"Yes, Mr. Johns. I would like very much to meet with you about the property you describe in your flyer. I must leave town this weekend on a business trip, and I wish to inspect the property before I depart. "
Ramirez left his office and home phone numbers.
Smooth, Jack thought. He's probably been by the place and seen it from the sidewalk. He knows it's a steal and he wants it. So he uses a phony trip to push for a quick look-see without appearing anxious.
From what Jack had gathered from Jorge, Mr. Paco Ramirez fancied himself a wheeler-dealer, especially in real estate. Liked to pick up bargains in the current upmarket and turn them around for a quick profit. Guys like him were always on the lookout for someone in a hurry to sell. Jack's flyer had served up a deal he was sure Mr. Ramirez was salivating over.
"All right," Jack said. "He's nibbling the bait. Now we've got to set the hook and reel him in."
He used Jorge's phone to call Ramirez's office. The man was on the line only seconds after Jack told the receptionist he was David Johns. After a little polite small talk, Ramirez cut to the chase and they set up an appointment to inspect the property the following morning at nine sharp.
"What do we do now?" Jorge asked.
"'We' don't do anything," Jack told him. "From now on it's just me. The most important thing for you to do is stay away from that town house. Ramirez gets one hint that you're involved, and he'll be gone. Just stay here tomorrow morning and answer the phone. I may have to make a call. I'll ask questions, and you answer them anyway you want—give me the weather report, I don't care. I just want a voice on the other end."
Jorge pursed his thick lips. "Esplain to me again, por favor, how this will get my money back."
"Okay. Once more. I'm going to get your money by convincing Ramirez to give me a big cash deposit on the town house."
Jorge shook his head. "But he is no fool, Mr. Jack."
"I'm sure he's not. But I know his type: He gets off on screwing people. He likes to find a little guy, or someone at a disadvantage, and take them for all he can. He could have afforded all along to pay you for your work, but he chose not to. Why? Because he discovered a weak spot—your illegal relatives working for you—and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to take advantage of that. It's a power trip."
"You know others like Ramirez?"
Jack nodded. "Hell, yes. They keep me in business. I've become a sort of expert on these guys. I'm going to turn Ramirez's game back on him. I'm going to put a sweet deal in front of him and let him think he's screwing someone in the bargain."
"But cash? He will not give you cash."
"He will if he thinks I don't want it."
Jorge was shaking his head again. Jack had noticed him doing that a lot lately.
"Trust me," Jack said. "Even if it doesn't work, at least we'll have some fun with Ramirez."
Jorge's scowl said fun was the last thing on his mind.
4.
The phone rang as Alicia was readying to call it a day. Raymond was gone already so she picked up herself.
"This is Detective Will Matthews. Is that you, Alicia?"
"Yes," she said as brightly as she could. "How are you?"
Oh, hell. More bad news?
She'd had another call from the hospital attorney this morning, asking her if she'd had any second thoughts about her child molestation charge against Floyd Stevens. Now what?
"I'm fine," he said. "Well, the reason I called is I may have some good news for you."
"About Stevens?"
"The one and only."
"He's pleading guilty?"
"No, but almost as good. I'd like to tell you all about it over dinner."
Alicia felt her hackles rise. "Will… if this involves the charges I brought against him, don't you think—?"
"Nothing directly to do with your charges. If you insist, I'll tell you now, but if you don't have plans, I'd prefer to do it over an early dinner. I promise, you won't be disappointed."
Alicia hesitated. First lunch, then dinner, then… what?
I don't have time for this.
But if he'd been checking into Stevens on his own time and had come up with something helpful, how could she refuse?
"Okay, then," she said. "Dinner it is. When and where?" He asked if she liked Italian. When she told him she did, he gave her the address of a trattoria on Seventh Avenue about ten blocks up from the Center. He'd meet her there in half an hour.
Good news, he'd said. She hoped so. She could dearly use some.
5.
"You must eat here often," Alicia said as the two of them settled into a booth built for four.
Alicia had arrived early. Normally she would have walked. But despite Jack's assurance that no one would bother her before Monday's meeting with the lawyers, she'd taken a cab.
Will showed up a few minutes later. The maitre d' had greeted him with a big smile, and three people from the bar had called hello.
He shrugged. "I guess if I hang out anyplace, it's here. But we're talking once or twice a week."
Is this where you were last night? she wondered. If you'd been walking behind me instead of Jack, Thomas and his bully boys would be in jail right now and this whole mess would be settled.
"I thought cops hung out at cop bars."
"They do. I spent a couple of years funneling money into Midtown. South's favorite watering hole, but you know… you get tired of cop talk all the time. At least I do. Here I'm just Will Matthews, who happens to be a cop."
A waiter stopped by with a basket of rolls and long anorectic Italian bread sticks. After checking with her, Will ordered a bottle of Chianti classico, then he leaned forward.
"Let's get to the latest on Floyd Stevens."
He held out the breadbasket and she took a bread stick.
"Please." She bit off the end of the stick with a decisive snap.
"I've been tailing him."
"They let you do that?" she said, surprised. "I mean with all the other crime going on—"
"I wish. No, I did this on my own time."
"Your own time?" If Alicia had been surprised seconds ago, she was shocked now. "But why?"
"I told you. I used to work Vice, and I know these creeps. They're out of control. You interrupted him, so I figure he might not have gotten what he wanted. And that meant he'd be on the prowl again real soon. So as soon as I got off duty, I made it to the Upper West Side and hung around outside his place, waiting for him to come in or go out."
"And?"
"Last night he went out. Walked down to the garage where he keeps his car and drove straight to the Minnesota Strip."
"What's that?"
"A place you'll probably never see. It's sort of a sex supermarket, full of prostitutes of all ages and all sexes."
"All sexes? I know of only two."
"Well, there are the in-betweens. Let's see… how do I put this… guys who've been changed on top—you know, breast implants and hormone treatments on the skin—but remain fully equipped below… they're a hot item on the Strip."
"Wonderful."
Will shrugged. "They're a pretty pathetic crew down there, but personally it doesn't bother me. Whatever gets you through the night. But when the pimps start putting kids out for the chicken hawks—"
"Chicken hawks?" This is like a new language, Alicia thought. "What's that?"
"Most times it refers to gays who cruise for very young male prostitutes, but I use it for anybody, straight or bent, looking for too-young stuff."