87th Precinct - The Frumious Bandersnatch Part 11

aMr. Loomis, thereas someone who says youare expecting his call. He wouldnat give a name.a aGive me three minutes, and then put him through.a He replaced the receiver on its cradle, and turned to the others. aWonat give a name, says Iam expecting his call.a aBingo,a Corcoran said, and nodded toward a makeshift structure not unlike a phone booth, its walls baffled to deaden any sound in the office around him. Loomis entered the booth at once, sat in a chair set up in front of an extension phone. Endicott, Corcoran, and two of his detectives put on ear phones at the monitoring equipment. Carella stood by the green phone that would connect him directly to the Eight-Seven. The three other detectives and the remaining agent were already sitting at phones that linked them to One Fed Square.

The room was utterly silent.

When the phone rang again, its sound burst on the air like a hand grenade.

aHere he is,a Endicott said. aJust sound natural, hear what he has to say. Weall be on him, believe me.a The phone kept ringing.

aThatas three, fouraa aPick up,a Endicott said.

In the booth, Loomis picked up the receiver.

aBarney Loomis,a he said.

aWe have the girl,a the voice on the phone said. aWe want $250,000 in unmarked, hundred-dollar bills. Weall call at threeP.M. sharp to tell you where to deliver it. Do anything foolish and she dies.a aHow do I know sheas still alive?a Loomis asked at once.

aWould you like to talk to her?a aYes. Yes, please. Let me talk to her.a There was a silence.

aVerizon landline is tracking,a one of the agents said.

aSweetheart, come here a minute.a This on Loomisa phone. Somewhat apart, as if the caller were holding the receiver out to someone.

aVerizon says itas a cell phone,a one of the detectives said.

There was another silence, longer this time.

aTell Mr. Loomis youare okay,a the voice on the phone said. aNo, donat touch the phone!a Sharply. aJust tell him youare fine.a aItas AT&T wireless,a the same detective said.

aGet on it,a Endicott said.

A shorter silence.

ah.e.l.lo?a aTamar?a aYes, Barney.a Across the room, an agent was asking an AT&T operator to determine the number of the cell phone and track its location.

aAre you all right?a aIam fine, Barney.a an.o.bodyas hurt you, have they?a aNo, Iam fine.a aIall get the money they want, Tamar. Youall be home soon.a aThank you, Barney.a aHowas the CD doing?a Tamar asked.

aVery well, actually.a aFirst toweras tracking,a one of the agents reported.

aAm I gonna be a star?a aOh, you betcha, kid. A real diva.a aGood. I have to go now, Barney. He wants me to get off the phone.a aIall see you soon,a Loomis said.

The manas voice came on again.

aOkay?a he asked. aSatisfied, Mr. Loomis?a aSecond toweras got it.a aYes. Thank you,a Loomis said.

aGet the money by threeP.M. a aKeep him on,a Endicott said.

There was a click on the line.

as.h.i.t!a aThe way this works,a Corcoran said, yanking off his ear phones, ais the landline company hands us off to the wireless provider, who tracks the call through the base station towers handling it. Itas called triangulation. These are threeradio towers, you understand, a cell phone is aradio phone. The first tower judges a rough distance to the caller. Second tower narrows the choice to two points. Third tower pinpoints the location. Unfortunately, our guy got off before the third tower could zero in.a aHeas out on the Island someplace, thatas for sure,a one of the agents said.

aHere comes the info now,a a second agent said, and joined him at the computer. They both turned to look at the printer as it began spewing paper. Two detectives rose from their phones and immediately put on their jackets.

aHow does it jibe with Sands Spit?a Endicott asked.

aRosalita Guadajillo,a the first agent said, yanking the printout free. a3215 n.o.ble. Nowhere near. Sheas right here in the city.a aMaybe an accomplice,a Corcoran said.

aMove on her,a Endicott ordered, and the two agents went out the door, followed immediately by the two detectives. Carella, sitting by his new green toy with his thumb up his a.s.s, looked at Special Agent in Charge Stanley M. Endicott.

aWe have experience in such matters,a Endicott explained, and shrugged.

aWhatas happening?a Loomis asked, coming out of the booth.

aWe lost him,a Endicott said.

aThis is going to be elaborate,a Corcoran said.

aHow do you know?a aWeave had experience with these things.a aSheas alive,a Barney said. aThank G.o.d for that.a aEverythingall be fine,a Endicott told him. aYouall see.a Carella said nothing.

aYou p.i.s.sed off about something?a Endicott asked.

SPECIAL AGENT HARVEY JONESdefinitely thought he saw c.o.c.kroaches in the hallway. Which was better than rats, he supposed. His cousin was an agent in Los Angeles, and she told him there were rats in Beverly Hills. Driven down into populated areas because of the drought. Drinking from rich peopleas swimming pools. Imagine youare a movie star and you go out for your early morning swim in your big private walled pool and a hundred rats are in the water with you! In this part of the city you expected ratsa"although all Jones had seen so far were c.o.c.kroaches. In Beverly Hills, you didnat expect rats. Jones had grown up with both c.o.c.kroaches and rats; he was sensitive to both.

This part of the city was familiarly calledLa Perlita, after an erst-while notorious slum in San Juan cynically namedLa Perla, which was Spanish for aThe Pearl,a and some pearl it had been, honey. The reincarnation here wasnat much better. Nicknamed by the so-called Marine Tigers whoad first migrated from the island in the early forties (aboard a vessel called theMarine Tiger, hence the derogatory appellation),La Perlita was still predominantly Puerto Rican and somewhat dangerous, even for four men carrying guns and badges.

A lot in this city had changed since the forties but notLa Perlita. Maybe nowadays, third-and fourth-generation Puerto Ricans no longer sounded likebanditos. Maybe nowadays, men going to work in business suits werenat necessarily hit men for drug posses. And maybe nowadays teenage girls wearing short tight satin skirts and stiletto-heeled sandals were only heading to the prom and not the nearest street corner to peddle their wares. But however you looked at it,La Perlita was still a sprawling slum rife with drugs, prost.i.tution, andayes, rats. Come to think of it, it was a lot like Beverly Hills, donat write me letters, Jones thought.

As they climbed to the fourth floor of the tenement at 3215 n.o.ble Street, the four men were discussing a TV show Special Agent Forbes had seen on television. Special Agent Forbes was saying head been watching this writer on C-Span the other night, giving a book talk in a book store in Seattle someplace, and the writer was telling the audience that he once got a letter from some lady who said she wasnat going to read his books anymore because there were too manypeople in them.

aCan you imagine that?a Forbes asked. aToo manypeople in them?a aNo, I canat,a Jones said, shaking his head in agreement and amazement. aIn fact, one of the things I like most about this job ismeeting different people. So how can there be too many people in abook? a aBesides, they arenatpeople, a Detective/First Grade Lonigan said, atheyarecharacters. a aWho was this writer, anyway?a Detective/Second Grade Feingold asked.

aSome mystery writer,a Forbes said.

aWell, thatas different,a Lonigan said, changing his mind. aIn a mystery, you canat have too many people, thatas right. Thatas because all the people are suspectsaa aThe characters, you mean.a aAre suspects, correct. So if you canat keep track of them, then you canat possibly figure out who committed the murder, which is the whole point of a mystery, anyway, isnat it?a Listening, Jones wondered if that was the whole point of a mystery, anyway.

aI still think he was right,a Forbes said. aA woman telling him thereas too manypeople in his book. If she wants fewer people, she should go read aSnow White and the Seven Dwarfs.a a Or aThe Three Little Pigs,a Jones thought, and all four men stopped outside the door to apartment 4C. Because theyad had experience in such matters, they listened at the wood before they knocked. Because theyad had experience in such matters, they also drew their weapons. This was maybe an accomplice to a kidnapping behind this door here.

aYes?a A womanas voice. Sounded young. No Spanish accent despite the Spanish handle. Forbes looked at the computer printout again. Rosalita Guadajillo.

aMiss Goo-ah-duh-Jello?a he asked.

aGwa-da-hee-yo, s,ashe said, correcting his p.r.o.nunciation. aWho is it?a aFBI,a Forbes said. aWant to open the door, please?a There was a momentas hesitation. FBI?What! The reaction was always the same. You could almost visualize the silence behind the closed wooden door, as if the words were popping up in a comic strip balloon. What thea! ! ! !

The door opened just a crack, held by a night chain. In the wedge, they could see part of a narrow foxlike face.

aLet me see some ID,a the woman said. Perfect English. Not a trace of an accent.

Jones held up his badge. So did Forbes. Gold, with a spread-winged eagle crowning what looked like a true warrioras shield, dominated by the large lettersU.S. engraved midway between the smaller wordsFederal Bureau of Investigation above andDepartment of Justice below. Not at all like the hanging plastic ID badges they carried on aX-Files,a those so-called Burbank Studio FBI Cards. Behind the two agents, the city d.i.c.ks flashed their gold, blue-enameled shields.

The overwhelming ID had no effect.

The door remained fastened by the chain.

aWhat do you want here?a the woman asked.

aAre you Rosalita Guadajillo?a Jones asked, having no better luck with the name than Forbes had.

aYes? What is it you want?a aFew questions we need to ask you, Miss,a Forbes said. aCould you please open the door?a There was another hesitation, and then a short sharp click as she closed the door. Forbes figured it wouldnat open again. He was thinking theyad have to come back later, with a warrant, when all at once he heard the chain rattling loose, and the door opened wide, surprising him.

Rosalita Guadajillo was a slender woman in her early twenties, they guessed, some five-feet-six-inches tall, obviously dressed to go out on this Monday at almost twelve noon. Her hair was black, her eyes brown and lined with a greenish tint. She was wearing bright red lipstick and round plastic earrings of the same color, high-heeled strappy black sandals, a short, tight black skirt, and a crisp white blouse unb.u.t.toned some three b.u.t.tons down to reveal somewhat exuberant cleavage cushioning a red plastic necklace that matched the earrings. Both Jones and Forbes figured her for a hooker, so much for profiling.

aMay we come in?a Forbes asked.

He wasnat being polite. He was protecting their a.s.ses against future claims of forced entry, these days.

aWhatas this about?a Rosalita asked, stepping aside to allow them entry. She was not unmindful of the display of big hardware, but this wasLa Perlita and guns were as common here ascuchi frito joints. They walked into a small kitchen still set with that morningas breakfast dishes. Living room with a thrift-shop three-piece set of stuffed furniture. Doors opening on two small bedrooms. Closed door probably led to the bathroom. One of the detectives opened the door. n.o.body in there, thank G.o.d.

aThis your phone number, Miss Guadajillo?a Forbes asked. He was getting close to the correct p.r.o.nunciation, but still no cigar.

She looked at the printout.

aYes?a she said.

aYou make a call from this phone at noon today?a aNo.a aTo a man named Barney Loomisaa aNo.a aAt Bison Records?a aNo. I havenat even tried to use that phone since late last night.a aYou know exactly when you used it last, is that it?a Jones asked.

aYes, it so happens I do,a she said, getting all huffy. aBecause that was when I tried to call my sitter, and I discovered it was missing.a aMissing, huh?a aThe phone, huh?a aYour sitter, huh?a aI have two kids,a Rosalita said. aA sitter was with them last night. When I tried to call her, my phone was gone.a aYou have two kids, huh?a Lonigan said.

aEight and six. A boy and a girl.a Meant shead been knocked up the first time when she was sixteen or thereabouts, Lonigan figured.

aWhere are these kids now?a aMy mother has them. She keeps them all day. While I work.a aDoing what, Miss Guadajillo?a Lonigan figured he already knew.

aI have a boutique on Mason and Sixth.a aA boutique, huh?a Feingold said.

aYes. I sell costume jewelry. These earrings are from my shop.a aIs that a fact?a Forbes said skeptically.

aYes, itas a fact,a Rosalita said. aWhy do you want to know about my phone?a aDid you happen toreport it missing?a aI just learned about it late last night.a aWhat time last night?a aAround ten-thirty. When we got out of the movies. Thatas when I tried to call home to see how the kids were.a aWhoas we?a Forbes asked.

aWhat movie?a Jones asked.

aMy boyfriend,a Rosalita said. aThe new Tom Cruise movie.a aBut your phone was missing, huh?a aMy phone was missing, yes. I think I may have left it at the shop. Or else somebody stole it from my bag.a aYou going to the shop now?a aYes.a aWhy donat we just come with you?a Forbes suggested. aSee if maybe you left the phone there.a aPor que es ese put selular tan importante despus de todo?aRosalita askeda"which was incidentally Spanish, which neither the agents nor the detectives understood, incidentally.

Besides, it didnat really matter, did it?

The f.u.c.king phone wasnat in her shop, anyway.

8.

BECAUSE BOTH MENwere downtown to testify in two separate court cases that Monday morning, Detectives Andy Parker and Ollie Weeks happened to run into each other at the Criminal Courts Building when their respective judges called lunch breaks. Both detectives normally enjoyed testifying since it gave them a chance to bask in the glory spotlight for a few hours, even though they felt the system was designed to put dangerous criminals back on the street again as soon as possible. A trip downtown took them away from the humdrum daily grinds of the 8-7 and the 8-8. Down here in the halls of so-called justice, they almost felt it was all worthwhile.

aOllie, hey!a Parker called.

aAndy,vee gates? a Ollie said, meaning to sayawie gehts,a an expression head picked up from his lieutenant, but only to prove to all these Jewish lawyers down here in these hallowed marble corridors just how tolerant he was of the Hebrew faith. Ollie guessed the expression meant aHow goes it?a Parker didnat know what it meant, so Ollie could just as well have been sayingaVeh farblondjet,a which meant aGet lost,a but which he hadnat yet learned.

Both men were wearing suits and ties. When these shrewd defense-lawyer shysters started working you over, it was always best for the jury to think you were gentlemen instead of roughnecks or rogues like some of the cops you saw on television these days. Actually, Parker and Weeks did occasionally behave like roughnecks and/or rogues, but it didnat pay to let the jury know this when you were testifying that you went in with all the proper No-Knock doc.u.mentation.

aYou feel like c.h.i.n.kas?a Parker asked.

Both men were consummate bigots.

aI know a great place,a Ollie said.

The two detectives strolled in bright May sunshine toward a Chinese restaurant in nearby Hull Street. They could have been bankers or lawyers or stock brokers, they looked that dandy. Parker had even shaved for the occasion of his court appearance. He told Ollie the 8-7 had caught a spectacular case this past Sat.u.r.day night, had Ollie seen the tape on TV? Ollie said he had. In fact, he was sick and tired of seeing Tamar Valparaiso on television day and night.

aDid you know somebody stole my book?a he asked.

aNo!a Parker said, looking appalled. aWhat book?a aThis book I wrote.a aYouwrote a book?a Parker said. He considered this something of an oddity, like an elephant in the jungle writing a book. With his right tusk. Or perhaps his trunk.

aYeah, a novel,a Ollie said. aReport to the Commissioner.Some illiterate sc.u.mbag stole it from my car.a aDid you get the guy?a aNot yet. But I will. Oh, I will, I promise you.a aI always thought I myself could write a book, some of this c.r.a.p you read nowadays,a Parker said. aIf only I could find the time.a Because he didnat wish to rain on Parkeras parade, Ollie didnat mention that it also took talent. Instead, he said, aIt does take time, mafriend, ah yes.a What was taking most of his own time these days was trying to remember the exact language in the stolen ma.n.u.script, which happened to be the only copy Ollie had, every word of which he felt was perfect. Since Ollie didnat know any professional writers but himself, he didnat realize that what he was doing was called arewriting.a And since he had nothing against which to compare his new pages, he had no idea that they were really much better than what head originally written. In all truth, it wasnat too difficult to write pages that were better than the original ones, but Ollie didnat know that, either.

aYeah, this half-spic, half-Russian singer, her parents anyway,a Parker said, getting back to the kidnapping because Ollieas novel was of no interest to him whatsoever. aYou should try to catch the tape on TV,a he said. aSheas half-naked, these great t.i.ts spilling all over the place.a aIdid catch it,a Ollie said. aYou ever eat here before?a he asked, salivating and shoving through a door that was made of wood but that looked like a beaded curtain.

At noontime, the place was crowded with many of the employees who kept the cityas judicial and financial systems running. A hostess wearing a green silk Suzie Wong gown slit to the thigh on her left leg seated the men in a booth some ten feet from the entrance doors, and handed them menus. Parker watched her slitted thigh as she went back to her station. Ollie was already looking at his menu.

aShe gets raped by this spade twice her size,a Parker said. aTamar whatever the f.u.c.k her name is.a aYou wanna try some dim sum?a Ollie asked.

aWhatas that, them dim sum?a Parker said.

aOr how about some of the specials?a aWhy donat you order?a Parker said. aI trust you.a aI do happen to be an expert on Chinese coo-zeen,a Ollie said.

aSo order, go on. Heas got muscles on his muscles, this jig, prolly got them in the prison gym.a A waiter padded over to their table. To start, Ollie ordered eight golden puffed shrimp, six chicken fingers, six pan-fried pork dumplings, and two five-piece orders of barbecued spare ribs. Then he ordered the Hot Lovers Chicken, which was deep-fried chicken sauted with snow peas, baby corn, and straw mushrooms in a spicy tangy sauce, and the Dry Sauted Beef, Szechuan Stylea aThis is real Chinese home cooking,a he told Parker.

aand the Mee Goreng, which were spaghetti-style noodles sauted with various exotic spices, shrimp, tomatoes, eggs, and vegetablesa aA specialty in Singapore,a Ollie explained.

aand then the Young Ginger Beef, and the Scallops with Lemon Sauce, and the Broccoli with Garlic Sauce, and the Sauted Fresh Spinach.

aI hope thatall be enough,a he told Parker. aWe can always order more later, if we need it.a The waiter wagged his head in wonder and went off.

aWhy do they always look like theyare p.i.s.sed off?a Parker asked.

aWho?a Ollie said.

aChinese waiters. They always look like they got a hair across their a.s.s.a aIt ainat that,a Ollie explained. aItas they got these squinty eyes makes them look like theyare frowning.a aHe pracaly tears off all her clothes,a Parker said.