from Dwight's Southern permeated the air with its fatty sweet tang. It made Kevin Byrne salivate. It made Sammy DuPuis nauseous.
'What, not a big fan of soul food?' Byrne asked.
Sammy shook his head, hit his Camel hard. 'How do people eat that shit? It's all fuckin' fat and gristle. You might as well just put it into a needle and shoot it into your heart.'
Byrne glanced down. The gun was laid out on a black velvet cloth between them. There was something about the scent of oil on steel, Byrne thought. There was a terrible power in that smell.
Byrne picked it up, checked the action, sighted the barrel, mindful of the fact that they were in a public place. Sammy generally worked out of his house in East Camden, but Byrne didn't have time to cross the river today.
'I can do it for six fifty,' Sammy said. 'And that is a bargain for such a beauty-full weapon.'
'Sammy,' Byrne said.
Sammy was silent for a few moments, conveying poverty, oppression, destitution. It didn't work. 'Okay, six,' he said. 'And I'm losing money.'
Sammy DuPuis was a gun dealer who never dealt to drug dealers or anyone in a gang. If there was a backroom small-arms dealer with scruples, it was Sammy DuPuis.
The item for sale was a SIG-Sauer P-226. It may not have been the prettiest handgun ever made-far from it- but it was accurate, reliable, and rugged. And Sammy DuPuis was a man of deep discretion. On this day, these were Kevin Byrne's main concerns.
'This better be cold, Sammy.' Byrne put the weapon in his coat pocket.
Sammy wrapped the other guns in the cloth, said: 'Like my first wife's ass.'
Byrne pulled his roll, peeled off six hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to Sammy. 'You bring the bag?' Byrne asked.
Sammy looked up immediately. His forehead was corrugated with thought. As a rule, getting Sammy DuPuis to stop counting money was no small feat, but Byrne's question stopped him cold. If what they were doing was outside the law-and it broke at least half a dozen laws that Byrne could think of, both state and federal-what Byrne was suggesting broke just about every other.
But Sammy DuPuis did not judge. If he did, he wouldn't be in the business he was in. And he wouldn't cart around the silver case he carried in the trunk of his car, the valise that held instruments of such dark purpose that Sammy only spoke of their existence in hushed tones.
'You sure?'
Byrne just stared.
'Okay, okay,' Sammy said. 'Sorry I asked.'
They got out of the car, walked to the trunk. Sammy looked up and down the street. He hesitated, fumbling with his keys.
'Checking for the cops?' Byrne asked.
Sammy laughed a nervous little twitter. He opened the trunk. Inside was a group of canvas bags, attache cases, duffels. Sammy moved a few of the leatherette cases to the side. He opened one. Inside was an array of cell phones. 'Sure you don't want a clean cell instead? A PDA, maybe?' he asked. 'I can put you in a BlackBerry 7290 for seventy-five bucks.'
'Sammy.'
Sammy hesitated again, then zipped up the leatherette satchel. He cracked another case. This one was ringed with dozens of amber vials. 'How about pills?'
Byrne thought about it. He knew Sammy had amphetamines. He was exhausted, but the uppers would just make things worse.
'No pills.'
'Fireworks? Porno? I can get you a Lexus for ten G's.'
'You do remember I have a loaded weapon in my pocket, don't you?' Byrne asked.
'You're the boss,' Sammy said. He pulled out a sleek Zero Halliburton suitcase, dialed the three digits, subconsciously shielding the operation from Byrne. He opened the case, then stepped away, lit another Camel. Even for Sammy DuPuis, the contents of this case were hard to look at.
44
Generally there were no more than a few officers in the AV Unit in the basement of the Roundhouse at any given time. This afternoon there were half a dozen detectives crowded around the monitor in the small editing bay next to the control room. Jessica was certain that the fact that a hard-core porno movie was running had nothing to do with it.
Jessica and Cahill had driven Kilbane back to Flickz, where he had gone into the adult section and retrieved an X-rated title called Philadelphia Skin. He had emerged from the back room like a covert government operative retrieving secret enemy files.
The movie opened with a stock footage view of the skyline of Philadelphia. The production values seemed fairly high for an adult title. Then the film cut to the inside of an apartment. This footage looked standard-bright light, slightly overexposed digital video. Within seconds there was a knock at the door.
A woman entered the frame, answered the door. She was young and delicate, a gaminelike body in a pale yellow teddy. Barely legal by all appearances. When she opened the door fully, a man stood there. He was of average height and build. He wore a blue satin bomber jacket and leather face mask.
'You call for a master plumber?' the man asked.
A few of the detectives laughed, then quickly stowed it. The possibility existed that the man asking the question was their killer. When he turned away from the camera, they saw that he was wearing the same jacket as the man in the surveillance video: dark blue with an embroidered green dragon.
'I'm new to this city,' the girl said. 'I haven't seen a friendly face in weeks.'
As the camera moved closer to her, Jessica could see that the young woman wore a delicate pink feathered mask, but Jessica could see her eyes-haunted, scared eyes, portals to a deeply damaged soul.
The camera then panned to the right, following the man down a short hallway. At this point, Mateo freeze- framed it, made a Sony print of the image. Although the freeze-frame from the surveillance tape, at this size and resolution, was quite fuzzy, when the two images were put side by side the results were all but conclusive.
The man in the X-rated movie and the man putting the tape back on the shelf at Flickz appeared to be wearing the same jacket.
'Anyone recognize this design?' Buchanan asked.
No one did.
'Let's check it against gang symbols, tattoos,' he added. 'Let's find tailors who do embroidery.'
They watched the rest of the video. Another man in a mask was in the film also, along with a second girl in a feather mask. The movie was of the S amp;M, rough-sex vintage. It was hard for Jessica to believe that the S amp;M aspects of the film were not causing the young women severe pain or injury. It looked like they were being seriously beaten.
When it was over, they watched the meager 'credits.' The film was directed by someone named Edmundo Nobile. The actor in the blue jacket's name was Bruno Steele.
'What's the actor's real name?' Jessica asked.
'I don't know,' Kilbane said. 'But I know the people who distributed the film. If anyone can find him, they can.'
Philadelphia Skin was distributed by a Camden, New Jersey, company called Inferno Films. Inferno Films had been in business since 1981, and in that time had released more than four hundred films, mostly hardcore adult titles. They sold their product wholesale to adult bookstores, as well as retail through their websites.
The detectives decided that a full-on approach to the company- search warrant, raid, interrogations-might not yield the desired results. If they went in with badges flashing, the chances of the company circling the wagons, or suddenly getting amnesia about one of their 'actors,' were high, as were the chances that they might tip the actor and therefore put him in the wind.
