Done Deal by Les Standiford Page A

stop at a light. He thought for a moment before answering. Finally he turned to Deal. “You seem like a good guy, but I don’t know you. I say something, you might be having a drink someday, tell a guy, ‘Hey, guess what this midget works down at Surf told me.’” The light changed and Homer hit the accelerator, leaving some of the LeBaron’s tires behind them. “Let’s just say the Carneses got tired of the car bidness, okay?”
    “Sure,” Deal said. “It’s okay. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
    “Things change,” Homer said.
    “I’m a little tired of change,” Deal said.
    Homer laughed mirthlessly. “You’re in a shitload of trouble then.”
    Deal nodded. “I always have been.”
    Homer said nothing until they’d stopped at another light on down LeJeune. A slender, black-haired woman in Lycra tights and a tube top strode across the intersection in front of them, carrying a Coke from a take-out joint. Homer tapped the horn and the woman turned, a withering look on her face. When she saw Homer, the look softened. She smiled and added a little extra switch to her walk as she mounted the curb.
    “That’s another thing might surprise you,” Homer said, as they drove off.
    “What’s that?” Deal asked, mildly.
    “The women we get. They hear all the stories, you know. They want to find out if it’s true.”
    “If what’s true?”
    Homer patted his crotch. “Nobody’s ever complained, either,” he said. He laughed, swung off the boulevard in a swooshing turn, pointed down the street in front of them. “That the guy you wanted to meet?”
    Homer guided them to a stop in front of the unfinished fourplex. A florid-faced man in a panama hat was just getting into a beige sedan with a city seal emblazoned on the side. The man stopped when he saw Deal.
    “That’s him,” Deal said, scrambling out. He reached into his pocket for his money clip, but Homer raised a hand to stop him.
    “Forget it,” he said. “You got me out of the soapsuds, remember.”
    “Take it anyway,” Deal said, holding out a five.
    “Can’t do it,” Homer said, pulling off. “Good luck with your guy,” he added. “You hit the big time again, maybe you’ll have a job for me.”
    Deal nodded, but Homer was already gone. He turned and hurried after the inspector.
    ***
    The inspector’s name was Faye. He mopped his glowing face and pointed down into the hole where the sewer and gas lines were capped off, ready to be joined to the main. “Who told you that gas line would work?” he said, his voice wheezy. His breath was rapid and shallow, as if the twenty-foot walk from his car had exhausted him.
    Deal followed his gaze. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
    Faye shook his head. “That’s a half-inch line. Code calls for inch. One inch galvanized from the main to the meter.”
    “Bullshit,” Deal said. “This is a fourplex. You’re talking about a high-rise.”
    Faye shrugged. “The original permit called for twenty units.”
    “I changed that,” Deal said. “Months ago.”
    “Only paperwork I seen says twenty units.” Faye was wiping the back of his neck with his soggy handkerchief.
    “Well, look at the goddamn building. You can see it’s a fourplex.”
    Faye gave him a neutral stare. “I can see, Mr. Deal. I can see just fine. You get your ass in a crack, can’t float the loan for what you wanted to build, it’s okay by me. But I’m a duly appointed official of this city. I got to go by the book.” He thumped a thick pad in his shirt pocket. “Until I see paperwork that tells me different, you’re going to need a one-inch line down there.” Faye hawked, then spat into the hole. “Galvanized,” he added, swiping at his chin.
    Deal pondered it. He could tell Faye to take a flying fuck at the moon, which would mean the end of his hopes of meeting deadline. He could spend the next day down at City-County which might or might not do him any good. Even if he found someone cooperative, it’d