At Their Own Game (21 page)

“That doesn’t seem very safe,” I said.
 

“I agree.”
 

“Then why isn’t the GPS constant?”
 

“
Falterquist versus City of Bremerton
,” he said. “Affirmed in State Supreme Court.”
 

Damn. I really needed to catch up on my case law.
 

I changed the subject. “Does the receiver hold the recording?”
 

“Yes,” Manning said. “But only as a failsafe. The device broadcasts back to us on an encrypted frequency. We record a copy on the computer here at headquarters and on the mobile device inside the field van.”
 

“So three copies, total.”
 

He nodded. “Why?”
 

“Just want to know what I’m dealing with.”
 

His expression betrayed a hint of suspicion. I didn’t bother trying to allay those suspicions. Let him wonder.
 

Manning finished his briefing, ending with a rendezvous point after the deal.
 

I stood and offered my hand. Manning looked at it for a moment, then took it. I could see the distaste riding under the brisk, military exterior.
 

“Good luck,” he said.
 

“And to you,” I told him.
 

He escorted me out of the building without another word. Once I was in the parking lot, I checked my watch.
 

Twelve-ten.
 

It was almost go time.
 

TWENTY-TWO
 

At twelve-thirty, I parked up the block from Niko’s. For about ten minutes, I watched the street for any signs of police activity. A patrol car cruised by at one point but that didn’t bother me. Downtown is heavily patrolled and the cop behind the wheel wasn’t looking for anyone or anything in particular as far as I could tell.
 

After ten minutes, I got out of the car and wandered toward the restaurant. I cast an eye up to the windows that would have a good view of the front door. Gratefully, none of them were mirrored and I could see into each office. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just corporate America plodding along, grinding out another day.
 

Still, I knew the cops were smart. They might try to set up a blind in the window and shoot film from behind it. They’d use a façade of an office cubicle to camouflage their presence. Did I leave them enough time, though? They’d have to locate the space, secure it, and set up a blind. That wasn’t counting the time it took to get the operation authorized, pick a team and set a plan.
 

I figured it was a tossup on most days, but possible. If Falkner was involved, though? I think he’d make it happen.
 

When I reached the restaurant, I stood out front and scanned the street again. Still nothing that looked out of the ordinary. I swept my gaze slowly across the windows with a line of sight on my location. Again, nothing. Lastly, I surveyed the skyline for rooftops low enough that the cops would be able to see me from atop the building.
 

Nothing.
 

Or they were that good.
 

I turned and went into the restaurant.
 

The hostess was a pretty woman in her fifties. She smiled warmly and asked if I was meeting someone.
 

I smiled back. “Yes. Can I have that table?” I pointed to the back corner.
 

“Of course.”
 

As she led me to the table, I surveyed the lunch crowd. No one paid me any attention. And no one looked like a cop, either.
 

When I sat down, she handed me a menu. “Your server will be with you shortly. Enjoy your lunch.”
 

“Thanks.”
 

After she walked away, I put my menu down without looking at it. I slowly gazed around the room, stopping at every table for a long look. I watched for surreptitious glances my way but saw none. I examined what the patrons wore, looking for hidden police equipment, especially the telltale bulge of a gun.
 

Nothing.
 

My waiter arrived.
 

“I’m waiting for a friend,” I told him. “I’ll order when he gets here.”
 

“Of course. Anything to drink while you wait?”
 

“Just water.”
 

He nodded and returned a few moments later with a tall glass of ice water. I gave him a quick once over, too, but he obviously wasn’t a cop.
 

I sat and sipped my water, watching the door and giving the customers a second examination. After about fifteen minutes, I still saw nothing. The place was clean. There were no police here.
 

I rose, dropped a five on the table and headed out. My waiter gave me a questioning look.
 

“My friend had to cancel,” I explained, and left.
 

The scene at Marconi’s was exactly the opposite. I spotted three cops without even getting out of my car. Two of them sat in the coffee shop across the street, trying to act casual in the table by the window. But if you watched them for more than ten seconds, one or the other scanned the street with a radar eye. The third cop was leaning against the building half a block away, pretending to read the free newsprint magazine at the bus stop. Problem was, two buses came and went in the short time I was watching and he didn’t even look at either one to see if it was his.
 

I didn’t bother going inside. The ones Falkner had placed there were the lucky ones. They’d be eating a nice Italian lunch on the taxpayer’s dime while they waited for me.
 

“Enjoy it, boys,” I muttered as I pulled from the curb. “You’ll even have time for dessert.”
 

I drove away, my heart sinking.
 

Goddamn it, Matt.
 

After five minutes, I stopped the car and dialed.
 

Falkner answered on the second ring. “Who is this?”
 

“You didn’t copy my cell number down when you executed the search warrant on my house?” I asked mockingly. “Sloppy work, detective.”
 

He was quiet a moment, then asked, “What do you want?”
 

“To end this bullshit between you and me.”
 

“Yeah, well, I’m working on that.”
 

“You’re doing a piss poor job.”
 

“Like you know police work, you piece of shit.”
 

“I know what shoddy police work looks like,” I said. “At least, I do now.”
 

“Fuck you. Why are you calling me?”
 

“Because I’m not coming to your little Italiano party, dickhead.”
 

“What party?”
 

“Let’s not bullshit each other, okay? Why don’t you just wait until you can figure I’m a no show, then call me back. You and I can meet and work this out. Just the two of us.”
 

“Why would I do that?”
 

“For the same reason you’re doing all of this shit.”
 

“Yeah, well, maybe you just want to get me alone so you can whack me.”
 

“
Whack
you? What is this, an episode of
The Sopranos
?” When he didn’t reply, I added, “Relax, you pussy. I’m not a bad guy. Just meet me alone.”
 

“I’ll think about it.”
 

 “Come on. Don’t be such a little bitch.” I smiled slightly. “Besides, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
 

I hung up before he could answer.
 

Time dragged by. I figured he’d have to wait at least thirty minutes past the scheduled meet time before he could call no joy on the operation. That’s if no one else heard our conversation, though I suspect Falkner would keep that private. Still, he might have to convince a sergeant or a lieutenant that the operation was a bust.  You get more than a couple of cops on a single operation and it requires a supervisor. The good part about that, though, is that the supervisor generally listens to the lead detective.
 

I turned on the radio and listened to the oldies station. It kept me from thinking too much beyond what I hoped would be my next meeting. Kept me from examining how I felt about the fact that Matt had betrayed me. Plenty of time for that later.
 

I kept an eye on the clock which always makes it go slower. But finally, at one-thirty-seven, my phone rang.
 

“Where, asshole?”
 

“First off, let’s be clear. You don’t come alone, I walk.”
 

“Whatever.”
 

“I mean it.”
 

“Fine. Where?”
 

“The old Marlboro factory building, just off Sprague.”
 

“I know where it is. But that place is closed down.”
 

“It’s empty,” I said. “And private. I’ll be in the business offices.”
 

“The place is fenced. It’s trespassing.”
 

“Seriously?”
 

I hung up the phone.
 

There had to be ten different ways to get into the old cigarette factory and the adjoining office space. It’d been empty since back when I was on the job and was a frequent unofficial shelter for the homeless, runaway kids, and for hookers and johns. Every so often, the ownership would check up on the place, realize what was going on, and file a complaint. The police would give it some attention and it would become a no fly zone for a little while. As time passed, the patrol officers would lay off, moving on to newer and more pressing concerns. Then things would slowly go back to normal for the homeless, the runaways, and the prostitutes. I was hoping that things were in the back-to-normal phase of that cycle.
 

It took me all of five minutes to find a place where the fence had been clipped from the ground up to about waist high. The chain link bent upward and in, marking this as the entrance as plainly as if it were the front door.
 

I spent another five minutes walking around the abandoned building until I spotted the open side door. A locked padlock dangled from the latch behind a broken hasp. To a casual observer, though, the door would appear secure.
 

The inside of the building stank in the way that only abandoned buildings can. Human waste, rotting wood, rust, and wet, stale air filled my nostrils.  I walked through an empty warehouse area, avoiding the puddles that had accumulated from holes in the roof. I had to rely on the ambient light that sliced through the few windows, since I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight.
 

There was a small suite of offices in the corner of the factory floor. I made for them. As I walked, I listened for movement or the sound of other people. Except for the sound of pigeons cooing in the warehouse area, the place seemed empty.
 

Eventually, I came to the staircase and took the creaky metal stairs. At the top, I entered the office. I thought it was probably the foreman’s office back when this place churned out cancer sticks.
 

I stood to the side of a window and watched and waited for Falkner.
 

He didn’t disappoint.
 

I saw him picking his way through the field to the west of the factory until he came to a different break in the fence than the one I’d used. After I scanned the area behind him to make sure he was alone, I moved to the center of the window and waved.
 

He didn’t see me right away because he was busy slipping through the small hole in the fence. It looked to me like the broken edges of the links grabbed at his clothes as he tried to pass. When he got through, he gave his jacket sleeve a jerk and pulled free. Then glanced up
and saw me. I waved. He simply responded with a short nod of his head. Then he stalked toward the nearest door.
 

I gave him another thirty seconds before I hit the activation button on my wire transmitter.
 

“Change of plans, boys,” I said in a low voice. “I’m in the old cigarette factory off Sprague Avenue. And he’s here.”
 

I knew the GPS was transmitting my coordinates, confirming what I said. For once, I hoped the Staties were as squared away as their billboard ads suggested.
 

A minute later, I heard the tinkle of a small pane of glass breaking. Falkner had found a way in.
 

“I’m up here!” I boomed.
 

His steps grew closer until they reached the bottom of the stairway. There he hesitated.
 

“In the foreman’s office,” I said.
 

“I know where the fuck you are,” he growled. “Step out onto the landing.”
 

I took a deep breath and did it. If he was going to murder me, now would be the time. But instead of gunshots, he covered me in the yellow wash of his flashlight. The beam was weak in the natural daylight that strewn through the windows of the office.
 

“Show me your hands.”
 

I held them up.
 

“Now come to me.”
 

“No,” I said. “No way. We talk in here.” I pointed to the office.
 

“Why?”
 

“It’s light. And because I said so.”
 

He hesitated again. After a moment of internal debate, he slowly climbed the stairs. He kept the flashlight aimed directly into my face, but even so, I could see he had his pistol drawn.
 

“Inside,” he hissed at me when he reached the landing.
 

I turned and walked into the office. The only furniture was an old metal desk with one leg broken. It leaned toward the small windows that looked out onto the factory floor.  The larger windows on the outside wall filled the room with ambient light.