make myself clear?”
“We don’t have that kind of money,” Halloway said.
“We’re bettin you do,” Wiggy said. “We’re bettin you’ll go get it before …”
He looked up at the clock.
“Before six o’clock tonight. That’s eight hours from now, more or less. Cause for every hour we sit here without goin for the money, we’re gonna hafta shoot one of you. Eight hours, eight people. By six o’clock, you all be dead less’n we has our money. Do I make myself clear now?”
The room was silent.
“I’ll have to make some calls,” Halloway said.
“We’ll be listening,” Wiggy said.
The Mexicans were smiling.
Wiggy figured he had made himself clear.
THE MEN OF THE 87th Detective Squad couldn’t seem to keep their minds on business at their weekly Friday-morning, think-tank meeting. Carella was trying to tell them what he and Ollie had learned from Tito “Tigo” Gomez. He was trying to tell them that if Tigo could be trusted, a dope dealer named Walter “Wiggy” Wiggins was responsible for the murder of Jerome “Jerry”Hoskins, alias Frank Holt …
“Was that in this precinct?” Lieutenant Byrnes asked.
“No, but the murdered woman was.”
“What murdered woman?” Andy Parker asked.
He was dressed for undercover work today, which meant he hadn’t shaved, and he was wearing jeans and a black turtleneck sweater and a brown leather jacket and motorcycle boots. He thought he looked like an upscale drug dealer. Actually, he looked like a slob.
“The woman who got eaten by lions,” Meyer said.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Parker said.
“This happened a week ago, where have you been?” Brown said.
“She got stabbed with an ice pick first,” Carella explained.
“What’s Hoskins got to do with her?” Byrnes asked impatiently. He was thinking if any of this had happened in some other precinct, he’d be glad to get it off his plate.
“He paid her to pick up some dope in Mexico,” Meyer said.
“Which he later sold to this Wiggy character,” Carella said.
“Who paidhim with a bullet in the head.”
“Here in the Eight-Seven?”
“No, the Eight-Eight. Fat Ollie caught it.”
“So let him keep it.”
“He also caught one-fifth of the Ridley case.”
“Who’s Ridley?” Parker asked.
“The lady who got eaten by lions,” Kling said.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Parker said.
“How can you catch one-fifth of a case?” Willis asked.
“Her leg,” Meyer said.
“Am I supposed to be following this?” Parker asked.
“Nobody else is,” Byrnes said. “Why should you be an exception?”
“The point is,” Carella said, somewhat edgily, “we’re sending Gomez in with a wire.”
“Why?” Brown asked.
“Cause we’ve maybe got a line on the perp in a homicide.”
“This Wiggy character?”
“Right. Who maybe killed Jerry Hoskins, who for sure hired Cass Ridley to go to Mexico for him.”
“Andwecaught the Ridley case, is what you’re saying.”
“Four-fifths of her.”
“Why’s this so important, anyway?” Parker asked, and looked around the room, and shrugged, and said, “Don’t anybody want a bagel?” and went to help himself from the tray on Byrnes’s desk.
“There’s funny money involved,” Carella said.
“So let the Secret Service worry,” Byrnes said.
“They are worrying,” Carella said. “They grabbed eight grand in queer bills from a two-bit burglar and gave him real currency in return.”
