The suspect slid him his open wallet. Boldt hadn't realized how hard it would be to suppress his exhilaration. He felt high. Donald Maybeck, he scribbled out, taking down the name, address and pertinent data. This had to be the rush that poker players felt. 'I gotta have a second I.D. of some sort, Mr. Maybeck,' he said. 'You got a credit card … something like that?' Boldt had to bite his lip so he wouldn't smile. By the end of the day, he felt like telling the man, I'll know more about you than your mother does.
He owned a Shell Oil credit card. Name: Donald Monroe Maybeck.
I'll have your full credit history taxes, debts, income. You just became public property
It took everything in his cop's brain to slide the wallet back across the counter without searching the rest of its contents. He couldn't allow even the slightest indication of pleasure to cross his face. He drummed up annoyance-this asshole was keeping him from his wife and kid-and moved down the counter to the waiting 'customer' while Maybeck wrote out the computer instructions. The temptation to burst into a victory smile proved incredibly difficult to resist. Finally, he faked a sneeze in order to look away. He took a deep breath, regained some composure, and returned his attention to the undercover cop.
Meyers shouted from the floor: 'Hey, fatman, I'll give you two bills for the guitar and the amp.'
Boldt shouted back, 'Wait your turn.' Lamoia called out, 'Hey, dick-for-brains, watch who you're calling fat. Put the guitar down and get the fuck out of this store. Now!'
'Eat shit!' Meyers called back. He turned the thing up loud and hit an ear-blistering chord.
Maria marched over to him. He stood up bravely. She planted her hand into his crotch and squeezed strongly. 'You're hurting my ears, Beethoven. You want to trade hurts?' She squeezed again.
Boldt was distracted as well. The entire store was distracted.
'Out!' Lamoia shouted. Meyers left, red in the face-which wasn't all an act.
Okay,' Maybeck called out to Boldt, waving the instructions at him. Boldt was thinking that had they brought this guy into interrogation and requested the password, he never would have volunteered it. Now, here he was waving it at Boldt like granny with her flag at a Fourth of July parade. Take it! he seemed to be saying. Each step closer Boldt drew to that piece of paper, his heart beat a little quicker. Finally, his fingers took hold. To his surprise, Maybeck refused to let go. They stood face to face, eye to eye. There was nothing in this guy's eyes-like looking down into a dark cellar. Maybeck's breath was foul; again Boldt recalled the comments of Sharon's housemate. It was the same guy the one who had dragged Sharon from the room; Boldt felt certain of it. He wanted to take the guy by the neck and choke him down. He wanted to hurt him.
Still holding the instructions-the password maybeck said, 'You get the thing running, then I can buy it back for what you paid me, right?'
'Right.'
'You'll look that up. You're being square with me. Right?' Could he sense Boldt's anger? No, it was the silence. The room had gone still. Boldt looked up a fraction of a second before the suspect. He saw Lamoia first, whose panicked eyes gave Boldt a sinking feeling in his gut.
And then he saw the uniform. A patrolman-a beat cop doing his job-had wandered into the pawn shop. Chances are he knew at least some of these undercover people by name. It had shut everybody up instantly. Maybeck went white as a sheet. Seeing this, Boldt improvised. He said strongly, but not loudly, 'You've got no problem with the police, do you? We don't do business with people involved with the cops.' He wanted to sound as if he were protecting himself. Being selfish. All-american. 'Not me,' Maybeck replied. 'I'm cool.' He looked terrified.
Lamoia crossed through the counter. 'Officer Barnes! We're all out of Uzis this week.'
Maria Romanello laughed and started mouthing off at the cop who, looking around, stood dumbstruck. He must have realized that he had walked into a sting, and now he wasn't sure how to act.
Boldt kept one eye on the cop. Maybeck kept one eye on the cop.
Lamoia said to Barnes, 'I got a hell of a nice car stereo you might like.' He led him over to the counter. Smooth as silk, he leaned in and whispered something when Maybeck's head was turned.
In a frightened but contained voice, Maybeck said to Boldt, 'I'll be back later to pick it up.' He turned.
Boldt caught him by the arm. He held on tightly. 'Suit yourself, asshole. But I'm not wasting anybody's time on this unless you're here.'
Maybeck glanced down at the way Boldt was holding onto him. Only then did Boldt realize that he was wearing his police academy ring. He never did this kind of undercover work, had never even considered taking his ring off. But now it glared back at him like a neon sign. He released the man immediately. Had he seen the ring? Had Boldt blown the entire setup? Had he sacrificed Sharon Shaffer?
The patrolman said goodbye to Lamoia and left the building.
Maybeck, still watching the front door, said over his shoulder, 'I'm hanging. just hurry it up.
Boldt could hear Daphne's coaching. Against his better judgment he said to the man, 'You sure you're clean with the cops?'
'I'm clean, okay? You gonna do this or not?'
'Wait here.'
As Boldt entered the back room for a second time all eyes were trained on him-terror in most of them. One of the techies snatched Maybeck's instructions from him and hurried to the computer. Boldt felt stunned. He was tugging at his ring when Daphne caught up to him. She looked a few years older than just a couple of minutes before. She stared at him. 'You all right?' she asked. 'I'm taking Grecian Formula into the shower with me tonight.' 'You did good,' she said, intentional in her cop talk.
Boldt glanced over at the techies. 'Any luck?' he asked.
One of them signaled a thumbs-up. 'We're copying now,' he said.
Adding, 'Database software, a couple of big files, Sergeant.
That's good news I think., Boldt studied Maybeck on Watson's television screen. The entire ordeal had been captured on timecoded videotape. They would relive his every move, study every word for significance. The prosecuting attorney's office would examine the tape for signs of entrapment and rule as to its admissibility in court. A process would begin. Maybeck was in their file as of now. Boldt handed Watson the slip of paper that contained Maybeck's name, address, and credit card number. 'Fax this back to the office and have them run him through the computer. Do the same with the Bureau. I want to know this guy's birthmarks, if he has any.'
'I'd like a copy of that,' Daphne said, explaining to Boldt, 'for the handwriting sample.
The instructions as well.'
Boldt looked at her skeptically. He didn't put much faith in handwriting analysis. She said defensively, 'I'll make a believer out of you yet.'
'Don't count on it.'
'He's looking for you,' Watson warned.
Boldt faced the television screen. Maybeck looked restless.
Boldt looked to Daphne for advice. 'Make him wait,' she said.
'We've got the password.'
Watson added his two cents: 'You're going to lose him. He knows it shouldn't have taken this long.'
'We need him,' Boldt reminded. To the techies manning the laptop he said, 'How long?'
'There are a couple big files. We're doing everything we-'
'How long?' he reemphasized. 'Not long.'
'Stall him,' Daphne said. She ran over to the computer table, snatched up the instructions. 'Tell him to step you through it.'
'He's leaving,' Watson said to Boldt. To Daphne, he added, 'I told you.'
As Boldt reentered the pawn shop's show floor, Maybeck was on his way out the front door. 'Hey, asshole! Mr. Toshiba' Where the hell are you going?' he asked. 'Fuck you!'
Maybeck stopped. He didn't answer. He looked scared. Maybe he'd figured it for the setup it was.
Lamoia shouted to Maybeck, 'Hey! What do you want a computer for anyway, Mr. Toshiba? I got a hell of a car stereo system over here.' It broke the ice. Maybeck allowed the door to shut, remaining inside.
Boldt argued, 'You crush my stones about how important this is, and now you're gonna blow on me? Get gone-and don't show your face in here again.'
Another agonizing silence as everyone looked at Maybeck. The amplifier spit static. It was the only sound except for traffic noise. 'Why so long?' Maybeck asked. 'What? You think I'm Einstein?' Boldt asked, wondering how
