and she started driving.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Baby D has several offices around town. One of them is a chicken-and-waffles place a few blocks away, on Lexington.”
“How’d you know where to find him?”
“Because I’m a cop, and my husband is an addict. I tailed Spence on a couple of his drug runs just in case anything like this ever happened.”
“You
tailed
him?”
“Don’t judge me, Zach.”
“Tell me about this Baby D,” I said.
“Real name is Damian Hillsborough. Forget everything you know about these stereotype ghetto dealers hanging on the street corner, covered in tats and chains, peddling eight balls, and packing nine mils. Baby D is clean-cut, college-educated, and totally nonthreatening. He’s carved out a nice little niche for himself in the upscale Caucasian market.”
“Does he have a rap sheet?”
“No. He’s smart. He did a year at NYU law school before dropping out to go into a more profitable line of work.”
“And what’s my role in all this?”
“I want you to score some blow. As soon as you make a buy, I’ll step in.”
“Sounds like a great plan,” I said. “Except for that nasty little entrapment law the defense attorneys love to throw in our faces.”
“I thought you were done lecturing.”
“Kylie, it’s not a lecture. It’s Police Procedure 101. I’ve worked undercover. The criminal has to initiate the offense. A cop can’t induce someone to commit a crime and then arrest him.”
“I didn’t say I was going to arrest him. I’m trying to find my husband, and I need some leverage.”
We got to 126th Street and Lexington Avenue, where there was a cluster of storefronts: a McDonald’s, a Dunkin’ Donuts, a check-cashing place with the corrugated metal gate pulled down and locked, and a yellow awning that said “Goody’s Chicken and Waffles.” We got out of the car and walked up to the window.
“That’s him over there, the one with the green sweater,” Kylie said, pointing at a young black man sitting alone at a table, his fingers resting on the keyboard of a laptop.
“You want my take on your plan?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s piss-poor. You think this guy is going to sell me drugs? If he’s as smart as you say he is, he wouldn’t sell me an aspirin if I got hit by a bus.”
“Hey, I’m trying to figure this out as I go along. Do you have a better idea?”
“I’ve got something in my head, but it’s going to take two of us, and I don’t know if you’re up to it—it’s not going to be easy.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Zach. Of course I’m up to it. I’ll do whatever it takes. What’s your idea?”
“I’ll go inside the chicken place and work on Baby D. You stay outside.”
“And do what?”
“Nothing. Don’t call me. Don’t hand-signal me. And since I can’t stop you from watching me through the window, don’t barge in and tell me I’m doing it wrong.”
“So you just want me to hang outside and do nothing?”
“Hey, I told you it wouldn’t be easy. I’m going in. Don’t screw it up.”
She hesitated.
“Kylie, do you want my help or not?”
“Go ahead,” she said. “Do it.”
I walked through the front door of Goody’s before she had time to change her mind.
I had no plan, no idea what I was going to do. All I knew was that it would be a hell of a lot easier to do it without her.
CHAPTER 17
THE FIRST THING I noticed about Goody’s was how incredible it smelled. There were at least thirty people having dinner, and a few more at the counter, waiting to order.
Baby D was the only one not eating. And despite the fact that his fingers were resting on his keyboard, he was not typing. He was watching me.
Kylie was right. He didn’t look anything like the stereotypical drug peddler you see in the movies or, for that matter, in real life. He looked more like a model who had stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. Tan chinos, tattersall shirt, and a V-neck sweater with the sleeves
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Baby D has several offices around town. One of them is a chicken-and-waffles place a few blocks away, on Lexington.”
“How’d you know where to find him?”
“Because I’m a cop, and my husband is an addict. I tailed Spence on a couple of his drug runs just in case anything like this ever happened.”
“You
tailed
him?”
“Don’t judge me, Zach.”
“Tell me about this Baby D,” I said.
“Real name is Damian Hillsborough. Forget everything you know about these stereotype ghetto dealers hanging on the street corner, covered in tats and chains, peddling eight balls, and packing nine mils. Baby D is clean-cut, college-educated, and totally nonthreatening. He’s carved out a nice little niche for himself in the upscale Caucasian market.”
“Does he have a rap sheet?”
“No. He’s smart. He did a year at NYU law school before dropping out to go into a more profitable line of work.”
“And what’s my role in all this?”
“I want you to score some blow. As soon as you make a buy, I’ll step in.”
“Sounds like a great plan,” I said. “Except for that nasty little entrapment law the defense attorneys love to throw in our faces.”
“I thought you were done lecturing.”
“Kylie, it’s not a lecture. It’s Police Procedure 101. I’ve worked undercover. The criminal has to initiate the offense. A cop can’t induce someone to commit a crime and then arrest him.”
“I didn’t say I was going to arrest him. I’m trying to find my husband, and I need some leverage.”
We got to 126th Street and Lexington Avenue, where there was a cluster of storefronts: a McDonald’s, a Dunkin’ Donuts, a check-cashing place with the corrugated metal gate pulled down and locked, and a yellow awning that said “Goody’s Chicken and Waffles.” We got out of the car and walked up to the window.
“That’s him over there, the one with the green sweater,” Kylie said, pointing at a young black man sitting alone at a table, his fingers resting on the keyboard of a laptop.
“You want my take on your plan?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s piss-poor. You think this guy is going to sell me drugs? If he’s as smart as you say he is, he wouldn’t sell me an aspirin if I got hit by a bus.”
“Hey, I’m trying to figure this out as I go along. Do you have a better idea?”
“I’ve got something in my head, but it’s going to take two of us, and I don’t know if you’re up to it—it’s not going to be easy.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Zach. Of course I’m up to it. I’ll do whatever it takes. What’s your idea?”
“I’ll go inside the chicken place and work on Baby D. You stay outside.”
“And do what?”
“Nothing. Don’t call me. Don’t hand-signal me. And since I can’t stop you from watching me through the window, don’t barge in and tell me I’m doing it wrong.”
“So you just want me to hang outside and do nothing?”
“Hey, I told you it wouldn’t be easy. I’m going in. Don’t screw it up.”
She hesitated.
“Kylie, do you want my help or not?”
“Go ahead,” she said. “Do it.”
I walked through the front door of Goody’s before she had time to change her mind.
I had no plan, no idea what I was going to do. All I knew was that it would be a hell of a lot easier to do it without her.
CHAPTER 17
THE FIRST THING I noticed about Goody’s was how incredible it smelled. There were at least thirty people having dinner, and a few more at the counter, waiting to order.
Baby D was the only one not eating. And despite the fact that his fingers were resting on his keyboard, he was not typing. He was watching me.
Kylie was right. He didn’t look anything like the stereotypical drug peddler you see in the movies or, for that matter, in real life. He looked more like a model who had stepped out of a J. Crew catalog. Tan chinos, tattersall shirt, and a V-neck sweater with the sleeves
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