprised.”
“No, he was expecting you.”
“I thought for a second that he was gonna pull out his wallet and hand me a tip, but then I guess he remembered where he was. He just gave me a nod, got in his car, and drove off. He’s been gone two, three minutes.”
“Good – and thanks.”
“What kind of mileage you figure he gets in that thing?”
“If you have to ask about the mileage, then you probably can’t afford the car.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t want one of them battleships anyway, even if I had the scratch. Too hard to park it.”
“Lots of trunk room, though,” I said.
“I was hoping not to spend any more time inside the trunk of a car – anybody’s car.”
“Good plan.”
“So he went for it, huh?” Karl asked.
“Course he did. Otherwise I’d have called you and said sit tight with the envelope.”
I could have started the engine and driven off then, but I didn’t – maybe because I figured Karl wasn’t finished yet. I was right.
“We’re sailing on what your buddy Sherlock Holmes would call some dark fuckin’ waters, Stan,” he said finally.
“Damn right we are. But if you’ve got any better ideas, you should’ve told me about ’em before I went in there.”
Karl turned his head away slowly to stare out the window at the night. I wondered what he saw out there with his vampire sight that I was missing. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to make him happy.
“No, I didn’t have a better idea before,” he said, “and I still don’t. Sometimes, all the choices you have in life just fucking suck. You ever think that?”
“More times than I can count,” I said. “But I also try to remember something else.”
“What?”
“The choices may all suck, but that doesn’t mean some aren’t worse than others.”
“Yeah I guess you’re right.” Karl reached for the strap and buckled his safety belt. A trip through the windshield at high speed probably wouldn’t do him serious harm, but the law’s the law.
“So, what do we do now?” he asked.
I turned the ignition key, then put the Toyota into gear. It was time to report for work. “Now we wait.”
So we waited – for four days. I tried not to think about the fact that Loquasto was under no real pressure to fulfill his part of the bargain. He could just take our information and do nothing in return – what were we gonna do? Sue him?
I’d say that the suspense was unbearable, but Karl and I were too busy most of the time to think about it. All the cops on the Occult Crimes Unit had our hands full.
It didn’t help that we had the full moon during that time, which naturally resulted in increased lycanthropic activity. Werewolves aren’t more prone to criminal behavior than any other species – including humans – but those with violent tendencies seem to find encouragement each month in that round, glowing disc overhead. Of course, the Patriot Party was quick to point that out, as “proof” that supernaturals were inherently antisocial and needed to be controlled. They didn’t have the nerve just yet to use the word they really meant – eliminated – but I figured that was only a matter of time, especially if that bunch of nuts won the upcoming election.