Blast. Andrew Kim

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      This was clearly not what Greek had in mind, but he just nodded sullenly. “Whatever you say, boss.”

      “Great. Who is he?”

      “His name is Matt Highley.”

      “How do we contact him?”

      “You don’t. I know his phone number, but he will only speak on the phone to people he knows personally.”

      “Fine. Clear your throat before you dial the number. Is Deuce connected or something? I mean, if they learn you sold them down the river, would it come back to you?”

      “I’ll take care of my own business, thank you,” Greek said drily, and turned away, looking out the window as the suburbs flew by.

      Brown didn’t like him. There was something not quite kosher about him, but what exactly it was, Brown didn’t know. Anyway every criminal had his own fish to fry. Brown was interested in only one thing: that the conversation with Deuce would be a slam dunk. On the Department’s tab, they checked in to a room at the back of a quiet motel on the outskirts of town. They decided to use the phone in the room to make the call. A technician came down from the Department with the recording equipment they needed. When everything was ready, Brown instructed Greek how to behave, and handed him the phone.

      After three rings, Brown heard, through the headphones, a cautious male voice:

      “Yeah.”

      “Deuce, it’s me.”

      There was a pause. “Where are you?” the voice asked.

      “They let me out. I was lucky with my lawyer. It’s a long story, I can tell you when we meet.”

      “How long ago?”

      “A couple of days.”

      “Why are you calling?” Deuce clearly was not dying to buy his good friend a brewskie.

      “Deuce, I’ve got a buddy,” Greek said, exchanging glances with Brown, who nodded to him, “go ahead.” “He needs some wheels.”

      “Who is he?”

      “A good buddy. You know, we got it all figured, but then the cops grabbed me, and the deal fell through. Yesterday I saw the guy, and he still needs the cars.”

      “Why don’t you get them yourself?” There was a hint of malice in Deuce’s voice. “You’re a real bad-ass businessman. You’ve got everything under control.”

      “I just got out of the slammer,” Greek blurted out. “I haven’t even washed off the prison stink yet! I’m not such a moron as to draw attention to myself right away. I don’t want to go back there. But I don’t want to lose a client either. Deuce, it’s a piece of cake, I tell you.”

      Deuce paused, as if listening to his instincts. Brown also sensed, judging from the silence, that Deuce was gauging the chances that this was a setup.

      “I don’t work with people I don’t know.”

      “I’m telling you, his creds are rock solid. I’ve known him for a couple of years, and I did business with him twice. High-end wheels both times. Spare parts too. Deuce, have I ever let you down?”

      The code they used was simple. “Cars” were weapons, and “spare parts” parts were ammunition. Not the most powerful cryptography, but criminals always feel more comfortable talking in code. Over the years, Brown had heard many epithets used by crooks over the telephone to refer to their goods: weapons, drugs, whatever. Anything from “cactuses” to “workers.”

      “What kind of cars are you talking about?” asked Deuce, after another pause. Brown exchanged glances with DiMaggio: Looks like he’s rising to the bait.

      “Ten sedans. Not used; nice and clean, you got it? If it comes together, my buddy will be ready to talk trucks.”

      Trucks were full auto rifles.

      “Where is he going to drive them?”

      “Not here,” Greek hastened to reply, taking the hint. “He needs them to work in another state. No sweat.”

      Another pause. Then Deuce finally said what they had been waiting for: “Write down this number. He should call at exactly 2:00. Exactly. If he calls earlier or later, no deal.”

      Brown was standing at the curb in front of the supermarket. The large parking lot in front of the building was full, with cars pulling in and out all the time, parading before Brown’s eyes in one incessant flow. Deuce had picked a good meeting place: It’s a simple matter to lose oneself in a crowd here. Brown was holding an ice cream cone, the signal that Deuce had chosen during their conversation, which took place at exactly 2:00 p.m.

      One of the cars crawling past, a used and battered Toyota, suddenly stopped, and the rear door swung open. A tough-looking guy barked from the back seat: “Get in.”

      Glancing around, Brown dropped his ice cream and climbed in. The car instantly took off, drove past the parking lot, and headed for the street. Picking up speed, the Toyota sped toward the city center.

      Behind the wheel was a scrawny, middle-aged fellow with a sharp, piercing look about him. He glanced at the rearview mirror every other second. Making sure there’s no tail, thought Brown. The goon cornered Brown on the far right of the seat and began to quickly and professionally search his pockets and tap his clothes, feeling for a wire.

      “Take it easy,” Brown growled.

      “Gotta check you out, bud. We don’t know you.”

      “Are you Deuce?”

      “No, “said the goon tersely, fishing out the knife mounted on Brown’s belt. Turning it over, he handed it to Brown, then curtly told the driver, “Clean.”

      “I don’t know you either,” Brown remarked. “I agreed to meet with Deuce.”

      “You’ll meet him,” said the goon, and gave Brown a tablet computer.

      “What’s this for?”

      “What guns do you need? Take your pick.”

      Brown was amazed, the more so when he turned on the tablet. Before him was an already opened photo gallery, showing dozens of photographs of pistols, which could be enlarged for close inspection.

      “A catalog? What’s on sale today? Any house specials?”

      The goon grimaced and said nothing. The driver kept looking in the rearview mirror. The car raced along the busy street at high speed, weaving from lane to lane.

      They did not realize that all the available cops in the city police force were taking part in the operation. Five carloads of detectives were following right behind them, switching every half mile. Ten more cars had scattered throughout the area at the start of the operation and were listening in on the police wave. As soon as the Toyota left the supermarket, unmarked police cars started moving on parallel streets, so they could all converge at the right moment. A police helicopter СКАЧАТЬ