Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

“You’re probably too young to remember him, but you’ll recall him, John. Mick. You remember Mick?”

“Mick Harragan? Sure, who doesn’t remember Mick Harragan? How could you forget that son of a bitch?”

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. He pointed at me and turned to Dehan. “You partnered with this character now?”

“Uh-uh,” she said with no particular inflection.

“Don’t be fooled. First sight he seems polite, educated, pleasant…” Sam shook his head. “He is the most insolent, outspoken, insubordinate asshole on the whole force!”

He burst out laughing again, and Dehan turned to look at me. “Golly, and I thought that was me.”

“So what about Mick?” I said. “He retired…”

I left the words hanging. Sam stopped laughing and said, “Yeah. I think he moved to Florida. Jennifer will know. They were friends. But word was Vincenzo had some kind of beef with him…” He made a long, slow shrug, staring at the floor. “Don’t quote me, John, but it’s possible—I’m just tossing around ideas here—but it’s possible that if you talk to the Feds, they might be able to arrange for you to talk to Pro. Maybe, I don’t know. I’m just saying…”

We watched each other for a long moment. I asked him, “You want to toss around a few ideas about whom I might talk to in the Feds?”

He grinned at Dehan. “You gotta love this guy. Who else says ‘whom’ these days? Whom would you talk to? How the hell should I know? You don’t got no contacts in the bureau? Pfff… just off the top of my head, you might try Paul Harrison. I vaguely remember he was involved at the time.” He made an impatient face. “But hell, John! That was ten years ago. And I’m getting old. I don’t want Feds and the Mob knocking on my door at my age, you know what I’m telling you?”

I nodded. “I hear you, Sam. No worries. I’m sorry you couldn’t be more useful. Shame this was such a wasted fucking trip.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. More seriously, I said, “Thanks, Sam. I won’t get you involved.”

I stood and he showed us out. At the door he said, “Stop by sometime. Have a beer. You won’t crack it, but if you do, come tell me about it.”

I told him I would, and we left.

Two

I called the bureau from my car. They eventually put me through to Special Agent Paul Harrison.

“What can I do for you, Detective Stone.”

“I’d rather discuss it in person, if it’s all the same to you, but broadly, it concerns a cold case that might involve the Mob. I figured you could give us some guidance.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, “You asked for me personally, Detective Stone.”

“I was told you were indirectly involved in the cold case.”

“Mind telling me what the case was?”

“Not at all. I’ll tell you all about it, when we meet.”

“Who gave you my name?”

“Nelson Hernandez. Is there a reason you don’t want to meet, Special Agent Harrison?”

“No, not at all. Can you make it today?”

“I can be there in an hour.”

“Okay, call me when you’re arriving. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I put down the phone and looked at Dehan. “Comments?”

The Jag growled the way only a Jag can, and we pulled out into the traffic.

“Why didn’t he do this ten years ago?”

I nodded. “You got any pets, Dehan?”

She stared at me. “Pets? Yeah, I got two rats. They live under the floorboards. I call them Bill and Hillary, and I feed them live Realtors and the occasional journalist.”

I laughed. “Boy! Just press any button and you go, huh?”

“What kind of dumb-ass question is that? Do I got pets?”

“Okay. You’ve got two rats that you feed living Realtors to. What’s Sam got?”

She sighed, nodded, and spread her hands. “Yeah, okay. He’s got pussycats.”

“Lots of them. And they are probably called Mr. Fluffy and Mrs. Cuddles. He was a couple of years from retirement and somebody advised him not to waste his time on a case where there was no material evidence, and above all, the witnesses were too shit scared to come forward.”

After a while she said, “Yeah. You’re deep. You see that in Mr. Fluffy and Mrs. Cuddles.”

“Nah…” I smiled at her. “I just left my anger at home with my attitude. Anger clouds the mind, little grasshopper.”

“This the kind of shit that makes you a dinosaur?”

“Yup.”

Special Agent Paul Harrison met us in the lobby and led us straight out again onto Broadway. We walked down Duane Street and onto Lafayette, toward Foley Square and the Thomas Paine gardens. He was a big man with slow, deliberate movements and intelligent eyes.

“I am extremely curious, Detectives,” he said as we walked, “to know what this is all about and why you think I, in particular, can help you.”

“We would like to speak to Morry ‘Pro’ Levy,” I said.

There was a trace of amusement on his face. “I am sure there are a lot of people who feel that way.”

We crossed Lafayette, weaving through the cars, and walked toward the gardens. I said to Harrison, “Do I look twenty-two to you?” He eyed me but didn’t answer. “’Cause, if I was fresh out of college I’d be about twenty-two, right? How many Feds do you think I’ve dealt with in the last twenty-eight years? You think I have nothing better to do with my day than waste my time pissing in the wind on Broadway?” He drew breath to answer, but I didn’t let him. “Do us both a favor, Harrison, don’t insult my intelligence by patronizing me, okay? If I’m here talking to you it’s because I