The Frumious Bandersnatch

Carella was wondering the same thing. Wilkins left a job as a dishwasher, got a better job here, you’d think he’d run to his parole officer and ask for a medal. Instead, he absconds. To do what? Kidnap Tamar Valparaiso? Whose picture was now in both front windows?

“Mind if we talk to some of the people in your stock room?” Hawes asked.

“I’ll take you back,” Held said.

THERE WEREthree people in the Lorelei stock room. One was Hispanic, one was Asian, one was black. Only the Asian guy had known Wilkins while he was still working here.

“Quiet type,” he said.

Which was what most of them said about people who’d committed crimes of violence.

“Kept mostly to himself.”

Which is what they also said.

“Can’t imagine him doing anything wrong.”

Ho-hum, Carella thought.

“Did he mention why he was quitting the job?” Hawes asked.

“Said he had bigger plans.”

“Like what?”

“Said he was going to retire to Jamaica.”

Jamaica again.

“Did he say how he planned to do that?”

“Nossir, he did not.”

“Mention any get-rich-quick scheme?”

“Nossir. I told you. He kept mostly to himself.”

“Ever see him with a redheaded girl and a…”

“Nope.”

“…guy about my height?” Carella said. “They might’ve been friends of his. Brown eyes, curly black hair, good build.”

“Sounds almost like Ave.”

“Ave? Who’s Ave?”

“Avery, I guess was his complete name. Feller worked outside selling records. I saw them together a few times.”

“Averywhat? ” Hawes asked.

“AVERY HANES,” the manager told them. “He used to work at The Wiz, selling computers and such. I hired him last year around this time.”

“We understand he was friends with Wilkins.”

“I guess maybe so. They’d talk music together all the time. Avery knew every record ever made. Always coming to me with ideas about how we could sell more records. Was him who suggested we put in the listening booths. I was about to give him a raise when he left. Come to think of it, they both left around the same time. Around Easter.”

“Maybe something bigger came along,” Carella suggested.

“Maybe so. He was opportunistic, that’s for sure.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, alert to possibilities. I’d hear him talking with customers, not just the usual do you like jazz, do you dig hip-hop, are you a Tony Bennett fan? He’d inquire what line of work they were in, were they musicians, were they in advertising, were they in publishing? I had the feeling he was looking for a better job. Didn’t want to sell records all his life, was all the timetrawling, you know whut I mean,trawling? ”

“Yes, sir,” Carella said. “I know what you mean.”

“So maybe he hooked something,” Held said.

“Maybe he did,” Carella said.

“You wouldn’t happen to have his address, would you?” Hawes asked.

IF CARELLAand Hawes had walked around the corner from Lorelei Records on St. John’s Avenue at precisely five past seven that evening, they’d have seen first a black Lincoln Town car pulling out of the garage under the Rio Building, and next two unmarked Mercury sedans behind it. Barney Loomis was at the wheel of the limo. Corcoran was sitting beside him, a dispatch case with $750,000 in new hundred-dollar bills on his lap. Endicott and Lonigan were in the lead Mercury, the blue one. Feingold and Jones were in the white Mercury behind it. The rest of The Squad was back at Number One Fed, manning the computers. This time, they were playing it their way. This time, the Joint Task Force had every intention of winning the horse race the Commissioner had created.

Carella and Hawes did not walk around the corner to the building in which Bison Records had its offices. Nor did either of the men connect the proximity of Lorelei Records to the company not a hundred yards away on Monroe Street.

Instead, while the caravan made its way south through the last of the evening’s rush hour traffic, the detectives drove in the opposite direction toward 8412 Winston Road, which was the last address the manager of Lorelei Records had for Avery Hanes.

It was beginning to get dark.

13

THE CELL PHONEin Barney Loomis’ Lincoln Town car rang at precisely seven-fifteenP.M. By that time he and Corcoran were on the River Dix Drive heading downtown in thinning traffic. Loomis picked up at once.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” Avery asked.

“On the Drive. Approaching the Headley Building. Exit 12.”

“Get off at Exit 5, park in the little parking area there. I’ll call you again in ten minutes. Any tricks and the girl dies,” Avery said, and hung up.

“What?” Corcoran asked.

“Exit 5 parking area. He’ll call again when we’re there.”

Corcoran was on his own phone at once.

“He said any tricks…”

“Yeah, well, we have a few tricks of our own,” Corcoran said.

“Endicott.”

“He’s taking us to Exit 5. The parking area there. Why don’t one of you get there before us? Keep circling, low profile.”

“Will do,” Endicott said.

“He said he’d kill Tamar if we tried any tricks,” Loomis said.

“What he considers tricks is not what we consider tricks,” Corcoran said. “Do you want the girl back, or don’t you?”

“That’sall I want.”

“Well, the only way to get her is to get these guys first.”

“That’s not my view.”

“We tried your way already, Mr. Loomis. And you got double-crossed. Leave this to people who know what they’re doing, okay?”

“Tamar is with a confederate, you know that. If we try anything funny…”

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Loomis, okay? Tamar Valparaiso…”

“I don’t want to hear…”