Tony sighed. Sometimes he just got tired of all the bullshit. “You said two things. What else?”
“I want Ray Shane out of my fucking life.”
Tony stared at him. Dude looked serious. “We used to pay you what, a hundred bucks a week? Now you’re trying to sell me a couple of names for two dimes?”
“So you do remember me.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I remember the kid who delivers pizza to my house, too. And I even remember his name.”
“You’re still an asshole, Tony. You know that?”
Tony smiled. “Two G’s is a lot of money. How do I know those names are real?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
“Trust a dirty cop?”
“I got more.”
“More names?” Tony asked. “The phone book is full of names.”
“More than just names.”
“Like what?” Tony asked.
The cop stared at him. “Do we have a deal?”
As soon as Tony nodded, the cop slid a hand inside his sport coat. Tony stiffened, expecting maybe he was about to be arrested, the victim of some crude sting, but instead the cop pulled out a plain white envelope. He laid it on the table, his hand still covering it. “I got the two names and their rap sheets right here.”
He pulled it away as soon as Tony reached for it.
Tony eyed him hard.
“Not until I get paid,” the cop said.
“You think I carry that kind of cash in my pocket?”
“You can get it.”
Just as he was about to tell this idiot to fuck off, a lightbulb went off in Tony’s head, seeing a way to kill two birds with one stone. “I got a better idea.”
The cop shook his head. “No better ideas, this is the way it’s got to be.”
“You know my boss, the guy who runs the House?”
A nod. “Yeah, I know Vin-”
Tony’s hand shot up. “No names.”
“I know him.”
“I’ll give you half now. The other half after you do me a favor.”
“I’m listening,” the cop said.
Tony told him what he wanted.
The cop stared at him for several seconds, mulling it over. Tony could almost see the wheels turning inside his head, could almost see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. Finally, the cop nodded.
Tony pulled a cell phone from his suit coat.
“Use mine,” the cop said. He slid a phone across the table. “Somebody is probably listening to yours.”
Tony picked up the detective’s phone. “How do I know somebody’s not listening to yours?”
The cop grinned. “I work in the Crime Analysis Section. Who wants to listen to my phone?”
Thirty minutes later Rocco showed up with ten one-hundred-dollar bills sealed inside a letter envelope. Tony tried to hand the envelope to LaGrange, but the cop was too nervous to take the cash where anyone might see him.
Tony followed the cop into the men’s room. The bathroom was small, a sink, a single stall, and a stainless- steel urinal half-filled with ice and just wide enough for two men to stand shoulder to shoulder.
“It stinks in here,” Tony said. “Let’s get this over with.”
The cop made a show of checking the stall before he snatched the envelope from Tony’s hand. It was only after he had ripped it open and counted the money, then made it disappear inside his coat pocket, that he handed over his own envelope.
Inside, Tony found two folded computer printouts, each several pages long and stapled together. They were the criminal histories of Michael Salazaar and Dylan Sylvester.
“Did you give these to Shane?” Tony asked.
The cop nodded.
Tony flipped through the printouts. “You give him anything else?”
“No, but he gave me something.”
Tony looked up. “What?”
Jimmy LaGrange leaned against the sink. “Shane knows both those guys.”
“Go on.”
“He arrested them, years back,” the cop said. “Salazaar is dead. Got himself killed in a drive-by shooting outside his apartment a few nights ago.”
“What about the other one?”
“Shane’s looking for him right now.”
“Does Shane know where he is?”
LaGrange shrugged. “This afternoon he came back to me looking for another address on the guy. I gave him what I had, but I don’t know if he found the guy or not.”
“What address did you give him?”
“Sylvester filed a report about his car being broken into. I gave Shane the address off the report.”
The bathroom door pushed open. Someone was trying to get in to use the can. Tony shoved it closed. From the other side of the door someone said, “What’s going on in there?”
“Wait your fucking turn,” Tony shouted.
“Weird, isn’t it?” the cop said.
“What?”
“Shane just happens to have a past with two of the guys who robbed you.”
“You’re the detective,” Tony said. “What do you think?”
“If I was working it as a straight robbery case, I’d be looking real hard at Ray Shane.”
Tony nodded.
“Shane had means, motive, and opportunity,” the cop said. “He knows how to set something like this up. There’s a lot of money involved, and he’s the one who let them in the front door.”
Tony tried not to, but he couldn’t help grinning just a little. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The address on the burglary report was for a small apartment complex off Franklin Avenue. Two months ago, someone had smashed out a window on Sylvester’s car and boosted his stereo. What was amazing to Shane was that Sylvester had filed a police report. The guy’s a career criminal-dope, robbery, assault-somebody grabs his radio, he calls the police like a regular citizen, like he had been violated.
The building was decent, not too much trash on the ground and only one junked car in the parking lot. A sign out front boasted that a resident manager was on the premises.
Sitting in his car, starring at the door to Sylvester’s apartment, Ray decided he didn’t have any more time to waste. Sylvester might not be home. It might be hours, maybe even days, before he came back. If he was home, he might not leave for hours or days. He might not even live there anymore. What Ray needed to do was get inside that apartment. Right now.
Too bad I don’t have a gun.
Sylvester’s apartment was on the ground floor. As Ray approached the door he felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Sweat dripped down his back. He really wished he had a gun.
He stood to the side of the door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. First trying the old soft-knock trick, then gradually building to the standard police pounding. Still no answer. The next-door neighbor stuck her
