Play To Kill

    'Gino's wife's lasagna. She'd cook your heart out.'

    'Hmm.' John stretched his arms out over the backseat. 'What are the chances of a retired Federal agent tucking into your department?'

    Magozzi shrugged. 'We've always had a little problem with the Feds. The SAC here is pretty much of an asshole.'

    'And it's a tough gig,' Gino added. 'No picnic. They put me on the dunk tank at the MPD festival last year.'

    'What's a dunk tank?'

    'That would be man's ultimate humiliation. You sit on this little seat over a tank of water, and the public throws balls at a target that tips the seat so you fall in. If the seat's high enough above the water, the impact flattens your balls.'

    John thought about that for a minute. 'Are you serious?'

    'I am.'

    Magozzi squealed the Caddie's rubber at the turn off Snelling onto Lexington. You want the lead on questioning these kids?'

    Smith shrugged. 'Your city, your precinct.'

    'I think the Feds trump the cops on terrorism.'

    'That is where the working-together part comes in. Besides, when it comes to terrorism, I'd let a Brownie troop take down a possible witness if they wanted.'

    Gino turned to look at John in the backseat. 'You're starting to talk like a cop.'

    'I'm practicing so I can get lasagna and a Cadillac.'

    'Good God, Leo, are you listening to this guy? A week in the Midwest and he's starting to get funny.'

    John closed his eyes. Another item for the slippery-slope list. Violating Bureau policy, violating Federal law, consuming alcohol on duty, and now stepping away from stern and proper agent demeanor. He was shedding pieces of who he was, who he had always been, like a dog with mange. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and put on his Bureau face. 'I am also certain that both of you have more experience interrogating juveniles. We don't get many offenders that young at the Federal level.'

    'They're not juvies,' Magozzi reminded him. 'Eighteen, both of them.'

    'Barely. I am also a little uncomfortable questioning these boys in particular. Technically, we don't have a great deal to support their involvement.'

    'Bullshit,' Gino snorted. 'Little bastards are in this so deep we're going to have to rip their balls off and stuff them in their ears to get them to talk. And personally, I'm looking forward to that.'

    Magozzi caught a glance of John's alarmed look in the rearview mirror. 'Gino hasn't done that in a really long time,' he said genially.

    The house was a surprise - one of the largest in a new development of McMansions people bought on credit to impress their neighbors with how much money they supposedly had. Magozzi knew the inside by heart. Lots of electronics, lots of granite and upscale appliances in a kitchen they never used, lots of bills hidden away in a drawer somewhere. People with real money never bought places like this, because there was something tacky that shone through all the pretense of luxury like a Target T-shirt under a cashmere sweater.

    The doorbell was a melody - didn't anybody have normal doorbells anymore? - and whoever was inside took a while answering. Magozzi took point, as always; Gino was off to the side, and John Smith hung back a little, ceding the lead to the cops, who did this kind of thing a lot more than he did.

    The man who finally came to the door was dressed in what old movies had taught him wealthy men wore at home in the evening. In his peripheral vision Magozzi saw Gino cover his mouth quickly, and he didn't blame him. The idiot was wearing one of those silly shiny robes over his white shirt and suit pants. 'Good evening, sir,' he said respectfully, flipping open his badge case and holding it up. 'Are you Mr. Zellickson?'

    'Yes, Officer. What can I do for you?'

    'Detective Magozzi, MPD. This is my partner, Detective Rolseth, and this is Special Agent John Smith of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Is your son Kyle at home?'

    Mr. Zellickson looked genuinely confused. Yes, he is… did you say the FBI?'

    'That's correct, sir.'

    'What on earth would you want with my son?'

    Magozzi smiled briefly. 'Just a few questions, sir. We think he and a friend of his may have inadvertently witnessed something pertinent to a crime we're investigating and hoped he'd be willing to help us out by answering a few questions.'

    'Really. Well, of course he'd be happy to help if he could…' He pressed his lips together and frowned at John Smith. 'I don't understand the FBI connection. Does this have anything to do with the boxes today?'

    Goddamnit, Magozzi thought, he wasn't as dumb as his doorbell. Yes, it does.'

    'Good heavens. I can't imagine Kyle seeing anything and not mentioning it… this whole thing is terrible, and to tell you the truth, I think it frightened him a little.'

    Magozzi nodded. 'I'm sure it did. The point is, witnesses often see things without realizing what they saw, so they never think to mention it until someone asks them about it.'

    'Oh.' He chewed on his lip a while and tugged at his pants, which Magozzi thought was always a bad sign. Bull readjusting the jewels before taking a stand. Worse yet, Mr. Silk Robe wasn't opening the door and inviting them in. 'I do want to be helpful, Officers. Please don't misunderstand. But Kyle is my son, and having the three of you show up at my door at this hour wanting to question him about what happened today makes me very uncomfortable. I think I'd like to call our lawyer.'

    Magozzi nodded. 'Then that's exactly what you should do, sir. As a matter of fact, if you have any reason to believe that your son might have been involved in the placement of these boxes all over the city- '

    'Good God, no! It's not that. I just meant… it's so ridiculous. Kyle was valedictorian of his graduating class. Four-point-oh since he was a freshman. Voted most popular, most likely to succeed…'

    Gino made a face and rolled his head. 'Oh, man, you gotta be kidding me. You have a kid with a four-point-oh?

    I got a sixteen-year-old who thinks four-point-oh is an IQ score. You're a lucky man, Mr. Zellickson.'

    Kyle's dad blinked at Gino, and then smiled tentatively. 'Thank you. He's a great kid.'

    Gino gave him a lopsided smile. 'Obviously. Let me know when he's between girlfriends. My daughter may not be the brightest bulb on the tree, but she's a sweetheart, and a looker to boot, and I'd sure like to see her hooked up with a young man who takes education seriously.' He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged at Magozzi. 'Come on, Leo. Let me tell him what's up. The guy's got the army at the door and has every right to be concerned.'

    Magozzi looked down at his shoes and pretended to think for a moment.

    John was watching the two cops without saying a word, thinking he'd learned more in the past three minutes than in all his years of law enforcement.

    'I suppose,' Magozzi finally said.

    'Great. Okay, Mr. Zellickson, this is the deal,' Gino said. We got some surveillance video from some of the sites where the boxes were planted, and we caught a pic of Kyle and his friend' - he pretended to consult his notes - 'Clark, something…'

    'Clark Bradley?'

    Yeah, that's the one. They weren't carrying a box or anything, and we're not thinking for one minute they were involved, but they were pretty close to a spot where one of the boxes was found, so we figured maybe, if we were really lucky, they might have seen something… like somebody setting down a box, for instance. And what's so freaky about that? A guy setting down a box? You'd never think twice about it. But in this case, maybe it means something.'