Tom Piccirilli - The Cold Spot

Hopkins’s expression buckled along its seams. “I don’t know if I can do any of that.”

He could feel Hopkins wanting to appease him. To be a friend, a buddy, a comrade. To do any damn thing to take his mind off his own misery. He wanted to throw back a few brews and talk about old times, except they didn’t have any. More than that, he wanted Chase to tell him tales of Lila. Who knew how much she’d shared with the guy, but whatever it was, Hopkins needed more.

So put him to use.

Chase said, “Then go through them, work the case like you would any other. There’s something wrong with how it was originally handled.”

“How so?”

Chase thought, Besides the fact that they never caught who did it? He said, “I don’t know, but maybe you’ll spot it.”

“My shift ends in an hour.”

“Then do it tonight.”

“I can’t.”

“You can get wasted afterward, Hopkins. Do this, and do it right. For Christ’s sake, be a cop.”

The tension rose. Chase had pushed him pretty hard today, and it looked like Hopkins might have had enough. His wife and kids were in the drawer for a reason. The corners of his mouth tightened and his eyes hardened for a moment, and then he went to pudding again. That didn’t matter, so long as he got the job done.

“Listen, about Lila-”

Same way he’d phrased it last time, but with something a little different working to the surface now. His voice firmer, a bit rougher.

Chase waited. “What about her?”

“I just wanted to let you know…nothing ever happened between us.”

Chase waited some more but that was apparently it. The guy revving himself up only to say that, like it was important. Pretending to come out with something of significance while he really held everything back.

Chase asked, “Your wife left you, didn’t she? Took the kids?”

“Yes,” Hopkins said. His breathing grew a touch more rapid, the peppermint-and-scotch aroma wafting to and fro. “How did you know that?”

“You’re guilty for all the wrong reasons. I know there was nothing between you and Lila. She was my girl. You want to swoon over her photos, go right ahead. But I think you’d be better off straightening your ass up and getting your family back. Now, are you going to go check the files for me or what?”

N ext step, Chase called the Deuce and gave him his credit card number again, told him to drop everything else, this was a rush.

Deucie called back three hours later. “Earl and Ellie Raymond. Live in Cleveland, play everyplace else. They’re troublemakers. They’re smart but a little too cowboy. Adrenaline junkies, they like it when they get into scrapes. They’ve put together strings with Kel Clarke, Slip Jenson, and Jason Fleischer. Those are the names I got.”

“Any have a scar on his forehead?”

“Who the fuck knows? Like I go bowling with these assholes?”

“Which is the driver?”

“No idea. I never heard of any of them before. They’re young, on a different circuit. This new breed, it’s not about the money for them, it’s just the juice of the action. With some fat, greedy bastard, you know he wants to get clear with the cash to spend it. This type? When they’re not pulling scores they probably go do that whatchacallit with the cliffs, the freebasing…no, base-jumping.”

“How about where they hole up?”

“All I heard was they use a fence in SoHo sometimes. Shonny Fishman. Has a pawnshop on West Broadway and Broome, I think. Or Spring. No, Broome. One of those. I know Shonny. Used to deal with him when I was first coming up. Little old Jew prick takes an extra two points off the top because he pays faster than the rest of the fences. The others, they won’t go into their pocket and pay at once, takes time to spread the merchandise around, especially if it’s got real heat on it. They pay out in six, twelve, maybe eighteen months. But Shonny, he’s got a bankroll could choke the fuckin’ Statue of Liberty. Takes him two or three weeks max. He’s got four brothers and something like eight cousins, all of them shysters. A couple of them work in the D.A.’s office, so he’s got good protection. If the shit ever comes down, he’ll fade to Israel and buy himself a McDonald’s franchise in Tel Aviv.”

“Is there a cage I need to be buzzed through?”

“Of course there’s a cage. Everybody’s got cages now. You know that.”

He didn’t know that. It meant he might need his tools to pull this off. “What do I say to show him I’m not there to buy a saxophone or a brooch for my grandmother?”

“How the hell should I know? I never had to hock a Rolex with him. Well, not since the Heidi Bowl, I lost my fuckin’ shirt that day. Anyway, you’ll figure it out. And try not to kill him, I always kinda liked Shonny.”

“No promises,” Chase said.

He called information and got the number for Fishman’s Loan Society and Trading Depot. Jesus Christ, pawnbrokers really went all out with naming their places, Shonny and Bookatee would’ve gotten along just groovy.

Shonny picked up and Chase asked what time he’d be closing. Shonny Fishman spoke with a rich and mannered voice. “Eight o’clock tonight, thank you for phoning.”

Chase laid it out for his grandfather and Jonah said, “They’ll be somewhere close to him. Probably in Jersey. They make a run into the city, grab their parcels of the payout, then go back and wait until the next one is due. If the crew hasn’t already broken up, they soon will. A couple will scatter with their caches and pick up the rest of their pay somewhere down the line. There’s five in the crew but maybe we’ll get lucky and a couple will have peeled off.”

They still had a few hours to kill. Angie had taken the van and gotten enough groceries to cook dinner. Chase sensed she was trying to be accommodating, maternal in whatever way she could considering the circumstances. Jonah didn’t notice. She tried to make small talk but Chase was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He ate mechanically and tried to put his eyes anywhere except on Lila’s photos. He kept hearing her telling him not to do this.

Angie cleaned her gun again and started selecting others from Lila’s spread. Chase got out Marisa Iverson’s-no, he had to start thinking of her under her real name, Ellie Raymond, drive it in, Ellie Raymond -Ellie Raymond’s 9mm. Lila had extra ammo out in the cabinet in the garage and he pocketed two clips, and put several more in his knapsack.

He told Angie, “You don’t need to come along.”

“What?”

He said, “Stay here.”

“I’m a full partner, remember?”

“You’ll get your share.”

“Who said anything about that?” she asked.

Jonah said, “She’s coming.”

Chase shook his head. “I’m calling the play.”

“Not if you want it done right. Not this one, with my neck on the line. She comes along.”

“Your kid needs a mother.”

The fact that Chase knew about Kylie didn’t faze Jonah in the slightest. He ignored it. “We need at least a third person if we’re really going after this crew. There’s five of them. Even if we get the drop, we’re at a disadvantage. We’ll need to hit them hard and fast. We need firepower, and she’s a good shooter.”

“I am,” Angie said.

“I believe you,” Chase told her. “It’s not about that; aren’t you listening?”

Jonah stared hard and Chase knew why. It was stupid for him to have suddenly gotten soft, right now as they were heading out to finish this thing. But he couldn’t help it. He kept thinking of the two-year-old girl. There were enough lost children in his life already. His dead unborn sibling who had been taken out of the game before taking its first breath. The child he and Lila wanted and couldn’t have. The need for a kid was still all around him, rising within him. He might not have done anything else right, but he could make the effort to allow Kylie to be raised by her own mother.