He stood there for another minute. This was indeed odd. A sixteen-year-old with this kind of security? Something was not quite kosher. He pressed the button one more time. When no one responded he looked into the camera, put a thumb in either ear, wiggled his lingers and stuck out his tongue.
When in doubt, be mature.
Back at his car, Myron picked up the car phone and dialed his friend Sheriff Jake Courter.
'Sheriff's office.'
'Hey, Jake. It's Myron.'
'Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have come in on Saturday.'
'Ooo, I'm wounded. Seriously, Jake, do they still call you the Henny Youngman of law enforcement?'
Heavy sigh. 'What the fuck do you want, Myron? I
just came in to get a little paperwork done.'
'No rest for those vigilantly pursuing peace and justice for the common man.'
'Right,' Jake said. 'This week, I went out on a whole twelve calls. Guess how many of them were for false burglar alarms?'
'Thirteen.'
'Pretty close.'
For more than twenty years, Jake Courter had been a cop in several of the country's meanest cities. He'd hated it and craved a quieter life. So Jake, a rather large black man, resigned from the force and moved to the picturesque (read: lily-white) town of Reston, New Jersey.
Looking for a cushy job, he ran for sheriff, Reston was a college (read: liberal) town, and thus Jake played up hisas he put it 'blackness' and won easily. The white man's guilt, Jake had told Myron. The best vote-getter this side of Willie Horton.
'Miss the excitement of the big city?' Myron asked.
'Like a case of herpes,' Jake countered. 'Okay, Myron, you've done the charm thing on me. I'm like Play-Doh in your paws now. What do you want?'
'I'm in Philly for the U. S. Open.'
'That's golf, right?'
'Yeah, golf. And I wanted to know if you've heard of a guy name Squires.'
Pause. Then: 'Oh, shit.'
'What?'
'What the fuck are you involved in now?'
'Nothing. It's just that he's got all this weird security around his house '
'What the fuck are you doing by his house?'
'Nothing.'
'Right,' Jake said. 'Guess you were just strolling by.'
'Something like that.'
'Nothing like that.' Jake sighed. Then: 'Ah what the hell, it ain't on my beat anymore. Squires. Reginald Squires aka Big Blue.'
Myron made a face. 'Big Blue?'
'Hey, all gangsters need a nickname. Squires is known as Big Blue. Blue, as in blue blood.'
'Those gangsters,' Myron said. 'Pity they don't channel their creativity into honest marketing.'
' 'Honest marketing,' ' Jake repeated. 'Talk about your basic oxymoron. Anyway Squires got a kiloton of family dough and all this blue-blood breeding and schooling and shit.'
'So what's he doing keeping such bad company?'
'You want the simple answer? The son of a bitch is a ' serious wacko. Gets his jollies hurting people. Kinda like Win.'
'Win doesn't get his jollies hurting people.'
'If you say so.'
'If Win hurts someone, there's a reason. To prevent them from doing it again or to punish or something.'
'Sure, whatever,' Jake said. 'Kinda touchy though, aren't we, Myron?' +
'It's been a long day.'
'It's only nine in the morning.'
Myron said, ' 'For what breeds time but two hands on a clock?'
' 'Who said that?', 'No one. I just made it up.'
'You should consider writing greeting cards.'
'So what is Squires into, Jake?'
' 'Want to hear something funny? I'm not sure. Nobody is. Drugs and prostitution. Shit like that. But very upscale. Nothing very well organized or anything. It's more like he plays at it, you know? Like he gets involved in whatever he thinks will give him a thrill, then dumps it.
'How about kidnapping?'
Brief pause. 'Oh shit, you are involved in something again, aren't you?'
'I just asked you if Squires was into kidnapping?
'Oh. Right. Like it's a hypothetical question. Kinda like, 'If a bear shits in the forest and no one is around, does it still reek'?'
'Precisely. Does kidnapping reek like his kind of thing?' .
'Hell if I know. The guy is a major league loon, no question. He blends right into all that snobbish bullshitthe boring parties, the shitty food, the laughing at jokes that aren't remotely funny, the talking with the same boring people about the same boring worthless bullshit '
'It sounds like you really admire them.'
'Just my point, my friend. They got it all, right? On the outside. Money, big homes, fancy clubs. But they're all so fucking boring shit, I'd kill myself. Makes me wonder if maybe Squires feels that way too, you know?'
'Uh-huh,' Myron said. 'And Win is the scary one here, right?
Jake laughed. 'TouchT. But to answer your question, I
don't know if Squires would be into kidnapping.
Wouldn't surprise me though.'
Myron thanked him and hung up. He looked up. At least a dozen security cameras lined the top of the shrubs like tiny sentinels.
What now?
For all he knew, Chad Coldren was laughing his ass off, watching him on one of those security cameras. This whole thing could be an exercise in pure futility. Of course, Linda Coldren had promised to be a client. Much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, the idea was not wholly unpleasant. He considered the possibility and started to smile. lf he could also somehow land Tad Crispin . . .
Yo, Myron, a kid may be in serious trouble.
Or, more likely, a spoiled brat or neglected adolescent take your pick is playing hooky and having some fun at his parents' expense.
So the question remained: What now?
He thought again about the videotape of Chad at the ATM machine. He didn't go into details with the Coldrens, but it bothered him. Why there? Why that particular ATM machine? If the kid was running away or hiding out, he might have to pick up money. Fine and dandy, that made sense.
But why would he do it at Porter Street?
Why not do it at a bank closer to home? And equally important, what was Chad Coldren doing in that area in the first place? There was nothing there. It wasn't a stop between highways or anything like that. The only thing in that neighborhood that would require cash was the Court Manor Inn. Myron again remembered motelier extraordinaire Stuart Lipwitz's attitude and wondered.
He started the car. It might be something. Worth looking into, at any rate.
Of course, Stuart Lipwitz had made it abundantly clear that he would not talk. But Myron thought he had just the tool to make him change his mind.
Chapter I4
