“Mauney’s wife.
I’d like to do that, if you have no objections. ”
Hammer got up and smiled at him.
“You know some thing, Sol? You’re nowhere near as rotten as I thought.”
“That works both way, Judy.” He got up.
“It certainly does.”
“You hungry?”
“Starved.”
“What’s open at this hour,” he wondered.
“You ever been to the Presto Grill?”
“Is that a club?” He grabbed his car keys.
“Yes,” she said.
“And guess what, Sol? It’s about time you became a member.”
Chapter Twenty-six.
For the most part, only people up to no good were out this hour, and as West drove seedy “Newsroom,” an unfamiliar voice answered.
“Andy Brazil,” West said.
“He’s not in.”
“Has he been in at all the last few hours?” West asked, frustration in her tone.
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not that I know of.”
West hit the end button, and tossed the phone on the seat. She pounded the steering wheel.
“Damn you, damn you, Andy!” she exclaimed.
As she cruised, her phone rang, startling her. It was Brazil. She was sure of it as she answered. She was wrong.
“It’s Hammer,” her chief said.
“What in the world are you doing still out?”
“I can’t find him.”
“You certain he’s not home or at the paper?”
“Positive. He’s out here courting trouble,” West said rather frantically.
“Oh dear,” Hammer said.
“Cahoon and I are about to have breakfast, Virginia. Here’s what I want you to do. No information about this case, and no identification until I tell you otherwise. For now, the case is pending. We need to buy some time here because of this other situation.”
“I think that’s wise,” West said, checking her mirrors, looking everywhere.
tw She had missed Brazil by no more than two minutes, and in fact, unwittingly had done so a number of times during the past few hours.
She would turn onto one street just before he drove past where she had been. Now, he was cruising by the Cadillac Grill on West Trade Street, and staring out at boarded-up slums haunted by the rulers of the night. He saw the young hooker ahead, leaning inside a Thunderbird, talking to a man looking for a good investment. Brazil wasn’t in a shy mood, and he pulled up closer, watching. The car sped off, and the hooker turned hostile, glazed eyes on Brazil, not at all happy with the intrusion. Brazil rolled down his window.
“Hey!” he called out.
Poison, the prostitute, stared at the one known on the street as Blondie, mockery in her eyes. She started strolling again. This pretty-boy snitch followed her everywhere, had a thing about her, and was still working up his nerve, maybe thought he was going to get something more to leak to the police and the newspaper. She thought it was funny. Brazil unfastened his seatbelt. He reached to roll down the passenger’s window. She wasn’t going to get away from him this time.
No sir, and he tucked the. 380 out of sight beneath his seat, as he crept forward, calling out to her.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, ma’am!” he said again and again.
“I need to talk to you!”
Hammer was rolling past at this very moment, Cahoon following in his Mercedes 600S V-12 sedan, black with parchment leather interior.
He wasn’t entirely within his comfort zone in this part of the city, and he checked his locks again as Hammer got on her police radio and told the dispatcher to ten-five Unit 700. Immediately, she and West were on the air.
“The subject you’re looking for is at West Trade and Cedar,” Hammer said on the air to West.
“You might want to head this way in a hurry.”
“Ten-four!”
Officers in the area were perplexed, even a little lost, as they overheard this transmission between their highest leaders. They were still mindful of their chief’s feelings about being followed and harassed. Maybe it was wise to sit this one out for a minute or two, until they had a better idea about what exactly was going down. West gunned the engine, racing back toward West Trade.
v9 Poison stopped and slowly turned around, seduction smoldering in her eyes as she entertained notions this snitch in the BMW couldn’t even begin to imagine.