'Damn. And you were in the car when it happened? Man's a fool, leaving the scene of an accident. Most likely drunk or on drugs.'
'I wouldn't be surprised. The thing is—'
'You got the plate? I'll run it for you.'
'I'd really appreciate it.'
'Hey, nothing to it. I just ask the computer. Hang on.'
I waited.
'Damn,' he said.
'Something the matter?'
'Well, they changed the damn password for getting into the DMV
data bank. I enter like you're supposed to and it won't let me in. Keeps saying back 'Invalid Password.' If you call tomorrow I'm sure—'
'I'd love to move on this tonight. Before he gets a chance to sober up, if you follow me.'
'Oh, definitely. If I could help you—'
'Isn't there someone you can call?'
'Yeah,' he said with feeling. 'That bitch down in Records, but she'll tell me she can't give it out. I get that crap from her all the time.'
'Tell her it's a Code Five emergency.'
'Say that again?'
'Just tell her it's a Code Five emergency,' I said, 'and she'd better give you the password before you wind up with circuits backed up all the way to Cleveland.'
'Never heard that before,' he said. 'Hang on, I'll give it a shot.'
He put me on Hold. Across the room, Michael Jackson peeked at me through the fingers of his white glove. Bellamy came back on the line and said, 'Damn if it didn't work. 'Code Five emergency.' Cut right through the bullshit. She came up with the password. Lemme enter it.
There you go. Now what was that license number?'
I gave it to him.
'Let's just see what we get. Okay, didn't take long. Vehicle is a Eighty-eight Honda Civic two-door, color is pewter… Pewter? Man, why can't they say gray? But you don't care about that. Owner is— you got a pencil? Callander, Raymond Joseph.' He spelled the last name.
'Address is Thirty-four Penelope Avenue. That's in Queens, but where in Queens? You ever hear of Penelope Avenue?'
'I don't think so.'
'Man, I live in Queens, and it's a new one on me. Wait, here's the zip. One-one-three-seven-nine. That's Middle Village, innit? Never heard of no Penelope Avenue.'
'I'll find it.'
'Yeah, well, I guess you're motivated, aren't you? Hope nobody in the car was hurt.'
'No, just a little body damage.'
'Nail him good, leaving the scene like that. Other hand, you report it and your friend's insurance rates go up. Best thing might be if you and him can work something out private, but that's probably what you got in mind, huh?' He chuckled. 'Code Five,' he said. 'Man, that really lit a fire under that girl. I owe you for that.'
'My pleasure.'
'No, I really mean it. I run into problems with this thing all the time. That's gonna save me a lot of major headaches.'
'Well, if you really figure you owe me—'
'Go ahead.'
'I just wondered if he had a sheet, our Mr. Callander.'
'Now that's easy to check. Don't have to call a Code Five 'cause I happen to know that entry code.
Hang on now. Nope.'
'Nothing?'
'Far as the state of New York is concerned, he's a Boy Scout. Code Five. What's it mean, anyway?'
'Let's just say it's high level.'
'I guess.'
'If you get a hard time,' I heard myself say, 'just tell them they're supposed to know that a Code Five supersedes and countermands their standing instructions.'
'Supersedes and countermands?'
