A Crossworder's Holiday by Nero Blanc Page A

Starch broke out a month ago. You heard that?”
    â€œYo?” Pete Dixon said it with a distinct Whaddyathink? I was born yesterday ? inflection. “He was into Freddie big time …” Then he let out a hearty laugh. “Looks like you got your hands full, Agent Keegan.”
    Jack ignored the ribbing. “I was hoping you could be a little more helpful than that. Anybody you know having troubles with the mob? Anybody talking? Acting strange? Up to their ears in debt?”
    â€œCome on, Jack, I’m with the DA’s office. Nobody says boo around me. Even my mother won’t tell me who her bookie is.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you’d consider sitting out the parade this year?”
    Dixon looked at him sideways and said, “Yo?” The meaning of the word this time was, Whaddya-nuts ?
    â€œI didn’t think so.”
    â€œLook, Jack, if you’re right about a hit taking place tomorrow, I wouldn’t waste your time worrying about me. These guys don’t whack DAs—they whack each other, especially suspected snitches.” He patted his sweatshirt as though he were looking for something. “You got a piece of paper?”
    Rosco produced a small pad and a pen from his jacket and handed them to Dixon. Dixon spoke as he wrote:
    â€œAnd I wouldn’t worry too much about Tony Starch either. He’s a second-story man. Probably in California by now—if he’s smart. Although knowing Tony …” Dixon shook his head, then ripped a sheet of paper from the pad, handed it to Keegan, and returned the pen and pad to Rosco. “Those are the names of the two guys who turned state’s evidence against Sonny Pancakes. They’re both marching in the Comic Division tomorrow; they’re with the Fin-n-Feather Club, though I don’t know how anyone would recognize them—not with all the makeup and wigs.”
    â€œBut the flip side is that a hit man could be walking right next to them, and they wouldn’t know it.”
    â€œYou got that right, Keegan.”
    I T was almost 11 P . M . when Rosco arrived back at the hotel. He and Belle stayed in the room and ordered up a late dinner from room service. To bring in the New Year, he had a T-bone steak, she a large bowl of chicken broth. They sat at a small table near the window, overlooking the massive pillars of the Second Bank of the United States on Chestnut Street. Belle kept a box of tissues by her side at all times. It wasn’t the most romantic of meals.
    â€œI’m really sorry, Rosco,” she said between spoonfuls of soup and sniffles. “This isn’t a great New Year’s Eve, but the concierge said there’s a terrific fireworks display down by the Delaware River at midnight.” She glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes. It’s only five blocks from here … Why don’t you go without me?”
    â€œI don’t think so. I say we just cozy down in bed and watch the entire thing on TV.”
    â€œThat bed is huge. I felt like I was napping on a football field this afternoon.”
    â€œIt’s obviously been designed for recreational activity.”
    â€œHmmm. That’s not a bad idea …” Belle grinned as she finished her soup. “So, what’s the story with the state’s witnesses the DA told you about?”
    â€œWell, they seemed genuinely nervous—”
    â€œAre they backing out of the parade?”
    â€œNo. They told Keegan that Nicky Grapes knows exactly where they live and can get them anytime. Apparently their testimony wasn’t so critical that they were placed in the Witness Protection Program.”
    â€œSure, but the costumes and masks would make it impossible for anyone to identify the murderer.”
    â€œJack pointed that out, but the parade’s such a big deal for these guys that nobody’s going to make them miss it. They asked for extra protection,