The Front by Patricia Cornwell

guy last year.”
    â€œI sort of remember that. The guy who did the DA.”
    â€œHe’s okay or he wouldn’t be here,” Stump says of Win.
    Bimbo is staring at him, then decides, “You say he’s okay, I believe you.”
    â€œSeems like he had a little problem in Lincoln. Two nights ago. Another hit, and you know what I’m saying,” Stump says.
    â€œA lot of stuff coming in,” Bimbo says. “What got hit?”
    â€œHuge house, four million dollars. Right before they were going to hang the drywall, someone comes in and rips out all the wiring. Now the builder’s got to hire round-the-clock security so it doesn’t happen again.”
    â€œWhat do you want?” Bimbo shrugs his huge shoulders. “Copper don’t talk to me. I got in a lot of wire the last two days, already at the smelter.”
    Raggedy Ann pushes in another cart loaded with scrap copper, parks it on the scale. She pays no attention to Stump, to Win. They don’t exist.
    Bimbo says to Stump, “I’ll keep my eye out. Last thing I want is that kind of thing going on. I run a clean business.”
    â€œRight. A clean business,” Stump says, as she and Win walk off. “The only thing not stolen around here is the damn pavement.”
    â€œYou just gave me up to that dirtbag,” Win says angrily, as they climb back into her car.
    â€œNobody down here cares who you are. As long as Bimbo doesn’t. And now he’s cool with you, thanks to me.”
    â€œThanks nothing. You don’t get to give me up to anybody without my permission.”
    â€œYou’re now on the FRONT’s turf. You’re a guest, and the house rules are ours, not yours.”
    â€œYour turf? Am I hearing a different song? Seems like as recently as this morning you didn’t want me on your turf. In fact, you’ve told me more than once to get lost.”
    â€œMy introducing you to Bimbo’s part of the game. It tells him you’re with me, so if he sees you again—or anybody else does, no big deal.”
    â€œWhy would he ever see me again?”
    â€œAlways a good chance somebody will get murdered down here. So it’s your jurisdiction. I just got you a passport. You don’t have to thank me. And just in case you didn’t understand what I meant about Raggedy Ann? Now you know I’m serious. Avoid her.”
    â€œThen tell her to quit writing me notes.”
    â€œI have.”
    â€œYou said she’s a thief. That’s how she got the copper?”
    â€œThe copper you just watched her unload wasn’t stolen. I’ve got a contractor friend who does me a favor. I give her enough scrap to get her to Bimbo’s once, twice a week.”
    â€œDoes he know she’s an informant?”
    â€œThat would kind of defeat the purpose.”
    â€œI’m asking if he or anyone suspects it.”
    â€œNo reason to. She’s into everything, has been for years. A shame. Came from a really good family but like a lot of kids, got into drugs. Heroin, oxys. Eventually started tricking, stealing, to support her habit. Did two years in prison for stabbing some guy who was pimping her—mistake was not killing the SOB. She gets out of prison and was right back at it. I got her into a meth clinic, into protected housing. Long and short of it, she’s valuable to me and I don’t want her dead.”
    As they drive past more rusting sheds, bump over railroad tracks, her cell phone rings several times. She doesn’t answer it.
    â€œI lost one a couple of Christmases ago,” she goes on. “Got burned by a task force cop who had sex with her, decided to name her in an affidavit so no one would believe her if she ratted him out. So he rats her out first. Next thing, she’s got a bullet in her head.”
    Her cell phone rings again, and she pushes a button to silence it. Four times now since they left the scrapyard, and she