Jamie Hill Triple Threat (47 page)

"Great, thanks." Gina smiled up at her friend.

"So,
Warren
's on the warpath tonight?"

Gina shrugged. "Same old, same old. Give him some space, he'll blow over like a big old bag of wind."

Julie grinned and looked at Brady. "I can't imagine why he gets irritated with her, can you?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

She nudged his arm. "Minnie's coming on stage again soon. I think you'll like this next getup as much as the last one."

"Oh, thanks." He rolled his eyes as she walked away, laughing.

Gina pinched his arm. "Checking out Minnie, were you? I thought I was the only show you were interested in, here."

"Ouch!" He jerked away. Even through his jacket and shirt, she had one mean pinch. "I was waiting for you. I couldn't help but notice…"

"
Donnaillo
." She popped a chip in her mouth. "Some things never change, eh?"

Brady shook a finger at her. "You're the only woman I've looked at for a while now. Admit it, you know it's true."

She grabbed his finger and squeezed. "Aw, I know it, you big flirt. So tell me, how was your day?"

"Long, and full of meetings."

"Good. When you're in the office, at least I know you're safe. So, did the meetings go well?"

"Eh." He shrugged. "Hard to tell. We might have something, or we might not. Can't be sure until we dig a little deeper."

"Was Mr. Allen cooperative?"

He blinked. "How did you know I was talking to Allen?"

Gina tossed a strand of hair over her shoulder. "You told me,
scemo
. On the phone earlier."

"Stop calling me a fool. I've figured out these names you insist on using, so either dredge up some new ones…or maybe you should talk a little nicer to me."

Gina grinned. "Ah,
ti amo, caro
. You want to be sweet talked? Meet me at my place, later tonight. I'll sweet talk your ear off, and then I'll…" she leaned in and whispered a naughty suggestion in his ear.

He chuckled and felt the heat of his face blushing. "I let you kiss me with that mouth? I must be mad. I wish I could be there when you get home from work. It'll be awfully late, and I have a busy day tomorrow."

She shrugged and threw up her hands. "Don't say I didn't offer."

He winked at her. "I'd never say that. Oh, and I love you, too."

Gina smiled.

* * * *

Brady had a message from Joey Costa the next morning, explaining he had an early meeting with Mike Hampton in Narcotics. Going over the files again, with a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand, Brady hoped Costa came up with something. They could use a break on this case.

He remembered a question he had for Richard Allen and dialed the man's number. The phone simply rang, no answering machine or voicemail kicked in. Brady looked at his watch. Not yet eight-thirty.
Is it strange that Allen's not answering, or am I being paranoid?
Before he could dwell on it further, his cell phone rang. Brady reached into his pocket and pulled it out, looking at the screen.
Costa.
He answered it. "
Marshall
."

"I think you should get up here. Mike Hampton has some information about Roy Watts, and you're going to want to hear it from him."

"On my way." Brady pocketed his phone, and headed for the elevator. He ascended to the Narcotics Division and looked around the bullpen, not spotting Mike or Costa.

"Can I help you?" a secretary asked.

"Mike Hampton?"

She nodded. "They're in the conference room to the back and left."

"Thanks." He nodded to her and as he walked off, realized he'd forgotten to check her out. Brady smiled. Gina would be proud.

He approached the conference room and rapped on the door.

"Come in," someone called.

He entered and saw Costa and two other men around the table. Hampton he recognized, dark hair, glasses, a decent fellow. The other man was younger, in casual clothes, with longish sandy hair. "Hey," Brady acknowledged.

"
Marshall
, good to see you."
Hampton
motioned to a chair. "I had no idea you were working Roy Watts' case. I tried to talk to that little fucker, Stone, in Homicide, but got nowhere. Frankly, I let it drop."

Brady sat. "Let what drop, Mike?"

"
Watts
was a CI." He nodded toward the other man. "Grossman, here, was working undercover.
Watts
reported to him."

"A CI?" Brady processed the information.

Costa nodded knowingly. "Confidential Informant."

Brady shot an eye roll at Costa. "I got that much. I'm thinking this through." He looked at Grossman. "You're a cop? Not sure we've ever met. You look about twelve."

Grossman smiled. "I'm twenty-five, sir. I stay pretty deep undercover most of the time. I was working with
Watts
for several months. He was the financial guy for Allen Imports but got caught running a little side business of his own. When the arresting officers figured out he might be willing to squeal instead of take his lumps, the lieutenant hooked him up with me."

"
Watts
was importing drugs?"

"Oh, no, my friend.
Watts
was a small cog in the big wheel of drug running that's been going on. The man in charge also has an import company, but was smart enough not to involve his own business, exactly because of something like what happened last week. When the drugs are discovered, the company goes under a microscope. So Mr. Big uses
Watts
who uses Allen Imports, and they all get along fine."

"Until…?" Brady rapped his fingers on the table.
These things never stay fine for long
.

Grossman shrugged. "Apparently until
Watts
started two-timing Mr. Big, who he was using to two-time Richard Allen."

Hampton
looked at Grossman. "Does that make him a four-timer?"

"At least." Grossman nodded. He looked at Brady. "
Watts
had been keeping records of all the illegal transactions from day one. He had a notebook with names, dates, shipment instructions and values."

"Had."
Brady could tell by the look on Grossman's face not to get too excited.

"Exactly. He was prepared to hand it over to me, when,
viola
, he turns up dead in an alley behind the Pink Banana Strip Club."

Brady nodded, all too aware of the details from that point on. "So the notebook is gone. Did he give you any information? Names, companies, anything? Do we know who Mr. Big is?"

"
Watts
was pretty cautious when we spoke. He knew gathering Intel was hazardous to his health, and was making plans to disappear to the
Bahamas
, as soon as we broke the case." Grossman opened a file on the table in front of him. "There are a couple of possibilities for Mr. Big. The first is Gianni Macchio. Runs a place called East End Imports."

Brady and Costa exchanged glances. "We know it well," Brady informed the men. "Costa and I were there last week when their security guard took a shot at us. Grazed my arm, and royally pissed me off."

Costa nodded. "We understood that Macchio isn't involved anymore. His son has taken over. Dominic Morrow. Goes by the name D. Morrow."

Grossman shook his head. "Don't know about that.
Watts
talked about two people, Macchio and Victor Moretti. He made it sound like these guys were into more than simple import and export."

"Ah, the elusive Victor Moretti." Brady folded his arms across his chest. "We spoke with his CEO. Not nearly as friendly a guy as Morrow. But we never got to Moretti, either."

Shoving his file across the table to Brady, Grossman raised his eyebrows. "You might want to tread lightly with these guys.
Watts
led me to believe there's some kind of an Italian mafia thing happening there. He was never tight enough with them to be in on it. But he was aware of it, and very, very afraid."

"As he should have been,"
Hampton
commented wryly.

"No shit." Brady took the file. "Can I keep this a while?"

"I made you copies." Grossman nodded.

Costa stood and paced the room, an irritated expression on his face. "Italian mafia. That's such a fucking stereotype. Totally pisses me off."

Brady rose and looked at him. His situation with Gina gave him empathy for the Italian detective, but it was tough to refute evidence. "Sometimes stereotypes are based in fact, man. That's where they come from to begin with."

Costa smiled at him grimly. "Still pisses me off."

Grossman leaned back in his chair. "You won't find a lot of cold, hard evidence in that file, which is why we haven't acted on anything yet.
Watts
gave us a couple of names with some rumblings. I'm sorry to say we didn't get further."

Holding up the file, Brady shook it. "More pieces to the puzzle, kid. We just have to make them all fit. Thanks for the information."

They exchanged pleasantries and Brady left.

Costa hurried to catch up. "What do you think?"

"I think we need to find Macchio and Moretti and have a chat." He punched the elevator button and they rode back to their floor.

"You weren't sure East Asian Imports was going to be there when we got back."

Brady shrugged. "Let's find out. I want to try to call Richard Allen one more time." He punched the buttons on the phone at his desk and listened as the phone continued to ring.

"It's pretty early," Costa offered, tossing a fragrant bag on his desk.

"What you got there?" Brady asked as if he didn't know.

"I brought crullers." Costa fetched two cups of coffee and returned, opening the bag.

"Thanks." Brady disconnected the still-ringing call. He shuffled through the papers on his desk and found the phone number to Allen Imports. If Allen was going to work, he might be there by now. He dialed the business number.

"Allen Imports," a female voice answered.

"Richard Allen, please," Brady said pleasantly.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Allen isn't in yet."

"Is he usually there by now?" Brady's mind raced.

"Um, most days." She sounded uncomfortable.

"No idea when to expect him?"

"Not really, no. Sorry."

"Thank you." Brady hung up and looked at Costa. "Allen's not at work. I don't have a great feeling about this."

"We just talked to him yesterday! You think someone found out already? Or do you think he hightailed it out of town as soon as we set him free?"

"Not sure." Brady picked up his phone and used the intercom system to call his lieutenant. "Could you get a car over to Richard Allen's place this morning? He's suddenly gone AWOL, and I want to make sure it was of his own volition."

"We figured that would happen," Forrest snorted. "He's probably halfway to
Jamaica
by now. I hope you got all the information you needed out of him."

"I think so. He wasn't thrilled to cooperate, but I just wanted to touch base with him one more time."

"I'll send the uniforms. If he doesn't answer the door, want them to go in?"

"Yes, I do." Brady had a sinking feeling about Allen. He hoped he was wrong, but the guy didn't seem the type to pick up and take off overnight.

He hung up and looked at Costa. "One cruller, and it's time to go visiting." He polished off a roll and half a cup of coffee. When he stood, he patted his pockets for keys and phone. He felt a bulky package of cigarettes and pulled it out, tossing it on his desk.

Costa raised his brows questioningly.

Brady shrugged. "Can't explain it. Don't have much of a taste for them anymore." He left the smokes there and headed out.

Costa chuckled behind him. "What do you have a taste for these days,
Marshall
?"

They stepped into the elevator and looked at each other. Brady smiled. "You're a married man. I can't talk about it with you."

"Make that— you don't have to
explain it
to me. I've only been married four years,
amico
. Rose and I have things pretty good. Scratch that—
damned
good."

Brady glanced at him skeptically. "You have two kids. You saying things are still hot and heavy between you with two toddlers running around?"

Costa grinned. "You've seen my wife, right? She's fucking hot." He traced the outline of a shapely hourglass in the air with his hands. "The kids are icing on the cake. I'm thrilled to have two little girls that are going to grow up as pretty as their mama."