Double Dealer

'I came up with this address,' Warrick said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. 'I'll do the honors.'

Barry Hyde's video store was close to his house, just a few turns away and onto Wigwam Parkway. Glad he had his sunglasses on, Warrick turned into the Pecos Legacy Center parking lot, where glass storefronts reflected bright afternoon sunlight. A-to-Z Video-a typical non-chain store of its kind with a neon sign in the window and movie poster after poster taped there-sat at the far end of the strip mall, a discount cigarette store its next-door neighbor.

Brass led the way into the video store, Grissom hanging back, in observer mode. To Warrick, it looked like every other non-chain video store he had ever been in-new releases around the outside wall, older movies in the middle. DVD rentals filled the section of the wall to the right of the cash register island, which was centered between the two IN and OUT doors. At the rear of the store was a door that presumably led to the storage area and the manager's office.

Behind the counter, in the cashier's island, stood the only person in the store, a petite American Indian woman of about twenty, a blue imitation Blockbuster uniform over slacks and T-shirt, her straight black hair worn short. Her name tag said SUE.

Fairly perky, and perhaps a trifle surprised to have customers, she asked, 'Hi-welcome to A-to-Z Video. Are you looking for a particular title?'

'Sue, I'm looking for Barry Hyde,' Brass said. He didn't get out his badge-this seemed to be a toe in the water.

The cashier smiled. 'Mr. Hyde is out for the day. May I be of assistance?'

'When do you expect him back?'

'I'm sorry. He's not going to be available until after the weekend.'

Now Brass displayed his badge in its leather wallet. 'Could you tell me why he's not available?'

Seeing that badge, the cashier's cheerfulness turned to mild apprehension. 'Oh, well-I'd like to help you, but I'm just . . . uh, maybe you should talk to Patrick.'

Brass's melancholy face twitched a sort of smile. 'And who is Patrick?'

'The assistant manager. He's in charge until Mr. Hyde gets back.'

'I'd like to talk to Patrick. Is he around?'

'In the back,' she said. She pressed an intercom button and said, 'Patrick, someone to see you?'

The intercom said, 'Who?'

'I think it's the police. . . . I mean, it is the police.'

Patrick said, 'Uh . . . uh, just a minute, uh . . . I'll be . . . uh . . . right . . . uh . . . out.'

Four minutes later, more or less, Grissom was prowling the store like each video was potential evidence; but the others-Warrick included-were getting impatient.

Warrick realized that mid-afternoon wasn't a busy time for any video rental store; but this place seemed particularly dead. He noted the posted rental rates-they weren't bargains.

Brass leaned against the counter. 'Sue-would you rattle Patrick's cage for me again?'

The cashier was about to touch the intercom button when the door in the back opened and ambling out came a zit-faced kid who seemed younger than the cashier. Bleached blond with a dark goatee and black mid-calf shorts, he had a sharp, short nose, small lips and green eyes with pupils the size of pinheads; but for the blue polo shirt with A-to-Z stitched over the breast pocket, he looked like a guitar player in a metal band.

As the kid stepped by him, Warrick noticed Patrick (as his name tag confirmed) smelled like a combination of Tic Tacs and weed. Which explained their four-minute wait.

The assistant manager said, 'Can I . . . uh . . . like, help you?'

Brass seemed to be repressing a laugh; they'd sent for a manager and got back Maynard G. Krebs. 'Are you Patrick?'

He thought about it. Then, without having to refer to his name tag, he said, 'Yeah. McKee. Is my last name.'

'Patrick, we'd like to talk to you about your boss-Barry Hyde.'

The kid's sense of relief was palpable in the room and Warrick turned away to keep from laughing out loud. He pretended to study the new DVD release wall so he could still listen to the conversation.

Patrick asked, 'What about Mr. Hyde?'

'He's out of town?'

Nodding, Patrick said, 'Until Monday.'

'Is Mr. Hyde out of town a lot?'

The kid had to think about this question for a while, too. Finally, he managed, 'Some.'

'For how long? How often?'

'He's been doing it since I've been here.' Shrug. 'Uh . . . eight months.'

Brass shook his head. 'That's not what I meant, Patrick. I mean, how long a period of time is he generally away?'

'Sometimes a couple of days, sometimes a week.'

Warrick pulled a DVD box off the shelf and pretended to read the back-Real Time: Siege at Lucas Street Market. He knew Hyde couldn't be gone for long stretches, because the man had rarely missed his regular Monday and Wednesday visits to the Beachcomber.

Patience thinning, Brass was asking, 'Do you know where Mr. Hyde is now?'

Patrick thought about that one for a long time too. 'No. I don't think he said.'

'What if there's an emergency?'

The kid's face went blank. 'Emergency?'

'Yeah, emergency. He's the boss. Don't you have a number to call if you get robbed or a customer has a heart attack in the store? Or maybe a valuable employee, like you, has a family crisis?'

'Oh, sure,' Patrick said.

'Could you give us that number?'

'Yeah-nine-one-one.'

Brass just looked at the kid. Then he blew out some air, and called back to Grissom, at the rear of the little group. 'You want to take a crack at this?'

Grissom put his hands up in surrender.

Warrick put the DVD box back-100% Multi-angle!!! -turned, and stepped forward. 'Why don't you guys wait outside. I'll talk to Patrick.'

Sara's eyes met Warrick's-they were on the same wavelength. She said, 'Yeah, guys-I'll stay with Warrick.'

Grissom, sensing something from his CSIs, turned to look at Brass, shrugging. 'Any objection, Jim?'

'All right,' Brass said. He said to Grissom, 'Why don't you run me over to the house.'

His car and Detective Conroy were there, after all.

'Sure,' Grissom said. Then to Warrick and Sara: 'Pick you up in fifteen.'

Once the homicide cop and Grissom had left, Warrick turned to the assistant manager. 'Okay, Patrick, truth or dare-just how stoned are you?'

The eyes widened; however, the pupils remained pinpoints. 'No way!'

Sara said, 'Cut the crap, Patrick. Dragnet has left the building-this is the Mod Squad you're talking to. . . . We know there's stoned, and there's stoned.'

Patrick seemed to have lost the ability to form words. He stood there with his mouth hanging open.

'Why don't the three of us,' Warrick said, slipping his arm around the skinny kid, 'go into the back office, and just chill a little.'

'Not the back room. I mean . . . uh . . . it's . . . uh . . . private.'

'That's why we're going to use it,' Sara said. 'Because it's private-customer comes in, we won't be in the way.'

The beleaguered Patrick looked to the cashier for help, but she turned her back, suddenly very interested in sorting returned videos. 'Uh . . . I guess so . . .'

'Cool,' Warrick said. He led the way to the back and was the first one through the door. The cubicle reeked of weed, even though the kid had lit three sticks of incense before he'd come out front. The ' office' consisted of a shabby metal desk, a cheap swivel chair, some two-by-four-and-plywood shelves piled with screener tapes, and