Tod Goldberg - The Reformed

There was also a sign that promised an armed response by a private security company, which was also a nice precaution.

When you’re staking out a place to rob, it’s important to know just what an armed-response sign means. And that means spending some time examining the cars in the parking lot of the place you’re considering robbing. If you don’t see any security-company cars in the lot, that usually means security isn’t on-site, or if they are, they aren’t armed. For insurance purposes, most security companies require their armed employees to check in at their offices first, receive their guns and then leave again in a company-owned fleet car.

If the parking lot has an empty space reserved for the security company, that means the security company tends to come by at prescribed intervals, or it means that there’s a security guard on duty who also drives around the property, looking for criminals, when he’s not sitting behind a desk, reading Harlequin romances. This person might be armed, but it’s unlikely, and, nevertheless, if he’s not there, it’s irrelevant.

The mere sign itself indicates a response, not a presence. If you’re savvy, this makes a difference. If you’re a crackhead looking to steal a home theater system, it probably doesn’t.

Harding had neither a space nor a car in the lot. Employees and visitors each drove into the facility through a big, open driveway that was on either side of the chain-link fence. They’d taken precautions here, but I had a pretty good feeling that’s all it was. The building was certainly alarmed, but beyond that, an armed response was likely ten to fifteen minutes away, which was fine, as Harding Pharmaceutical wasn’t exactly making nerve gas in their offices.

A simple look at their Web site told me that what the mythical guards were guarding was, in most hands, absolutely nothing of value. They warehoused various “stop smoking” products from a variety of corporate partners who used their fentanyl, but since the chemical wasn’t being made in the building-they handled that in lovely Newark, New Jersey-it was merely a shipping port for a variety of Southern locations. The Web site also touted their frozen-storage facilities for products like chlorine dioxide hydrate, a product so volatile and toxic when defrosted that you’d need to be a chemical engineer to make it worthwhile to possess, unless, of course, you intended to bleach wood or process flour.

“How did your Australians find this?” I asked Fiona.

“They needed chlorine dioxide hydrate,” she said.

“For what?”

“I don’t ask questions,” she said.

Sometimes, being a burned spy is actually a blessing.

“They break in?”

“No,” she said, “they bought their supplies using a purchase order. They are very organized.”

“Barry,” I said, “what’s the market value of fentanyl?”

“Pure? I could name my price. But if it’s just on patches, it’s worthless. I’d tell my clients just to go to Target and buy what they want.”

“What about, say, half a truck full?” I said.

Barry thought about that for a moment. “Would the truck be included?”

“If need be,” I said.

“There could be a profit,” he said.

“What if we just needed the truck to be ditched somewhere after they took the product?”

“The truck could be stripped in this scenario?”

“Of course,” I said.

“And who gets the money?”

“I thought maybe a donation could be made to Honrado,” I said, “and then the rest could go to the charity of your choice.”

“The International Barry Appreciation Society is holding a charity dance next month,” he said.

“Make some calls,” I said. “See if you can get someone ready on a moment’s notice.”

“I’ll be in my office,” he said, and then Fiona let him out of the backseat so he could walk down the street and conduct his business. Better I didn’t hear him making his connections.

“How many guys you think we’d need to hit this place, get a truck and not get anyone killed?” I asked.

Fi pushed hair from her eyes and exhaled hard. “Michael,” she said, “you bring the Latin Emperors here, and someone is going to get hurt. What time were you thinking of doing this?”

“Night,” I said.

“So some custodian can get stomped to death?”

“Broad daylight would be a little brazen even for the Latin Emperors. They aren’t exactly a tactical force. I need them to leave as much evidence as possible,” I said, “but that doesn’t include slugs in heads. You have a better idea?”

Fiona watched the delivery bay for a few moments before responding. “You might consider sending a pretty girl over with a problem. See if she can maybe lock someone in a closet.”

“Too risky,” I said. “We can’t have you leaving prints all over the place or appearing on camera. But it’s too risky having these knuckleheads out here when something might go wrong. We need a third force.”

We spent another few minutes watching the building, until Barry walked back up and Fi let him back into the car. “I’ve got a guy who is happy to take on this complex project,” Barry said.

“Good,” I said. “This is a Barry project, right? I’ll never see these guys?”

“They’re New York Russians,” Barry said. “They’ll be selling smoking patches on Coney Island before the police have even begun investigating this.”

The police.

Sometimes it’s the obvious things that make the most sense. I pulled out my phone and called Sam. “Any luck tracking down that plate?” I asked.

“My special powers know no bounds,” Sam said. “Or will have no bounds as soon as I meet a friend of mine in a bit.”

“So you don’t have it?”

“Not yet, no,” Sam said. “But it’s like all things, Mikey. In due time. Due time.”

“It’s due time,” I said. “If we’re going to make this all work out, I need to get that plate confirmed.”

“No fear, Mikey. It’s going to be like that time we took down that evil criminal mastermind.”

“When was that?”

“You know, Mikey, any of the times. I’ll call you when it’s in hand.”

I hung up with Sam and looked back out the window. “You see any police cars roll by since we parked?” I asked Fiona.

“No,” she said. “Why would they?”

“Exactly. So it will be a good thing when one pulls up here and tells the night crew there’s a problem.”

Barry leaned into the front seat. “You got police on your payroll, too?”

“I do now,” I said. I put my phone on speaker, dialed another number and waited for someone to pick up.

“Good afternoon, Harding Pharmaceutical. How may I direct your call?”

“Shipping, please,” I said.

“One moment,” the operator said. “I’ll transfer you to Marty Delabate.”

Fiona and Barry were quiet, but were clearly puzzled.

The call picked up. “This is Marty.”

“Marty,” I said, “this is Dan from Newark. How you doing?”

“Good, good,” Marty said. If you’re going to pretend to be someone else on the telephone, it’s usually a good idea to assume an identity that is so common, it’s likely the person you’re trying to fool will think they’re the one with a problem for not knowing precisely who you are.

“How’s the season treating you?” I said.

“Fine, fine,” Marty said.

“Looking forward to getting down there in the fall,” I said. “You know how it is up here.”

“Don’t I ever,” Marty said.

“Listen,” I said. “I’ve got a note here on my desk about a shipment of patches leaving there on Saturday. That still right?”

“Let me check the system,” Marty said.

“Running slow today,” I said, “or else I would have gotten on myself.”