Double Dealer

walls decorated with video promo posters, mostly for XXX-rated tapes.

'Sorry,' Patrick said, coming through the door next. 'It's kind of . . . uh . . . grungy back here.'

'And,' Sara said, just behind him, 'it smells like Cheech and Chong's van.'

'On a Friday night,' Warrick added.

Unable not to, the kid grinned at that.

She wide-eyed the porno posters. 'You actually carry this trash?'

Patrick's silly grin disappeared and professionalism kicked in: he was the assistant manager of A-to-Z Video, after all. He said 'American Booty and The Boner Collector are our top two adult rental titles. You have to reserve them a couple weeks in advance.'

'I'll pass,' Sara said.

'So, then,' Warrick said, sitting on the edge of the desk, 'store does a pretty brisk business, huh?'

Patrick snorted. 'Yeah, right, whatever.'

Sara asked, 'Is it always like this-tumbleweed blowing through the place?'

'Lot of the time,' Patrick admitted. 'We do pretty good on the weekends sometimes, but there's a Blockbuster on the next block, and the supermarket, at the other end of the mall? They rent tapes, too.'

'Does Mr. Hyde seem concerned about business?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, if it's slow, do you have meetings-pep talks, try to figure out strategy, lower your prices. . . .'

'No, not really. Barry's pretty cool for a boss. He's got a wicked sense of humor-really dark, man, I mean brutal.'

I'll bet, Warrick thought.

Patrick was saying, 'He doesn't give us a lot of shit . . .' He glanced at Sara. '. . . trouble about stuff.'

'Does Hyde come in every day? When he's in town, I mean?'

'Yeah, yeah, he does. He doesn't stay very long, most days. He comes in, maybe orders some tapes, checks the books, goes and makes the deposit from the night before. Oh, and sometimes he brings in munchies like doughnuts and stuff.'

'How many people work here?'

'Besides Mr. Hyde, four. Me, Sue-she's out front now-Sapphire and Ronnie. Me and Sue are usually paired up, Sapphire and Ronnie, same. We trade off every other week working days and nights. This week we're on days, next week we'll work nights. We don't get bored that way, and then everybody can kind of, like, have a life, you know?'

'That does sound cool,' Warrick said. 'We just work the night shift.'

'But it's day,' Patrick said, shrewdly.

Sara said, 'We like to think of it as flex hours. How much do you make, working here, Patrick?'

'Eight-fifty an hour. Me and Ronnie, I mean, 'cause we're both assistant managers. Sapphire and Sue are makin' seven-fifty an hour.'

'Not bad pay,' Sara said, 'for sitting here getting stoned.'

Patrick tried to parse that-nothing judgmental had been in Sara's tone, but she was with the cops-but finally he said, 'I only do that if it's real dead.'

'Which is a lot of the time.'

Patrick's shrug was affirmative.

Warrick, feeling Sara was getting off track, asked, 'Do you remember, exactly, when Mr. Hyde has been out of town?'

'Oh, hell-all his trips are marked on the calendar.'

Warrick traded glances with Sara, then asked, 'What calendar is that, Patrick?'

'This one,' the kid said, pointing to the July Playmate, who loomed over the desk.

'Mind if I have a look?' Warrick asked.

'No, but . . . don't you need a warrant or something?'

Warrick's reply was casual. 'Not if you don't mind.'

'Oh, well. Sure. Go ahead.'

Flipping the pages with a pen, Warrick read off the dates and Sara copied them down. When they finished, she used the little camera from her purse to take shots of the calendar, just in case.

Patrick became a tad nervous, when Sara started shooting the photos, and Warrick put an arm around the young man. 'Patrick, I'm going to make you a deal.'

'A deal?'

'Yeah, if you don't tell Mr. Hyde that we were here asking questions, I won't bust your ass.'

'Bust my ass . . .'

'You know-for felony possession.'

'Felony? I've only got half a . . .' Patrick froze as he realized what he was saying. His eyes looked pleadingly from Warrick to Sara. 'I mean . . . I thought you guys were cool. . . .'

Warrick's voice went cold. 'Patrick, have we got a deal?'

Reluctantly, Patrick nodded. 'Yeah.'

Outside in the sunshine, Warrick said to Sara, 'There's something not right here.'

'More than pot smoke smells in there,' Sara agreed. 'The manager's never around, doesn't worry about business, and lives in an expensive new house in an upscale neighborhood.'

'And he's gone from time to time-just short hops.'

'Like maybe the Deuce isn't retired, you mean?'

'That does come to mind. We better go do some research about Mr. Barry Hyde.'

That was when Grissom swung in, in the Tahoe; and on the way back, Warrick driving, they told their supervisor what they'd learned-and what they thought.

'I want that list of dates,' Grissom said, 'when Hyde was out of town.'

Other than that, however, Grissom said nothing. Which always made Warrick very, very nervous.

Culpepper was waiting in Grissom's office, the FBI agent having helped himself to the chair behind the desk, his feet up on its corner. 'Hey, buddy, how're you doing?'

Feeling his anger rising, Grissom breathed slowly and stayed calm. 'Why, I'm just fine, Special Agent Culpepper-and how are you?'

Brass came into the office, saw the FBI agent, and said, 'Our government tax dollars at work.'

Culpepper's feet came off the desk and he sat up straight, but he said nothing for several endlessly long moments. At last, he said, 'I hear you guys got something on the Deuce.'

Grissom kept his face passive, though he wondered where Culpepper got his information. 'You heard wrong.'

'I've been waiting here for half an hour. Where were you, Grissom?'

'Lunch. I don't remember having an appointment with the FBI.'

'I heard you were so dedicated, you don't even find time for lunch.'

'Today he did,' Brass said. 'With me. We would have invited you, but you didn't let us know you were coming.'

Grissom said, 'Was there a purpose to your visit, Culpepper, or are you just fishing?'

The FBI agent's smile was almost a sneer; he straightened his tie while he stalled to come up with an answer. 'I stopped by to tell you that we heard the Deuce has left the area.'

Grissom allowed his skepticism to show through a little. 'If you think he's gone, why are you still nosing around here?'

'Just covering all the bases, buddy. Like you, this is my turf-keeping my fellow law enforcement professionals informed. You should know that.'

'Covering your what?' Brass asked.

Culpepper rose and came around the desk, stopping in the doorway. He beamed at Grissom. 'Too bad you didn't come up with anything, buddy. I figured if anybody would catch this guy, it would be you. They say you're the number two crime lab in the country . . . not counting the FBI, of course.'

'Yeah,' Brass said, 'your lab's got the reputation we're all longing for.'

Culpepper made a tsk-tsk in his cheek. 'Must be hard not being number one.'