“We’re bettin you do,” Wiggy said. “We’re bettin you’ll go get it before …”
He looked up at the clock.
“Before six o’clock tonight. That’s eight hours from now, more or less. Cause for every hour we sit here without goin for the money, we’re gonna hafta shoot one of you. Eight hours, eight people. By six o’clock, you all be dead less’n we has our money. Do I make myself clear now?”
The room was silent.
“I’ll have to make some calls,” Halloway said.
“We’ll be listening,” Wiggy said.
The Mexicans were smiling.
Wiggy figured he had made himself clear.
THE MEN OF THE 87th Detective Squad couldn’t seem to keep their minds on business at their weekly Friday-morning, think-tank meeting. Carella was trying to tell them what he and Ollie had learned from Tito “Tigo” Gomez. He was trying to tell them that if Tigo could be trusted, a dope dealer named Walter “Wiggy” Wiggins was responsible for the murder of Jerome “Jerry”Hoskins, alias Frank Holt …
“Was that in this precinct?” Lieutenant Byrnes asked.
“No, but the murdered woman was.”
“What murdered woman?” Andy Parker asked.
He was dressed for undercover work today, which meant he hadn’t shaved, and he was wearing jeans and a black turtleneck sweater and a brown leather jacket and motorcycle boots. He thought he looked like an upscale drug dealer. Actually, he looked like a slob.
“The woman who got eaten by lions,” Meyer said.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Parker said.
“This happened a week ago, where have you been?” Brown said.
“She got stabbed with an ice pick first,” Carella explained.
“What’s Hoskins got to do with her?” Byrnes asked impatiently. He was thinking if any of this had happened in some other precinct, he’d be glad to get it off his plate.
“He paid her to pick up some dope in Mexico,” Meyer said.
“Which he later sold to this Wiggy character,” Carella said.
“Who paidhim with a bullet in the head.”
“Here in the Eight-Seven?”
“No, the Eight-Eight. Fat Ollie caught it.”
“So let him keep it.”
“He also caught one-fifth of the Ridley case.”
“Who’s Ridley?” Parker asked.
“The lady who got eaten by lions,” Kling said.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Parker said.
“How can you catch one-fifth of a case?” Willis asked.
“Her leg,” Meyer said.
“Am I supposed to be following this?” Parker asked.
“Nobody else is,” Byrnes said. “Why should you be an exception?”
“The point is,” Carella said, somewhat edgily, “we’re sending Gomez in with a wire.”
“Why?” Brown asked.
“Cause we’ve maybe got a line on the perp in a homicide.”
“This Wiggy character?”
“Right. Who maybe killed Jerry Hoskins, who for sure hired Cass Ridley to go to Mexico for him.”
“Andwecaught the Ridley case, is what you’re saying.”
“Four-fifths of her.”
“Why’s this so important, anyway?” Parker asked, and looked around the room, and shrugged, and said, “Don’t anybody want a bagel?” and went to help himself from the tray on Byrnes’s desk.
“There’s funny money involved,” Carella said.
“So let the Secret Service worry,” Byrnes said.
“They are worrying,” Carella said. “They grabbed eight grand in queer bills from a two-bit burglar and gave him real currency in return.”
“The lunatics have taken over the asylum,” Hawes said.
“I don’t like complicated cases,” Parker said.
“Neither do I,” Byrnes said.
“Well, that’s truly unfortunate,” Carella said, “but I didn’t ask tocatch this one, either.”
“What the hell’s wrong withyou this morning?” Parker asked.
“I’m trying to make some sense of this goddamn case, that’s all, and you guys are …”
“Relax, okay? Have a bagel.”
“There’s dope involved here,” Carella said, gathering steam, “and counterfeit money, and the Secret Service, and Christ knows what …”
“So let our new President handle it,” Parker said.
“Sure.”
“Our beloved flounder,” Willis said.
“Lethimask the Secret Service what’s going on here,” Brown said.
“Sure.”
“Next motorcade he’s in,” Hawes said, “he can wave out of his limo and ask them what they know about a lady got eaten by lions.”
“Go on, Steve, have a bagel,” Parker said.
“I don’t want a bagel,” Carella said.
“You know who woulda made a better President than the one we got now?” Hawes said.
“Who?” Kling asked.
“Martin Sheen.”
“The guy onThe West Wing, you’re right!”
“He’d call the Secret Service on the carpet, tell them to quit handing out good money for bad.”
“No, you know who’d do that? If he was President?” Willis said.
“Who?” Kling asked.
“Harrison Ford.”
“Air Force One!”
“President James Marshall!”
“Oh, yeah!” Brown said. “He was maybe thebest President we ever had. Remember what he said? ‘Peace ain’t merely the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.’ Man, that’s fancy talking.”
“Remember what thebad guy said?” Willis asked.
“Who cares what bad guys say?” Parker said, and took another bagel from the tray.
“He said, ‘You murdered a hundred thousand Iraqis to save a nickel a gallon on gas. Don’t lecture me on the rules of war.’That’s fancy talking, man.”
“That was Bush he was talking about,” Kling said.
“No, that was President James Marshall,” Willis said.
“Yeah, but that wasBush who started the Gulf War.”
“You want to know who was an evenbetter President than Harrison Ford?” Hawes said.
“Who?”
“Michael Douglas.”
“Oh,yeah.”
“He was maybe the best President we ever had. You see that movie, Steve?”
“No,” Carella said curtly.
“Have a bagel, sourpuss,” Parker said.
“The American President.That was the movie. Michael Douglas was President Andrew Shepherd.”
“You remember who his aide was?” Kling asked.