Lisa Scottoline - Devil's corner

"Where were you before you moved here?"

"Somewhere else."

That clears things up . "And your mother stayed here. When did she start using, if I can ask?"

"I was in college."

"Is that why you didn't come back?"

"Yes."

Now the conversational ball was really rolling . "It must have been hard."

Reheema didn't say anything.

"What did you major in?"

"Business."

"Did you like it?"

"No."

Try another tack . "You know, my dad lived right on your street. He had the corner house on Washington. He went to Willowbrook, too."

"Where'd you go to high school?" "Episcopal." "Private school." "Guilty," Vicki said, and she was. They both watched as a young man in long dreads and a brown coat walked down the street, kicking snow as he shuffled along, heading for the hole. "How about him? Do you know him?"

"You know, he does look familiar." "Goody!" "Did you just say goody ?" Reheema peered at Vicki over the top of her sunglasses. "Never. Again."

Excited, Vicki handed Reheema a pair of binoculars she'd brought from home. She'd packed her backpack full of equipment they might need for the Master Plan, including guacamole Doritos. Episcopal Academy taught its grads to plan well for their stakeouts.

Reheema turned and raised the binoculars to her eyes. "Yo, that's Cal!" she said, dangerously animated. "Cal what?" "Cal Moore. Was in my math class. I think he dropped out, and now he's a crackhead." Reheema lowered the binoculars.

"Always was a loser." "It's sad." "No, it isn't." Vicki let it go and noted Cal Moore's name in the Filofax.

So far his was the only name. Phase One wasn't working out so hot, but then again, it took only one name for a lead. She dug inside the backpack again, grabbed the silvery Cybershot camera, pressed the button so the lens was on telephoto, and snapped a digital close-up of Cal Moore.

"Why're you doin' that?" "In case we need it." "Why would we need it?" Good question . "I don't know yet. But this is what the ATF would do on a stakeout, and so I'm doing it, too." Vicki knew the basics from Morty, but she was trying not to think about him today. "If it turns out we need an ID on Moore, we have a picture." They both watched as Moore trudged though the snow to the vacant lot, then went inside, past the bare trees. Vicki couldn't help but wonder. "What do they have in there anyway? Like a shack or something?"

"You mean, what's in the hole? Just the man, standing there, behind some trash cans and an old wood wall from one of the houses."

"A wall in the middle of the lot?"

"Toward the back. Looks like the house got torn down and the old wall, like maybe the backyard, got left. It makes a screen, so you can't see what's goin' on from the street."

Vicki tried to visualize it. "So this guy just stands outside, in the hole?"

"Yeah."

"I guess the overhead's low."

" 'Cause there's nothin' overhead," Reheema said, and they both laughed.

More bonding! Bonding like crazy ! Then Vicki sobered up. "They won't do business outside forever, will they?"

"No, not for long. They're just gettin' a hold. Established. They'll move into one a the houses soon."

"When do you think?"

"Soon as they find one." Reheema snorted. "Hell, I'll sell 'em mine."

Vicki assumed she was kidding. "And that will be the end."

Reheema didn't say anything.

Vicki set the camera down and skimmed the Filofax notes she'd made today, in her lap. She had counted foot traffic again, and business was better than yesterday; sixty customers in the past hour, even in the bad weather. At sixty bags an hour, for a dime bag, which was conservative, the dealer made six hundred dollars an hour. Vicki looked up from her notes. "Wonder when the go-betweens will show up, the black leather coat or the Eagles coat. They're late."

"Maybe he stocked up because of the snow."

"Funny that they started an outside business in winter."

"Lotta competition in the city right now. Everybody wants to open a new store." Reheema's tone was so certain, Vicki had to wonder.

"How do you know that?"

"Just got outta jail. The FDC's fulla crack dealers. All the talk is turf, who's stealing customers from who. Who's expanding, who's not."

Vicki considered it. "Maybe we can put the word out in the FDC. See what anybody knows about Jay and Teeg, or Brown-ing's operation in general."

"Did that already."

"You did? When?"

"Soon as it went down with my mother."

Vicki felt a twinge. "Did you learn anything?"

"No. Everybody's afraid to talk about it. Hey, Cal's back." Reheema raised the binoculars, and Vicki raised the camera to watch the young man walk out of the hole, hands thrust in pockets and head down, his dreads coiled into a thick rope that came to a point like an alligator tail.

"What's with the hair? This would be a black culture question."

Reheema snorted. "Don't ask me, I hate it. Cal had his that way since high school. Hasn't been washed in five years."

At almost the same moment, a shiny maroon Navigator turned onto Cater from the opposite direction and powered toward the vacant lot, spraying fans of fresh snow in its wake, like a speedboat. "Lookout," Vicki said, taking a photo, and Reheema whistled behind the binoculars.

"Nice ride!"

"Four-wheel drive."

"We got Daddy's car today!"

Vicki snapped another close-up as the Navigator stopped in front of the hole and the driver's door opened. In the next instant, the short man in the black leather coat and cap stepped out into the snow. Vicki took his close-up when he turned. She had never been so happy to see a criminal before. "Bingo!"

"Goody!" Reheema said.

Vicki let it go and took another photo. "Do you know him?"

"No."

"Damn."

"More like it," Reheema said. Vicki looked though the telephoto lens to see him better. Mr. Black Leather had large, round eyes, a short nose, a tiny little mustache, and photographed rather well. He hustled inside the vacant lot, raising his knees high to avoid getting his feet wet, kicking snow as he went. The Navigator idled in the street, sending a chalky plume of exhaust into the air. Vicki eyed it through the camera but, because of the snow's glare on the windshield, couldn't tell if somebody was in the passenger seat. Only a drug dealer could leave a car like that unlocked and running in this neighborhood.

"He might come past us on the way out. Get down." Vicki lowered the camera and slunk down in her seat, and Reheema laughed.

"Sit up. You're embarrassing yourself."

Vicki edged up in the slippery seat and watched the scene again through the camera. Moore was at the top of the block and turned right. "Wonder where he lives. Do you know, from high school?"

"We didn't travel in the same circles."

"He wasn't in National Honor Society, huh?"

Reheema shot her a look. They fell silent in the next minute, and Vicki raised the camera again when Mr. Black Leather reappeared, hustled out of the lot, and to the Navigator, knocking snow off his shoes before he climbed inside. The Navigator backed out the way it had come, and Vicki raised the camera to see if she could shoot his plate number. When the Navigator turned at the top of the street, she tried to catch a glimpse, but it was too far away.

"Rats!" Vicki said, and Reheema's only response was to start the engine of the Sunbird, which struggled to life.

Half an hour later, the women sat parked in a space on Aspinall Street down from Jamal Browning's house, and they were on their second girl stakeout. Unlike Cater, there was no activity on Aspinall; it was a static scene of a snow-covered city street. No one had answered the row house door when Mr. Black Leather went inside, and there were no comings or goings for Reheema not to identify people. Vicki had taken all the pictures she needed and none of them mattered. In short, she was beginning to doubt the viability of Phase II.