“I got twelve people,” Jesse said.
“How are they at covert surveillance?”
“Not much call for that in Paradise,” Jesse said.
A black Lexus sedan with tinted windows pulled up in front of Development Associates and sat at the curb, its motor idling.
“This is exciting,” Kelly said.
The car sat for five minutes and then Vinnie Morris came out of the office and up the steps and stood outside the car. In a moment Gino Fish came out with the good-looking young man. The young man locked the office door, and they came up the steps together and got into the backseat of the Lexus. The door closed. The Lexus pulled away from the curb.
“You want to follow them?” Kelly said.
“Alone?”
“We got nobody else,” Kelly said.
“I don’t want to let him know,” Jesse said. “We can’t tail him in one car.”
The Lexus turned up Dartmouth Street and disappeared. On the sidewalk in front of the office, Vinnie Morris fiddled with a Walkman on his belt for a moment, then put on the earphones and turned and walked up Tremont Street with his hands in his pockets.
“You want to commit an illegal burglary?” Kelly said.
“Not yet,” Jesse said. “Place is probably alarmed.”
“Probably,” Kelly said. “You got a plan?”
“I don’t want to tip him,” Jesse said. “I want him conducting business as usual.”
“And?”
“And I guess all I can do is come in every day and watch him. See what develops.”
Kelly’s hands were resting on the steering wheel. He drummed his fingers for a moment.
Kelly said, “I’ll help you when I can.”
“We do and it’s your collar,” Jesse said.
“Whose ever collar it is, it would be a pleasure to haul him off.”
“And, it’ll be our secret,” Jesse said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning your captain doesn’t find out you’re cheating on him. And nobody else on the job knows I’m chasing Gino.”
“You think he’s got a cop on his tab?” Kelly said.
“What do you think?”
“I think guys like Gino usually do.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Jesse said.
Chapter Thirty-five
When Jerry Snyder came out of the car dealership where he worked, Jesse, in jeans and a gray tee shirt, was leaning on the fender of the aging Ford Explorer in which he had driven east when he left L.A.
“Whaddya want?” Snyder said. “You ain’t even a cop in this town.”
“We need to talk,” Jesse said.
“I don’t want to talk with you, pal.”
“Why would you?” Jesse said, and opened the door on the passenger side of the Explorer. “Get in.”
Jesse’s tee shirt was not tucked in. It hung down over his belt, partially hiding the gun on his right hip.
“Are you arresting me?”
“Hell no,” Jesse said.
“Then I don’t have to go.”
He held the door open. Another salesman walked by with a customer. Both of them looked uneasily at Jesse and Snyder.
“Sure you don’t,” Jesse said. “We can talk about domestic violence right here.”
The salesman and the customer looked again and quickly away, trying to act as if they hadn’t heard.
“Jesus Christ,” Snyder said.
Jesse still held the car door open. Snyder looked around, and then at Jesse, and got into the car. Jesse closed the door and went around and got in and started the car.
“You wanna get me fired?” Snyder said.
