of enough cameras to cover every angle, but the brass blew it off.”
“Cameras cost money. Where we going?”
As Jase told Hunter the address, the Jeep poked out into city traffic. People and faces flowed by on all sides, shades of pale sliding into rich mahogany. Cowboy hats were common, whether they were made of leather or felt or straw.
“The janitor could’ve spent a few minutes in the area where the artifacts were,” Jase said. “I could see him come and go on the record, but not exactly what he did. That whole aisle wasn’t covered well.”
“Budget is a bitch. Is this a regular janitorial guy?”
“He’s on the crew, more or less checks out. But get this, he’s taken a few days of unannounced vacation, starting about three days ago.”
Hunter’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. So let’s go knock on his door, ask a few questions.”
“How’d you get the address?”
“Usual way.”
“A warrant?” Hunter asked.
“Ha-ha. I told the head of PR of DeWatt Industrial Solutions that he could talk to me or I’d come back with a warrant for his personnel files, checking so-called Social Security numbers against government databases.”
“Oh. That usual way. Thought you weren’t supposed to show your badge.”
“Brubaker can sit on it and spin.”
Hunter smiled. “You do know where the address is?”
“Dirtbag central,” Jase said.
“Just so you know.”
“Why do you think I wanted company? Going in there solo would be stupid. My mama didn’t raise no stupid kids.”
When Hunter finally beat his way through traffic to the address, he was glad he and Jase were bilingual. In this area, English wasn’t even a second language.
“I get to be the bad guy,” Hunter said as he parked the Jeep.
“You always get to be bad.”
“People look at your big brown eyes and trust you with their firstborn.”
Jase grinned. “I always knew you were jealous. Serves you right for those icy Anglo eyes.”
Hunter parked along the cracked, dirty curb a block away and half a block down a side street. Bits of paper trash lifted on the occasional breeze. With an automatic motion, he pulled the Jeep’s key, shoved it deep in his front pocket, and got out. He didn’t need to worry about locking up. Most of the time there was nothing inside the Jeep but dirt from both sides of the border. No radio, no antenna, no tire iron, no tools, no baggage. Nothing worth stealing.
A few minutes later Jase studied the two-story apartment building. “Hard to imagine it new.”
“Instant slums, built to sag and lean and rust overnight.”
“Bet the rooms smell like mildew on a good day, cat piss the rest of the time.”
In the heat, the smell reached right out to the curb.
“Tell me this is the wrong address,” Hunter invited.
“I never lie to you.”
“What about the blonde, the redhead, and the Siamese twins?”
“What about them?” Jase asked.
Hunter shook his head and walked around the broken glass security door that hung drunkenly, allowing wind, dirt, and anyone who was interested into the hallway beyond. Inside, an aggregate concrete stairway held up by rusty iron gave access to the second floor. Every step was broken, cracked, or both. A ragged pyramid of Tecate cans stood unevenly off to one side of the bottom step, waiting to fall.
“If this guy’s a thief,” Jase muttered, following Hunter, “he’s lousy at it. Like a pickpocket with no hands.”
“Poor impulse control has been the downfall of more than one master criminal,” Hunter said dryly. “Is this call hard or soft?”
“Soft. Just wondering how he is, we haven’t heard from him, blah blah.”
The steps up from street level grated underfoot. The crumbling stoop was crusted with dirt and greasy debris.
Behind an apartment door, a dog barked madly. The dog’s bark changed to hysteria when he caught their scent. Someone yelled in Spanglish for the dog to cállete the hell up. The dog yipped and went
“Cameras cost money. Where we going?”
As Jase told Hunter the address, the Jeep poked out into city traffic. People and faces flowed by on all sides, shades of pale sliding into rich mahogany. Cowboy hats were common, whether they were made of leather or felt or straw.
“The janitor could’ve spent a few minutes in the area where the artifacts were,” Jase said. “I could see him come and go on the record, but not exactly what he did. That whole aisle wasn’t covered well.”
“Budget is a bitch. Is this a regular janitorial guy?”
“He’s on the crew, more or less checks out. But get this, he’s taken a few days of unannounced vacation, starting about three days ago.”
Hunter’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. So let’s go knock on his door, ask a few questions.”
“How’d you get the address?”
“Usual way.”
“A warrant?” Hunter asked.
“Ha-ha. I told the head of PR of DeWatt Industrial Solutions that he could talk to me or I’d come back with a warrant for his personnel files, checking so-called Social Security numbers against government databases.”
“Oh. That usual way. Thought you weren’t supposed to show your badge.”
“Brubaker can sit on it and spin.”
Hunter smiled. “You do know where the address is?”
“Dirtbag central,” Jase said.
“Just so you know.”
“Why do you think I wanted company? Going in there solo would be stupid. My mama didn’t raise no stupid kids.”
When Hunter finally beat his way through traffic to the address, he was glad he and Jase were bilingual. In this area, English wasn’t even a second language.
“I get to be the bad guy,” Hunter said as he parked the Jeep.
“You always get to be bad.”
“People look at your big brown eyes and trust you with their firstborn.”
Jase grinned. “I always knew you were jealous. Serves you right for those icy Anglo eyes.”
Hunter parked along the cracked, dirty curb a block away and half a block down a side street. Bits of paper trash lifted on the occasional breeze. With an automatic motion, he pulled the Jeep’s key, shoved it deep in his front pocket, and got out. He didn’t need to worry about locking up. Most of the time there was nothing inside the Jeep but dirt from both sides of the border. No radio, no antenna, no tire iron, no tools, no baggage. Nothing worth stealing.
A few minutes later Jase studied the two-story apartment building. “Hard to imagine it new.”
“Instant slums, built to sag and lean and rust overnight.”
“Bet the rooms smell like mildew on a good day, cat piss the rest of the time.”
In the heat, the smell reached right out to the curb.
“Tell me this is the wrong address,” Hunter invited.
“I never lie to you.”
“What about the blonde, the redhead, and the Siamese twins?”
“What about them?” Jase asked.
Hunter shook his head and walked around the broken glass security door that hung drunkenly, allowing wind, dirt, and anyone who was interested into the hallway beyond. Inside, an aggregate concrete stairway held up by rusty iron gave access to the second floor. Every step was broken, cracked, or both. A ragged pyramid of Tecate cans stood unevenly off to one side of the bottom step, waiting to fall.
“If this guy’s a thief,” Jase muttered, following Hunter, “he’s lousy at it. Like a pickpocket with no hands.”
“Poor impulse control has been the downfall of more than one master criminal,” Hunter said dryly. “Is this call hard or soft?”
“Soft. Just wondering how he is, we haven’t heard from him, blah blah.”
The steps up from street level grated underfoot. The crumbling stoop was crusted with dirt and greasy debris.
Behind an apartment door, a dog barked madly. The dog’s bark changed to hysteria when he caught their scent. Someone yelled in Spanglish for the dog to cállete the hell up. The dog yipped and went
Similar Books
