“I would imagine so.”
“Can I borrow my old bat?”
Whit nodded, stood, and took it off of the wall.
Chapter Eighteen
Intarsia
“My wife is going to skin my noodle for being out late,” Ray said as they all walked up to the bar.
“Jesus Ray,” Tonic said. He held open the door, "Did you mean to say that out loud?”
Smokey’s was a cop shop just off of the Beltway that resided at the far end of a perpetually empty strip mall. Opened by a retired fireman, staffed by non–retired, off–duty types, and kept alive by a loose alliance betwixt all of the city’s finest, it was the only business to have stayed the course in the Elkhorn Plaza. Computer stores, banks, insurance, even a Pier One Imports at the other end had tried and died at the Elkhorn, but D.C. kept Smokey’s alive. It had been deemed neutral territory, and thus drew from the ranks of civil servants all over the city.
Smokey himself was still around, occasionally tending bar, but usually playing cards in back. He’d long since perfected the BBQ ribs that were served from breakfast to breakfast, but had tired of learning the obnoxious drink combinations of a new generation. Now he seemed entirely content to wile away his time with anyone who would sacrifice a little money to his table, tell him the same old stories, and drink a beer. And because of it, he was everyone’s hero–few who came to Smokey’s didn’t want to someday be Smokey.
“Yeah Ray, live a little,” Finn said as he slid into a booth in back.
Ray scooted in too, eyeing a decade’s worth of smudges on the dusky mirrors that lined the back wall of the bar.
Tonic arrived with the beer.
“Won’t the Great Spirit get offendamated if you drink that, Ray?” Finn asked.
“Dot not feather,” Ray replied and took a drink.
“Yeah, well whatever. I’ll make you drink orange juice if you so much as slur a word. We’re here so you can have….”
“An extension?” Tonic offered.
“An extension… on your time with that computer on the off chance that any scary Operation Blue Book guys would come looking for it tonight in the evidence locker. Get crackin’.”
Ray pulled the computer from his bag and promptly moved everyone’s beer bottle away from it.
“I told you that the little fucker would run off,” Finn said after Ray started tapping at the keyboard.
“No you didn’t,” Tonic replied.
“Yeah, well I thought it. Should we revise our theories?”
Tonic peeled the coaster from the bottom of his bottle and examined it. He refocused on Finn just across the table. “I don’t think so. He’s just scared.”
A nod.
“Maybe we ought to give the guy a call again, could be that Meek's nocturnal like us."
“Like you. I’m old, remember?” Finn said. “I’ve got to get my rest or I get grumpy.”
“What are you now? Fifty–something?”
“Forty you ass hat.”
“Same deal.”
They were grinning at each other now. “I talked to Hop about getting a line on the guy’s finances, by the way. He said he’d get someone on it and we’d know by tomorrow morning.”
“Me,” Ray said without looking up. His face was lit by the glow of the monitor, dark eyes searching the screen.
“Me?” Finn asked.
“It’s a pronoun I think,” Tonic gestured with his bottle.
Ray shook out his hands and cracked the knuckles. "Your boss told that skinny guy that stares at the water spot above his desk all day to do it, he told my supervisor to see what he could dig up, and my super told me that it was a chance to prove that I was up to the task. So… me.”
“Okay me, what’s the scoop?” Finn asked.
“They said I had until tomorrow morning.”
“Right, I was just seeing if you were up to the task.”
“I did it an hour ago. It’s all on your desk.” He enjoyed Finn’s silence for the two seconds that it lasted.
“You’re fucking good at this Ray. What’d you do before you decided to get paid nothing as a pseudo–cop?”
“Law school. I passed the bar, but the whole lawyer thing just wasn’t for me. Plus, I started having kids.”
“Kids are expensive,” Tonic ventured.
“Yeah, so I had a choice between going back to school or falling back on computers. I do this to get out of the house, and other work on the side to pay for food.”
“Like what?” Finn yawned.
“Computer stuff, I write technical manuals for field upgrades and stuff like that,” he kept himself focused on the computer. "I remember weird shit."
Finn leaned in, "What's the capitol of Latvia?"
Ray paused at the keyboard, glanced from Finn to Tonic as if to confirm the validity of the question, and then sighed. "Riga."
"Oh, that's an easy one? Is that what you're trying to say?" Finn leaned back into the booth having no idea if Ray was right or wrong. "Alright… alright… hold on."
"I thought you wanted me to work on this thing," Ray tapped the monitor. Neither detective cared about the computer, but again, they declined to explain this to their intern.
"What's the word for gloves in French?"
Tonic smiled down at the table.
Ray looked puzzled, "In French, Jesus, I dunno… gants maybe? Something like that."
Finn glanced at Tonic who was still committed to table study, "Not.…"
"Branleur," Tonic supplied.
The puzzled look intensified into a squint. "Nah, that means wanker. Don't you watch the World Cup?"
Tonic laughed, "Finny doesn't understand sports in general. Or French for that matter."
"Well I'll tuck that little nugget away for a rainy day," Finn said then held up a hand. "Alright, why'd Hancock sign his name so big?"
"King George wore glasses."
Tonic watched the verbal tennis, "King who?"
"George," both Finn and Ray said at once. Ray continued, "The guy wore glasses, and Hancock was busting his balls a little… wanted to make sure he could see his name. Gutsy move considering everything that was going on then.…"
Tonic put his beer down, "Why the hell do you know that?"
"I know weird shit," Ray repeated as if he'd been saying it his whole life.
"Not you," Tonic said. He looked at Finn who suddenly seemed distracted.
"What? I'm the freak?" Finn said when his mind returned to the conversation.
"I'm just sayin'."
“Don't. Alright X–Ray, give me the short version on Meek then.”
Ray's relief was visible. "Meek’s way rich. Not as much as his old man, but way rich. His outstanding debt is his house. No big withdrawals in the last thirty days, all of the recurring stuff is auto–payments online, no obvious red flags that I could see on my own."
“No airline tickets, big travel plans… say to fucking South Africa?” Finn asked.
“I’m still working on his credit card stuff, but I know his VISA and AmEx cards and finding out is just a matter of having time to make the calls.”
“I guess Kev hasn’t cashed his check yet,” Tonic said.
“Check?” Ray asked.
“Meek wrote the preacher at the hospital a note for fifty grand today. To do the funerals.”
“Whoa, okay, that’s a red flag I guess. But there’s plenty to cover it. His checking account looks like a Lotto number.”
“Let’s look into his old man, too. Trauma brings families together and all that.”
“I did,” Ray said. “His mom’s dead. Cancer. His dad’s alive and kicking, but I haven’t found much beyond what’s on the news. He's kept real quiet in the last few years.”
“I guess that’s about what a guy would expect,” Tonic agreed.
“He does have a big–ass house, you can see it on satellite online. He's got horses, a big spread, his own lake. Oh, and he has a couple of boats, one in Boston and one in Miami,
I think. There was a little article in Yachtsman about how he used to sail before his life got complicated. I think he’s got a couple of jets, too. He’s even more way rich.”
Finn centered his beer in one of the moisture rings on the tabletop. It didn’t fit perfectly so he tried another. “He’s got his own planes?” Something was rattling loose in Finn's mind, he just need another jolt or two.
“Yeah, I think so.”
One of the pretty Georgetown waitresses ambled by and Tonic ordered up another round, plus some ribs. “You can eat ribs right, Ray?”
“I’m an American, I can eat anything.”
Finn went on, "We’re going to need all of the help we can get if Meek doesn’t let us into his little matrix.” Ray took his cue and got back to work. This time he plugged in his iPod and nestled down even closer to the screen. Both detectives knew that the computer probably wasn't important, but it was a handy way to draw Ray out, to get his guard down, to see who he was in truth. If they were lucky, there'd be some good stock tips.
Finn and Tonic drained their beers in silence and waited for replacement troops. They arrived within minutes, along with the ribs in a thin sauce that smelled strongly of vinegar. They tore into them, and the conversation resumed.
“Well so much for Meek using the back door at the hospital thing,” Finn said.
“He used the back door if you recall, you just slowed me down.”
“I’ve been working out.”
Tonic slid the plate of ribs over, “I’m sure it’s fun to stay at the YMCA.”
“I’d date Ray before I’d date you.”
“’Cause I’m not gay?”
Finn’s cell phone rang. “No, because he has a nicer ass,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear. Tonic laughed and punched Ray who, oblivious to the conversation, looked as confounded as ever about his position in the pecking order.
“Am I interrupting?” Seth asked.
Finn pointed at the phone, “Nope, we just missed you at the hospital.”
Tonic yanked the headphones out of Ray’s ears just as Finn got his phone on speaker and balanced it atop the pile of ribs.
There was a pause, “I think your priest caught up with me though.”
“Yeah, but he’ll probably become a pagan if you keep paying him like that.”
Another pause.
Finn went on, “So how come you ditched us?”
“I got scared,” Seth said. The line came almost instantly.
“Well we can’t blame you for that. But the hospital is just as safe as Durban and closer, too. I mean… in case something comes up.”
“Word travels fast.”
“We’re very smart.”
“I just need the time away.”
Tonic jotted something on his coaster and flipped it across the table after showing Ray, VISA or Daddy's Jet?
Finn nodded. "I understand that Mr. Meek, but you’re a witness in a homicide investigation. That carries some weight.”
“Am I under investigation?”
“Well you are now, and accepting police protection looks some kind of better than pulling a Chappelle and flying off to Africa.”
“That’s alright.”
“We could arrest you,” Finn said. Tonic wrinkled his nose.
“As if that would make my life any worse.”
Finn had to agree. “Seth, we don’t even know where you are, but seriously we get it. You’re scared. All of us would be in your shoes. No shit scared. But stop running for a second. Think this out."
"That's what I'm going to do. I just wanted you guys to know. I called everyone that I'm supposed to call. I need some time and some space where I know that no one is after me. That's all."
Finn threw up his hands. He let out a long breath and shook his head. Instead of talking, he took a pull on the beer.
Tonic filled in, “Watcha need the time for Seth?”
“I’m going to the place where I met my wife, just need to get my head on straight. I think you’ll understand that it’s hard to think when someone tried to kill you.”
“Hey Seth, don’t take this wrong, but you're acting a little spooky here. And I mean that in the good way.”
“Yeah, I know. I know. But in a few days it won’t matter.”
“Whoa now, what's that mean? See? That's the kind of spooky I'm talking about Bro,” Tonic said.
“Not what you think. Listen, my life can’t get worse, just give me some time.”
“And you’re willing to take the heat over the fact that doing this makes you look like you’re hiding something?” Finn broke in… he was starting to see something.
“I am. Like I said, it’s not going to matter.”
Finn inhaled so he could explain why it did matter but the line was dead.
“I’m not sure that he likes you, Finny,” Tonic said as he waved for another round.
“Nah, I grow on people. He'll learn. Okay we know a lot more now,” Finn said as he looked back through his notes. “Ray, it’s time to check those credit cards. I’ll check on the private jet thing. No wait.” He pointed his pen at Tonic, “You know someone with the FAA right? Some girl?”
“Yep. I’ll check on Daddy’s jet and you leave your line open in case he calls back with a heart–felt confession.”
That made Finn smile. The practiced exasperation that he’d shown on the phone had drained away as soon as he’d flipped open his book of case notes; it was replaced now by the look of a kid playing with a Spiro–graph. He circled ideas and branched them out to new ones, he was having fun. Finn was making a connection, he just wasn’t there yet, and the look on his face was almost euphoric. Clearly this was his drug. “We’re gonna need more ribs, and Ray… sorry, you’d better call your wife and learn to sleep on your stomach for awhile. Just as soon as you get his credit card records I need you to wake up his boss and go see if you can play with his computer at work.”
“They aren’t going to like that at all,” Ray said.
“You’re a pseudo–cop, just tell his boss that he can willingly cooperate or we can start typing up a bunch of paper,” Finn said.
“I’m an intern and he’ll just run to the NSA. McDonalds wouldn’t just give up the recipe to secret sauce.”
“Let’s hear it Carnac, you've got another story for me, don't you?”
“If you barge in there and tell his boss to throw open Meek’s computer, he’ll make a call to the NSA because that’s his bread and butter. If Meek’s boss breaks security, that’s the end of his work with the government, and thus the end of his work with anyone. His credibility will be in the toilet. So, he’ll just call NSA, they’ll bury us in red tape, and that’ll be all she wrote. If they’re not already there, right?”
“Good point,” Finn said. “Keep being smart.” He looked back over his notes. “Still, check the cards and his boss. You never know.”
“So on the credit cards I’m looking for what? Plane tickets? Stuff like that?”
“Sure, but I doubt you’ll find any. Focus on purchases. Oh, and run a medical check… find out if he’s been to the doctor recently. Find out if he’s had any vaccinations.”
“Purchases like what? Vaccinations….” Ray said aloud as he wrote it out on his coaster. Finn’s sudden enthusiasm, as always, was catchy. “Vaccinations?”
“Just look for anything out of the ordinary. He probably needs shots if he's really going to Africa, right?” Ray rolled his eyes and Finn paused. “You’re really more fun with a couple of beers in you, Dervish.”
Tonic asked, “What’s got into you? Shouldn’t you be grumpy?”
“I am grumpy,” Finn smiled and stopped writing. He plucked his phone off of the ribs and then grabbed a couple for himself. He sucked the sauce off of his fingers and said, “I just wonder if he has the balls to pull it off. Talk about signing your name in a big way.”
“Please help the kids on the short bus understand,” Tonic said.
“He’s hiding something,” Ray
said.
“Yes and no,” Finn replied. “Yes he’s hiding something, but we already know what it is. He’s hiding identities.”
“Okay, but what the fuck for?” Tonic asked. "You really think he knows these guys?"
"Nope, I think it was a random hit, but he does know what they look like. And he's got a roadmap. He knows where they are…."
"The tags," Tonic was beginning to see it too.
"Yep."
“Wait, why wouldn’t he want you guys to find them? I don’t get it,” Ray confessed.
“He doesn’t care if we find ‘em Ray,” Finn said. “He cares when we find ‘em.”
“Why?” Ray asked again.
“Because he wants to find them first.”
Chapter Nineteen
Infalapsarian
The salesman was wearing a three–piece suit and was strolling about the seductively lit showroom as if he were thinking of making a purchase of his own. He eased over toward Seth as if he’d been expecting him all morning.
“If there’s anything at all I can help with, please let me know.”
“I’m in the market for a new car.”
The guy’s arms went wide open. "Do you have something in mind, or is there something that just looks right?” It was a beautiful hook line, and wholly unnecessary.
“Fast.” Seth smiled, “fast is good.”
The salesman chuckled and took a chance, “I can tell.” He gestured toward Seth’s face.
He played along, “I should probably add ‘safe’ to the list too.”
A genuine laugh this time, “Well, shall we start at the top and work down?”
“Absolutely, start with big and fast,” Seth said and rolled up his sleeves. Whit’s shirt fit well, and for some reason that was comforting.
The salesman started to get a nice tingle. “BMW is safety, the 7 Series is big, and the 760Li is twelve cylinders of fast.” He opened the door and offered Seth a seat. “It weighs about five thousand pounds but will still get up to sixty in five seconds.” Seth’s Civic could have ridden shotgun in this car.
Meek looked around the vast interior and picked up the sheet of options that occupied the passenger seat. Window tint, navigation, run flat tires… he was sure there would be a bulletproof option on the list somewhere.
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