The Assassin Part 35

"Call him!" Vito said. "Tell him the only reason I didn't make those markers good sooner was that I had to work."

"Okay, honey," Tony said. "Whatever you say."

Penelope Detweiler, wearing only the most brief of underpants, her naked bosom bouncing not at all unattractively, was chasing Matthew M. Payne around the upstairs sitting room of the Detweiler mansion in Chestnut Hill when the doorbell, actually a rather unpleasant-sounding buzzer, went off.

Matt Payne sat up in his bed suddenly.

Who the h.e.l.l is that?

He looked up at the ceiling, where a clever little clock his sister Amy had given him projected the time by a beam of light. It was almost half past one.

Christ, don't tell me Evelyn's come back!

He threw the blankets back angrily and marched naked through the kitchen to the b.u.t.ton by the head of the stairs that operated the door lock solenoid and pushed it.

The door opened and Detective Charley McFadden started up the stairs. On his heels was Officer Jesus Martinez, in uniform.

"You took your f.u.c.king time answering the doorbell," Detective McFadden said, by way of apology for disturbing Matt's sleep.

"I'll try to do better the next time."

"I thought maybe you had a broad up here," McFadden said as he reached the head of the stairs.

Not anymore. She finally went home, after reluctantly concluding that the only way she was going to be able to make it stand up again was to put it in a splint.

That being the case, where did that erotic dream about Precious Penny come from?

"If there was, you'd still be down there leaning on the doorbell," Matt said. "What do you say, Hay-zus?"

Martinez did not reply.

"You got a beer or something?" McFadden asked. "And why don't you put a bathrobe on or something?"

"Are we going to have a party?"

"No. This is business. We got to talk."

"You know where the beer is," Matt said, and went in the bedroom for his robe.

It smells in here. Essence de s.e.x. Essence de s.e.x.

"You got a c.o.ke or something?" Martinez asked.

"There's ginger ale, Hay-zus," Matt said. "I don't think there's any c.o.ke."

He went to the refrigerator and found a small bottle of ginger ale and handed it to Martinez.

"Thank you."

"Hay-zus thinks he's found a dirty cop at the airport," McFadden said.

Then he probably has. But why tell me?

"Tell Internal Affairs," Matt said.

"I can't go to Internal Affairs. I haven't caught him doing anything, but I got the gut feeling he's dirty," Martinez said.

"I don't understand what you're doing here," Matt said.

"Charley said I should talk to you."

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Matt said. "You want to take it from the beginning?"

"Tell him what you told me, Hay-zus," Charley said, lowering himself with a grunt into Matt's upholstered chair.

"There's a corporal out there," Jesus said. "A flashy Guinea named Lanza, Vito Lanza."

Matt did not reply.

"Just bought himself a new Cadillac," Jesus said. "You can't buy a Caddy on a corporal's pay."

"Maybe his number hit," Matt said, slightly sarcastic.

"He said he won the money in Las Vegas," Jesus said.

"That's possible," Matt said.

"Look at him. He won six thousand when he was out there," McFadden said.

"Yeah, I thought about that. But he's not Lanza."

"What does that mean?" Matt asked.

"You're f.u.c.king rich. You don't really give a s.h.i.t whether you win or lose, and you came home with only six thousand."

"Only six thousand? I wish to Christ I had won six thousand," Charley said. six thousand? I wish to Christ I had won six thousand," Charley said.

"There's more," Jesus said.

"Like what more?"

"He had almost ten thousand in cash, ninety-four hundred, to be exact, in his car tonight."

"How do you know that?"

"I looked."

"What do you mean, you looked?"

"When Charley and I were in Narcotics, we stopped a guy one night and took a car thief's friend from him," Jesus said. "I kept it."

A car thief's friend, sometimes called a "Slim-Jim," was a flat piece of metal, most commonly stainless steel, suitably shaped so that when inserted into an automobile door, sliding it downward in the window channel, it defeated the door lock.

"In other words, you broke into this guy's car, is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah, and he had ninety-four hundred dollars in an envelope in the glove compartment, an ashtray full of cigarette b.u.t.ts with lipstick on them, and this."

Martinez threw something at Matt who caught it. It was a book of matches. Oaks and Pines Resort Lodge. Oaks and Pines Resort Lodge.

"What's this?"

"It's a fancy place in the Poconos," Jesus said.

"So?"

"I called a guy I know in Vice and asked him did he ever hear about it, and he told me that there's a room in the back for high rollers; that the word is that the Mob owns it."

"So?"

"This doesn't smell to you, Payne?" Martinez said, seemingly torn between surprise and contempt.

"I take back what I said before. You should not go to Internal Affairs. What you have is a guy that gambles. At this lodge, and in Las Vegas. And right now, he's lucky. The only thing I can see he's done illegally is gamble in the Poconos. That's a misdemeanor, as opposed to a felony. Like being in possession of burglar tools is a felony."

"What did I tell you he'd say, Hay-zus?" Charley McFadden said.

"I got the feeling feeling, Charley," Jesus said. "This guy is dirty."

"What's he doing?"

"They're smuggling drugs through the airport, most likely off Eastern Airlines flights from Puerto Rico, and probably from Mexico City flights too."

"You know know this?" this?"

"Everybody knows it, Matt," Charley said. "The feds, Customs Service, and the Bureau of Drugs and Dangerous Narcotics. . . ."

"Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs," Jesus interrupted to correct him.

"Whatever the f.u.c.k they are, they're all over the place."

"They haven't caught this guy, then, have they?" Matt responded.

"I want to catch this f.u.c.ker," Jesus said. want to catch this f.u.c.ker," Jesus said.

You're not a detective, Martinez. You're a simple police officer who took the detective's exam and flunked it.

You are an arrogant, self-satisfied s.h.i.t, aren't you, Matthew Payne? Martinez is not only not a rookie, he's spent a lot of time dealing with drug people when he was in Narcotics. He knows what he's talking about.

"What do you want from me, Hay-zus?"

"I told him he ought to go to Wohl," Charley said. "He says he doesn't want to."

"Why not?" Matt asked, meeting Martinez's eyes.

"I don't work for Wohl anymore, for one thing. And even if I did, how the h.e.l.l could I go to Wohl and tell him the reason I know this f.u.c.ker runs around with almost ten thousand in his glove compartment is because I looked?"

" 'Broke into his car' are the words you're looking for," Matt said.

"I told Hay-zus Wohl, or at least Pekach, would listen to him. And he could tell them the car was unlocked."

"That's splitting a hair," Matt thought out loud. "That wouldn't wash with either Wohl or Pekach. And I suppose you know that if you'd found ten thousand dollars' worth of cocaine in his glove compartment, it would be inadmissible evidence."

"Hey, I was a Narc when you were Mr. Joe College Payne," Jesus said. "I know what's admissible and what isn't."

"Hay-zus, you don't have a thing on this guy," Matt said.

"He wants to follow him, and get get something on him," Charley said. something on him," Charley said.

"You mean, he wants us us to surveil this guy, right?" to surveil this guy, right?"

"I told you he'd tell us to go f.u.c.k ourselves," Martinez said.

"He can't do it himself, this Dago knows him."

"We're wasting our time. Let's get out of here," Martinez said.

"Hay-zus is usually right, when he smells something," McFadden went on.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Martinez repeated.

"What do you expect to find, Martinez, if we start to follow this guy around?" Matt asked.

"a.s.sociation with known criminals," Martinez said. "That would give me enough to go to Wohl or Internal Affairs."

He keeps bringing up Wohl. Why? He doesn't work for Wohl anymore. But I do. That's what this is all about. He figures I could go to Wohl.

"For the sake of argument, Hay-zus," Matt said. "Let's suppose we follow this guy, and either he spots us before we catch him with some Mob type, or that you're wrong. He'd really be p.i.s.sed. And we would have some explaining to do."

"In other words, no, right?"

"I didn't say that," Matt said. "I said what if."

"Then I would take my lumps."

"We all would take all would take our our lumps," Matt said. lumps," Matt said.

"This guy is dirty," Martinez said. "We're cops."

Matt exhaled audibly.