Red rain 2.0 (16 page)

"What happened to your D.C. man?"

"Somebody with more juice did him. Changed the whole corporate structure."

Buzz Cut laughs. "The story of the whole economy, man. Hostile takeovers, mergers and acquisitions."

"So. You want a new client? Check with your boss, see if he can handle the weight. If the service is good, lots of repeat business."

"Boss? I'm an independent entrepreneur. I can handle whatever the market demands. Terms are cash on delivery. Ballpark figure on what you said you wanted ... oh, say ten thousand dollars. No hundred-dollar bills. Your wallet big enough?"

"Much bigger. Except that's just—ballpark now—multiplying what Jimmy pays by fifty and five hundred. Generally there's a discount on larger orders."

"My usual practice, on repeat biz. First time out, it's manufacturer's suggested retail only." Buzz Cut grins.

"Hey, nobody pays sticker price anymore. I could go downtown, get at least a grand or two off."

"So go downtown. But since you're from the sticks and shut down in D.C, really think that, first, you'll connect? And second, that the downtown dudes won't just take your money and do you?"

"That could happen there. Could happen here too."

"Look at me. Does it appear that I conduct biz that way? Anything giving you any thoughts along those lines? Jimmy's standing fine, right? So are all the rest of my clientele. Naturally a few fuck up, but their troubles come only

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from the BCPD narcs, not me. I run a safe, reliable, and fair operation."

"Make it nine K, you've got a new customer. And pretty soon regular orders, in the twenty-five to forty large range."

"Very attractive prospect. Also very ambitious. Why should I believe you can make the weight?"

"Why not? Nice operating environment out in the sticks. No competition worth mentioning. The demographics are great, getting better all the time. I like to build my business. Don't you?"

"A businessman's always got to be alert to opportunities for growth."

"Here's one for you. I'm looking for a long-term, secure supplier. I am not looking for problems. Jimmy's got my address and phone. Have somebody check me out."

"Being done even as we speak," Buzz Cut says. "If things are like you say, I could go to nine thousand dollars on the first, with volume discounts on further orders."

"Fair enough," I say.

"I'll be in touch. But mind if I call you something else than Snake? I don't like reptiles. Bob? How about Bob? I just watched some
Twin Peaks
videos. Ever seen any? Longhaired man's named Bob." Buzz Cut smiles. I nod. I think this is going off perfect. Then I get jolted. Buzz Cut says, "James, get in. I'm giving you a ride. Later,
Bob."

I can't say a thing. The kid climbs into the sedan, and Buzz Cut waves as his window closes and he drives sedately off. I'm down so low in the TTI can't make the license plate before the car disappears in the mall maze. Jimmy snatched, no way to track Buzz Cut. Fuck me!

I drive down York Road about five miles toward Towson, pull into a Dunkin' Donuts, slip into the booth where Ice Box is drinking coffee.

"Uh oh," he says when he hears how it went. "What's your instinct? The kid stand-up? Or is he going to rat?"

"Gut feeling, James is more scared of us and jail time

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than he is of Buzz Cut right now. The man's just tough enough. No way he's into messin' the kid up. He'll have a conversation, very calm but very clever, because he's a pro and he's cautious. If he gets anything from James it'll be because he tricked the kid. Then he'll just drop him off at home or someplace."

"Then why is it," IB says after slurping some coffee, "that you're so wired? You're doin' that jive with your fingers you always do when you're nervous, and you don't even know it."

IB's right. The hand tic is happening, trigger finger making pulling moves over and over on the yellow Formica of the table top. I hate when that happens. Christ, by now I ought to know to keep my hands in my pockets.

"It's nothing, man."

"Oh, Luther, Luther. Luther." Ice Box grins.

"What?"

"Nothing." He's laughing a little now, he shifts a little in his seat and I swear the whole booth moves. "Can I say something, partner to partner, no offense? Don't answer, I'm saying it anyway. First, you are too worried about the kid. You hate the idea that he got snatched by this Buzz Cut, and you know damn well that Buzz Cut might be dangerous."

"Maybe."

"Other thing is, your mind's working two cases at the same time. Helen, and this secret thing for Annie, man, and it's making you a little crazy."

"Aw bullshit, Ice Box!"

"Hey, you think you're the only one? I got this secret little thing for Annie too. There's four or five guys got this secret little thing for Annie. But we all know it's just a head thing, nothing ever gonna happen. I think you don't really know that yet. I think in there somewhere, Five-O's got some kind of feeling there's some slight chance something nice could happen with Annie one of these days."

"Shove it up your ass. She's a good friend. End of story."

Ice Box laughs harder. "Give it up, Luther."

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"Nothing to give up."

"Okay. The man's spoken. But how about giving up the tape so I can go get it transcribed? I can't sit here all day being your therapist."

"IB, you go walking on ice that's mighty thin for a dude your size," I say, easing the Nagra recorder—old-tech tape but still the best quality in the world—out of my pocket and slipping him the cassette under the table.

"I'm outta here. You coming?" Ice Box says.

"No, I'm going to have some of that delicious coffee and scarf half a dozen jelly donuts. I'm thinking maybe if I get as fat as you I'll get as smart too."

"Okay. I'll get you on your cell if the kid calls in," Ice Box says, working a bit to get his bulk out of the booth. I wait 'til he's driven off, notice he's stuck me with his tab— two coffees and three French crullers—pay up, and cruise the reservoir road once, pushing the TT hard through the curves just for the fuck of it. I'm chill when I get back to the station. IB's gone home already. There's a note from Annie on my desk, asking me to join her at Flannery's.

She's alone at a little table tucked back near the serving station, two empty shotglasses and one half-golden with tequila, two empty bottles of Dos Equis before her, and one to her lips when I sit down.

"Hey, don't look so judgmental, Luther," she says, giving me one of those smiles. I wasn't aware I'd given her any sort of look of the kind. 'This is my last round. Know my limits. And you know I do."

"Also getting a strong impression you're not real happy tonight," I say.

"Little stressed these days, is all." "You got reasons. Not like you're making it up." "Ah, I'm whining. Got to stop whining. I keep telling myself, forget the Department bullshit and concentrate on the cases."

"You can do that."

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"I
could
do that. It's not working too well right now."

"You can handle it."

"Sure. But the damned cases. There's almost nothing to handle, nothing to zero in on." Annie knocks back the last of her tequila, slams the shotglass down, chases with beer. "I've never been so fucking frustrated in my life, Luther! I'm beginning to think I'm no good at this."

"Hey, you know that's not true. You don't make lieutenant on nothing."

"Maybe I just had some easy cases, and the chief likes my legs and ass." Annie laughs, but there is no true laughter in it. "Sorry, Luther. Whining again. Seems to be getting habitual. Not a trait I admire in anyone, least of all myself."

"So I'll whine a little, give you someone else to dislike for very little reason besides yourself," I say, and tell her how I lost my kid at the meet earlier.

Not that it does much good. Annie seems as moody when we leave as she was when I came in.

I was fretting and sweating it for nothing. James calls on the cell when I'm driving home around ten. Tells me Buzz Cut asked pretty much the questions I'd told him he'd ask. James says he gave the answers I told him to give. He swears he wasn't nervous, swears he wasn't scared of Buzz Cut and didn't give a thing away by acting kinked or anxious. "It was cool, Luther," James says. "It was kinda fun. Like being in a movie or something."

I can feel muscles in various parts of my body loosen up after James hangs up. Then I have to watch where I'm going pretty closely, because I'm not going to my Cockeysville place. Just in case Buzz Cut has the resources to check me out, I'm staying at an apartment in Randallstown. It's one of the Department's safe houses, but hardly ever used. It's due to be retired, so Dugal got it for this one last thing. We changed and backdated the lease, the phone and gas and electric to the name of William Chase. That's me for now.

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William Chase. Driver's license, credit cards, all that stuff. The name James gave to Buzz Cut. The address and phone.

The place is a dump. Until I hear from Buzz Cut, I've got to go there at nights, park the TT right out front, sleep there. I take out garbage, let myself be seen around. I watch for tails when I go to work. There aren't any. But still I park the TT in a different place in Towson far away from headquarters, and on two days drive to Frederick and Hagerstown, park, and get lost in the tiny downtowns of those little cities for a few hours.

It's tedious. It's a pain in the butt. But it only lasts four or five days.

Then James gets me on my cell. He says tomorrow night, at eight, come alone with the money in a Gap shopping bag, walk down the east corridor of Dulaney Mall, and Buzz Cut'11 meet me inside near the main entrance.

Be there at eight, James tells me, but you may have to wait a while. The man's funny about time, about showing up when he says he will.

Dugal wants a major scene: plainclothes, uniforms, even fucking tacticals with black masks and CAR15s. He's so revved it takes me and IB close to a half hour to convince him how bad that shit's going to go down in a crowded mall. "Guys in hoods with assault rifles? Mass panic. Newspapers'll go nuts," from IB clinches it. Dugal backs off.

No way this is going to be like the movies, though I can feel some of the more impressionable fucks on the squad rerunning great bust scenes in their heads. Big black Mercedes pulls up behind an abandoned warehouse, a couple of muscle guys with Uzis leap out and scan the littered alley, the buyer opens a Vuitton briefcase filled with perfect stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills....

No hundreds, for one thing. That's what Buzz Cut said. I'm threading my way through the crowds in Dulaney Mall around eight, dressed suburban white-boy fly—baggy cargo pants, acid-green T, $175 Reeboks—carrying $9,000 in that blue Gap bag with the drawstrings pulled tight. I'm near the big fountain that dominates the mall's entry lobby when I see Buzz Cut ambling toward me along the opposite spoke, looking very J. Crew, carrying a Barnes & Noble bag. We touch right fists when we meet. "Hey, Bob," he says, "who'd you roll for those pants? You need a wardrobe consultant."

"It's what's happening with my young friends," I say. "Embarrassing. But whatever it takes, right?"

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"The things we do for biz." Buzz Cut shakes his head. He puts his hand on my shoulder and very gently steers me toward the automatic doors that open to the outside. Moment I feel that hand I want to shoot the fuck.

Just outside, in full view of the citizens coming and going, I open my bag a little, say, "Hey, check this out, man." Buzz Cut looks in, opens his bag too. I see the merchandise, neatly taped baggies. "Looks like we both got the weight," Buzz Cut says. We turn toward the parking lot, quick switch with the bags, and before we're another full step I snap on the cuffs. Ice Box is almost instantly on Buzz Cut's left, massive hand locked like a vise on his bicep. Tommy appears in front of us, two female plainclothes move in on the flanks, and Dugal pops up from behind the first row of cars and strides toward us.

"Oh
Bob."
Buzz Cut sighs. "Don't even tell me. Let me guess. I'm under arrest, right?"

"Fuckin' A." Ice Box laughs. I start to Miranda him, but I'm slow off the mark because Buzz Cut is so cool about this he's kinked my rhythm. He's too damned chill, like he believes, really believes, that all this is just a little waste of his time.

So Dugal butts up and reads him his rights, then he and Tommy and the plainclothes girls take Buzz Cut off toward the LT's car. Me and Ice Box are left standing there, like we've just been robbed or something. "See you later,
Bob,"
Buzz Cut calls back over his shoulder.

"The fuck's smiling at me, IB. Dig him," I say.

"Yeah, Jesus, what an asshole," Ice Box says. "See how long that smile stays in place when we get him in the sweat-room. See if he keeps grinning while we grind him down."

We go off to get the TT. "This doesn't feel right. Perfect bust, and it don't fuckin' feel right," I say.

"Forget that! How in the hell am I supposed to fit in this toy?" Ice Box says, looking very dubiously at the TT. Of course he's seen me driving the thing out of the Department parking lot, but he's never been right next to it before, and