we’ve got a connection.He’s getting us some good stuff. I mean, way sweet. We can turn it around in a week. You come in with a thousand or two, he’ll give us a better discount. You can double your money. You interested?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t ever go near ’em. And you shouldn’t either. They’ll screw up your life. Remember that . . . . Meet me tomorrow, okay?”
“When?”
“Noon. The corner of Seventh and Maple. Starbucks.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. Be there.” Muller started to walk away.
“If this works out you think maybe there’d be some more work for me?”
“I might be away for a while. But, yeah, maybe. If you handle it right.”
“I do a good job, mister. Hey, what’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
The kid nodded. “That’s cool. Sure . . . . One other thing? What about the watch?”
“I’ll dispose of the evidence for you.”
After the kid was gone Muller walked slowly to the mouth of the alley and peeked out. No sign of Carnegie’s surveillance team. He’d been careful to lose them but they had this almost magical ability to appear from nowhere and nail him with their Big Ear mikes and telephoto lenses.
Pulling on his Oakland baseball cap and lowering his head, he stepped out of the alley and walked down the sidewalk fast, as if satellites were tracking his position from ten thousand miles in space.
The next morning William Carnegie was late coming into the office.
Since he’d screwed up by missing the parent-teacher meeting yesterday he’d forced himself to have breakfast with his wife and Billy.
When he walked into the police station at nine-thirty Sergeant Hager told him, “Muller’s been doing some shopping you ought to know about.”
“What?”
“He left his house an hour ago. Our boys tailed him to the mall. They lost him but not long after that we got a charge notice from one of his credit card companies. At Books ’N’ Java he bought six books. We don’t know exactly what they were but the product code from the store listed them as travel books. Then he left the mall and spent thirty-eight dollars for two boxes of nine-millimeter ammunition at Tyler’s Gun Shop.”
“Jesus. I always figured him for a shooter. The guards at Anco’re lucky they didn’t hear him breaking in; he would’ve taken them out. I know it . . . . Did the surveillance team pick him up again?”
“Nope. They went back to his house to wait.”
“Got something else,” called a young policewoman nearby. “He charged forty-four dollars’ worth of tools at Home Depot.”
Carnegie mused, “So, he’s armed and sounds like he’s planning another heist. Then he’s going to flee the state.” Gazing at one of the computer screens, he asked absently, “What’re you going after this time, Muller? A business, a house?”
Hager’s phone rang. He answered and listened. “That was the babysitter in front of Muller’s. He’s back home. Only something funny. He was on foot. He must’ve parked up the street someplace.” He listened some more. “They say there’s a painting truck in his driveway. Maybe that’s why.”
“No. He’s up to something. I don’t trust anything that man does.”
“Got another notice!” one officer called. “He just went online . . . .” The police had no court order allowing them to view the content of what Muller downloaded, though they could observe the sites he was connected to. “Okay. He’s on the Anderson & Cross website.”
“The burglar alarm company?” Carnegie asked, his heart pounding with excitement.
“Yep.”
A few minutes later the officer called, “Now he’s checking out Travel-Central dot com.”
A service that lets you make airline reservations online.
“Tell surveillance we’ll let them know as soon as he goes offline. They should be ready to move. I’ve got a feeling this’s going to happen fast.”
We’ve got you now, Carnegie thought. Then
“Drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t ever go near ’em. And you shouldn’t either. They’ll screw up your life. Remember that . . . . Meet me tomorrow, okay?”
“When?”
“Noon. The corner of Seventh and Maple. Starbucks.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. Be there.” Muller started to walk away.
“If this works out you think maybe there’d be some more work for me?”
“I might be away for a while. But, yeah, maybe. If you handle it right.”
“I do a good job, mister. Hey, what’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
The kid nodded. “That’s cool. Sure . . . . One other thing? What about the watch?”
“I’ll dispose of the evidence for you.”
After the kid was gone Muller walked slowly to the mouth of the alley and peeked out. No sign of Carnegie’s surveillance team. He’d been careful to lose them but they had this almost magical ability to appear from nowhere and nail him with their Big Ear mikes and telephoto lenses.
Pulling on his Oakland baseball cap and lowering his head, he stepped out of the alley and walked down the sidewalk fast, as if satellites were tracking his position from ten thousand miles in space.
The next morning William Carnegie was late coming into the office.
Since he’d screwed up by missing the parent-teacher meeting yesterday he’d forced himself to have breakfast with his wife and Billy.
When he walked into the police station at nine-thirty Sergeant Hager told him, “Muller’s been doing some shopping you ought to know about.”
“What?”
“He left his house an hour ago. Our boys tailed him to the mall. They lost him but not long after that we got a charge notice from one of his credit card companies. At Books ’N’ Java he bought six books. We don’t know exactly what they were but the product code from the store listed them as travel books. Then he left the mall and spent thirty-eight dollars for two boxes of nine-millimeter ammunition at Tyler’s Gun Shop.”
“Jesus. I always figured him for a shooter. The guards at Anco’re lucky they didn’t hear him breaking in; he would’ve taken them out. I know it . . . . Did the surveillance team pick him up again?”
“Nope. They went back to his house to wait.”
“Got something else,” called a young policewoman nearby. “He charged forty-four dollars’ worth of tools at Home Depot.”
Carnegie mused, “So, he’s armed and sounds like he’s planning another heist. Then he’s going to flee the state.” Gazing at one of the computer screens, he asked absently, “What’re you going after this time, Muller? A business, a house?”
Hager’s phone rang. He answered and listened. “That was the babysitter in front of Muller’s. He’s back home. Only something funny. He was on foot. He must’ve parked up the street someplace.” He listened some more. “They say there’s a painting truck in his driveway. Maybe that’s why.”
“No. He’s up to something. I don’t trust anything that man does.”
“Got another notice!” one officer called. “He just went online . . . .” The police had no court order allowing them to view the content of what Muller downloaded, though they could observe the sites he was connected to. “Okay. He’s on the Anderson & Cross website.”
“The burglar alarm company?” Carnegie asked, his heart pounding with excitement.
“Yep.”
A few minutes later the officer called, “Now he’s checking out Travel-Central dot com.”
A service that lets you make airline reservations online.
“Tell surveillance we’ll let them know as soon as he goes offline. They should be ready to move. I’ve got a feeling this’s going to happen fast.”
We’ve got you now, Carnegie thought. Then
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