Part 23 (1/2)
”Thanks, Charlie, I'm glad to know that.”
”I'm sure he'll have that list up for you by tomorrow, even if he has to work on it all night.”
”Tell him I said thanks,” I said.
”Tell him yourself,” said Charlie One Ear. ”I'm off for the hall of records.”
Cowboy Lewis was right where I left him, laboring over his errant notebook.
”Cowboy, don't kill yourself on that, okay?”
”Tomorrow,” he said, shoving the baseball cap back on his head. ”I got to tail that Logeto tonight but I'll have it tomorrow.”
”Thanks. ”
”By the way, Zapata said to tell you he went out to find that creep that shot you.”
”His name's Turk Nance,” I said.
”Turk Nance, right.” He smiled. ”Zapata'll find him, you can put that in the bank.”
”I'll thank him when I see him,” I said.
”I think I'm going to have to take writing lessons,” he said as I was leaving. ”I can't read my own f.u.c.kin' writing.”
As I headed for the door a new figure loomed in my path. It was the cop with the waffle-iron features.
”We didn't have a chance to get acquainted last night,” he said. ”I'm Kite Lange.”
”Jake Kilmer.”
”I'm a good wire man,” he said. ”You need anything wired, you call me, okay? I can bug a fly in motion right in front of your face, you wouldn't see me do it.”
”Terrific.”
”I'm not bragging,” he said, and his battered features broke into a smile. ”It's a G.o.d-given talent.”
”And I'm sure you don't abuse it,” I said.
”Not unless somebody asks me to,” said Kite, then he added, ”I hear you were in Nam.”
”Yeah,” I said.
”When was that?”
”'67, '68. I got held up coming home by Tet.”
”What outfit?”
”Military intelligence. How about you?”
”Medevac chopper pilot,” he said.
”How many missions did you fly?” I asked.
”You'd throw up if I told you.”
I hesitated for a moment before asking him the next question, but I figured, what the h.e.l.l. I was getting to be one of the boys.
”Mind if I ask you a personal question?” I said.
”Shoot. ”
”How did you f.u.c.k up and get in this squad?”
Lange's smashed face bunched up and he howled.
”Hey, that's getting right to the point,” he said. ”Well, I was flying helicopter traffic control for the Denver PD. Three guys heisted a bank and I was tailing them at about five hundred feet. A blue and white was closing in on them but he lost his car and went off the road. So I dropped right down on top of the getaway car. You know, a couple of feet. I was hanging right in there, radioing back his position, trying to force him off the road, when we came to a railroad bridge. At the last minute I had to pull up to get over it.”
”Yeah.”
”I didn't see the freight train that was crossing the bridge at the time. Flew right into an open boxcar. It happened to be the mayor's favorite chopper. Had his name on the side and everything. You should of seen it, the chopper, I mean.” He stopped a moment and chuckled. ”It looked like the Jolly Green Giant had it for lunch.”
”So you got the old heave-ho for breaking the mayor's toy, huh?”
”That, and the city had to buy a new boxcar for the train. They didn't even give me a going-away party.”
I said, ”You're lucky you lived through it.”
”What d'ya think happened to my face?” Kite said, still grinning.
”What were you doing when Dutch found you?” I asked, expecting him to tell me he was selling used cars or something.
”A traffic gig in Roanoke, Virginia, with a lady reporter,” he said. ”It was kind of demeaning after doing police work, but it had its moments. She used to give me head on the way back from the afternoon rush every day.”
It was my turn to laugh. ”You must be some kind of pilot,” I said.
”After Nam, it's all pie a la mode.”
Then I got an idea. I still don't believe what I did next. Old Mr. Due Process, ex-lawyer, always-do-it-right Kilmer. Maybe the hooligans were beginning to rub off on me.
”I got an idea,” I said.
”Shoot. ”
”You know the Seacoast Bank's main branch down near the river?”