'Not good enough. Have a nice day.' Kilbane leaned back, stretched. When he did so, he exposed the two- finger handle of what was probably a game zipper in a sheath on his belt. A game zipper was a razor-sharp knife used for field-dressing game. Seeing as they were nowhere near a hunting preserve, Kilbane was most likely carrying it for other reasons.
Byrne very deliberately looked down, staring at the weapon. As a two-time loser, Kilbane understood. Mere possession of this item would bust him back on a parole violation.
'Did you say The Reel Deal?' Kilbane asked. Penitent now. Respectful.
'That would be correct,' Byrne replied.
Kilbane nodded, looked at the ceiling, feigning profound thought. As if that were possible. 'Let me ask around. See if anyone saw anything suspicious,' he said. 'I have a varied clientele at that location.'
Byrne put both hands up, palms heavenward. 'And they say community policing doesn't work.' He dropped a card on the bar. 'I'll expect a call, one way or another.'
Kilbane didn't touch the card, didn't even look at it.
The two detectives glanced around the bar. No one was blocking their exit, but they were definitely in everyone's periphery.
'Today,' Byrne added. He stepped to the side, motioned for Jessica to leave ahead of him.
As Jessica turned to walk away, Kilbane slipped his hand around her waist and roughly pulled her toward him. 'Ever been in the movies, baby?'
Jessica had her Glock holstered on her right hip. Kilbane's hand was now just inches away from her weapon.
'With a body like yours I could make you a fucking star,' he continued, holding her even more tightly, his hand moving ever closer to her weapon.
Jessica spun out of his grasp, planted her feet, and threw a perfectly aimed, perfectly leveraged left hook to Kilbane's midsection. The punch caught him just in front of his right kidney, landing with a loud splat that seemed to echo throughout the bar. Jessica stepped back, fists up, more out of instinct than any battle plan. But this little skirmish was over. When you train at Frazier's Gym, you know how to go to the body. The one punch took Kilbane's legs.
And, it appeared, his breakfast.
As he doubled over, a rope of foamy yellow bile spurted from beneath his destroyed upper lip, just missing Jessica. Thank God.
After the blow, the two thugs sitting at the bar went on high alert, all puff and chest and bluster, fingers twitchy. Byrne held up a hand that fairly shouted two things. One, Don't fucking move. Two, Don't fucking move an inch.
The room went jungle-nervous as Eugene Kilbane tried to find his wind. He took a knee on the filthy floor instead. Dropped by a 130- pound girl. For a guy like Kilbane, it probably didn't get much worse than that. Body shot, no less.
Jessica and Byrne edged toward the door, slowly, fingers on the snaps of their holsters. Byrne speared a cautionary forefinger at the miscreants around the pool table.
'I warned him, right?' Jessica asked Byrne, still backing up, talking out of the side of her mouth.
'Yes, you did, Detective.'
'It felt like he was going for my weapon.'
'Clearly, a very bad idea.'
'I had to hit him, right?
'No question about that.'
'He's probably not going to call us now, is he?'
'Well, no,' Byrne said. 'I don't think he is.' OUT ON THE street, they stood by the car for a minute or so, just to make sure that none of Kilbane's crew were going to take this thing any farther. As expected, they did not. Jessica and Byrne had both encountered a thousand men like Eugene Kilbane in their time on the job- small-time hustlers with little fiefdoms, staffed with men who feed off the carrion left by real players.
Jessica's hand throbbed. She hoped she hadn't injured it. Uncle Vit- torio would kill her if he found out she was punching people for free.
As they got in the car and headed back to Center City, Byrne's cell phone rang. He answered, listened, closed it, said: 'Audio Visual has something for us.'
11
The audio visual unit of the Philadelphia Police Department was located in the basement of the Roundhouse. When the crime lab had moved to its bright new facilities on Eighth and Poplar, the AV Unit was one of the few sections that remained behind. The unit's main function was to provide audiovisual support services to all the other agencies in the city-supplying cameras, TVs, VCRs, photographic equipment. They also provided news composites, which meant they monitored and taped the news 24/7; if the commissioner or chief or any of the brass needed something, they had instant access.
Most of the unit's work in support of the detective divisions was in the area of analyzing surveillance video, although the occasional audio- tape of a threatening phone call came along to spice things up. Video surveillance tapes were, as a rule, recorded with a time-lapse technology that allowed twenty-four hours or more of imagery to fit on a single T-120 VHS cassette. When these tapes were played back on a normal VCR, the movements were so fast that they could not be analyzed. Hence, a time-lapse VCR was needed to view the tape in what would be real time.
The unit was busy enough to keep six officers and one sergeant hopping every day. And the king of surveillance video analysis was Officer Mateo Fuentes. Mateo was in his early thirties-slender, fashion- conscious, impeccably groomed-a nine-year veteran of the force who lived, ate, and breathed video. You asked him about his personal life at your peril.
They assembled in the small editing bay near the control room. Above the monitors was a yellowing printout.
YOU VIDEOTAPE IT, YOU EDIT IT.
'Welcome to Cinema Macabre, detectives,' Mateo said.
'What's playing?' Byrne asked.
Mateo held up a digital photograph of the Psycho videotape housing. Specifically, the side that held a short strip of silver-colored tape.
'Well, first off, this is old security tape,' Mateo said.
'Okay. What does this breakthrough substantiation impart to us?' Byrne asked with a wink and a smile. Mateo Fuentes was well known for his prim and business-like manner, along with his Jack Webb delivery. It masked a frisky side, but you had to get to know him.
'I'm glad you proffered this interrogative,' Mateo said, playing along. He pointed to the silver band on the side of the tape. 'This is an old- school loss-prevention tag. Maybe early-nineties vintage. The newer versions are a lot more sensitive, a lot more effective.'
'I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about this,' Byrne said.
'Well, I'm no expert, either, but I'll tell you what I know,' Mateo said. 'The system, as a whole, is called EAS, or Electronic Article Surveillance. There are two main types: the hard tag and the soft tag. The hard tags are those bulky, plastic tags they put on leather jackets, Armani sweaters, Zegna dress shirts, et cetera. All the good stuff. That kind of tag has to be taken off with a device once you pay for the item. Soft tags, on the other hand, have to be desensitized by swiping them over a pad or with a handheld scanner that tells the tag, essentially, it's okay to leave the store.'
'What about videotapes?' Byrne asked.
'Videotapes and DVDs, too.'
'Which is why they hand them to you on the other side of those-'
'Pedestals,' Mateo said. 'Right. Exactly. Both types of tags work on an RF frequency. If the tag hasn't been
