press, and I kept seeing the real feds coming back any minute now, so I made my apologies and my sympathies, palmed a cameo portrait of him from an end table, and bid her good-bye. Our car was still in the driveway, but I wasn't going to wait for Brandy.
The tail wasn't hard to spot; they wanted to be noticed, and on the winding little road leading back down to the expressway at Conshohocken, there wasn't much chance of shaking or evading them if I wanted to. I knew who it was, and when we got to the bottom just before the entrance to the Schuylkill, the flashing light went up on top and he pulled me over into the parking lot of a rustic-looking restaurant or catering joint.
I got out and leaned easily against the car, waiting for them. There were two there, but one was on the radio while the other glared at me, then finally got out and came up. "Can I see your driver's license and registration, please?"
"Can I see your ID first?" I responded. "I want to know who I'm dealing with and I got a right."
He reached into a breast pocket and did a quick flip of a case too fast for me to read, so I reached in and did the same damned thing. He reached for it and I said, "Uh uh. You show me yours open and I'll show you mine."
He took it back out, looking pissed, and held it open. Marshall Kennedy. Neat first name. I wondered if it had influenced his eventual line of work. He wasn't a marshal, though; it was Drug Enforcement Administration.
I nodded. "Sam Horowitz, and I'm private, licensed in New Jersey," I told him truthfully.
He frowned. "So what was that shield you flashed?"
"My old ID with a regular shield. I use it like you do, to get into places easily. It's part of the job."
"You're looking for Whitlock." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Why?"
"I was hired to."
"By who?"
"You know I can't tell you that. I suspect, though, that it was by somebody who wanted to bring the whole weight of the feds and local cops down on me so they could free their own people to look for him."
He considered that. "I still want the name. PI's don't mean shit to me, and don't give me any shield-law crap. There's no federal law covering you. Besides, might be interesting to find out just who you told the little lady there you worked for. Impersonating an officer's good for a yanked license and maybe a year."
"Better a year than getting my brains blown out," I told him. "Be reasonable. I'll tell you what I know, short of violating my ethics and my right to life, and you see if you're happy. You know I'm the patsy in this. I knew it from the start, only the money was too good and I was flat broke."
"I'm listening."
I told him about Whitlock stealing mob money and putting the squeeze on the middleman. I also told him about what I'd learned so far, and that I hadn't yet figured out how he'd gotten sucked in in the first place.
He wasn't communicative in return, but I got the very distinct feeling that he didn't know, either. They were at the same point we were, in spite of their head start. He did, however, offer one very interesting new fact.
"He didn't leave the country. He called his wife this morning. Didn't talk long, so we couldn't get a trace, but it was definitely a local call. You wouldn't by any chance be carrying something he wants or needs, would you? If you are, you're aiding and abetting a federal fugitive and I'll slam you real hard if you don't come clean."
"I'm as clean as they come. Search away if you want."
He did, starting with me. "There's still a price tag in this jacket," he noted. "What'd you do? Raid Sears today?"
The car was given a good but not complete going-over, since they'd had me in sight from leaving the front door and I sure hadn't had time to do much more than stuff something between the seats or like that. While they were still searching, night fell, and Brandy drove by in the car. I pretended not to notice, but I sure hoped she had.
The fed finally was as satisfied as he was going to get.
The tail wasn't hard to spot; they wanted to be noticed, and on the winding little road leading back down to the expressway at Conshohocken, there wasn't much chance of shaking or evading them if I wanted to. I knew who it was, and when we got to the bottom just before the entrance to the Schuylkill, the flashing light went up on top and he pulled me over into the parking lot of a rustic-looking restaurant or catering joint.
I got out and leaned easily against the car, waiting for them. There were two there, but one was on the radio while the other glared at me, then finally got out and came up. "Can I see your driver's license and registration, please?"
"Can I see your ID first?" I responded. "I want to know who I'm dealing with and I got a right."
He reached into a breast pocket and did a quick flip of a case too fast for me to read, so I reached in and did the same damned thing. He reached for it and I said, "Uh uh. You show me yours open and I'll show you mine."
He took it back out, looking pissed, and held it open. Marshall Kennedy. Neat first name. I wondered if it had influenced his eventual line of work. He wasn't a marshal, though; it was Drug Enforcement Administration.
I nodded. "Sam Horowitz, and I'm private, licensed in New Jersey," I told him truthfully.
He frowned. "So what was that shield you flashed?"
"My old ID with a regular shield. I use it like you do, to get into places easily. It's part of the job."
"You're looking for Whitlock." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Why?"
"I was hired to."
"By who?"
"You know I can't tell you that. I suspect, though, that it was by somebody who wanted to bring the whole weight of the feds and local cops down on me so they could free their own people to look for him."
He considered that. "I still want the name. PI's don't mean shit to me, and don't give me any shield-law crap. There's no federal law covering you. Besides, might be interesting to find out just who you told the little lady there you worked for. Impersonating an officer's good for a yanked license and maybe a year."
"Better a year than getting my brains blown out," I told him. "Be reasonable. I'll tell you what I know, short of violating my ethics and my right to life, and you see if you're happy. You know I'm the patsy in this. I knew it from the start, only the money was too good and I was flat broke."
"I'm listening."
I told him about Whitlock stealing mob money and putting the squeeze on the middleman. I also told him about what I'd learned so far, and that I hadn't yet figured out how he'd gotten sucked in in the first place.
He wasn't communicative in return, but I got the very distinct feeling that he didn't know, either. They were at the same point we were, in spite of their head start. He did, however, offer one very interesting new fact.
"He didn't leave the country. He called his wife this morning. Didn't talk long, so we couldn't get a trace, but it was definitely a local call. You wouldn't by any chance be carrying something he wants or needs, would you? If you are, you're aiding and abetting a federal fugitive and I'll slam you real hard if you don't come clean."
"I'm as clean as they come. Search away if you want."
He did, starting with me. "There's still a price tag in this jacket," he noted. "What'd you do? Raid Sears today?"
The car was given a good but not complete going-over, since they'd had me in sight from leaving the front door and I sure hadn't had time to do much more than stuff something between the seats or like that. While they were still searching, night fell, and Brandy drove by in the car. I pretended not to notice, but I sure hoped she had.
The fed finally was as satisfied as he was going to get.
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