Part 26 (2/2)
”If they did, would you tell me?”
”Ah ... probably not.”
”Okay, Whoosh,” I said. ”If you hear any chatter about the Chad Brown killings, give me a holler.”
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled my car into the lot at the Tongue and Groove just in time to watch Joseph DeLucca shove a half-dozen pickets from the Sword of G.o.d off the stairs into snow.
”a.s.sholes have been ha.s.sling the customers all afternoon,” he told me. ”They keep hollering about how I'm goin' straight to h.e.l.l. I told the f.u.c.kers I look forward to seeing 'em there.”
We walked out of the light into the dark and took adjoining stools at the bar. Christmas was just two weeks off, and the place was festooned with pine boughs, tinsel, and twinkling colored lights. The bartender popped the tops on a couple of Buds, clunked them on the bar in front of us, and wandered off without asking for money.
”How's the leg?” I asked.
”It's healing up good.”
”Glad to hear it,” I said. ”By the way, I want to thank you for that tip on the bodies at Chad Brown.” It was a shot in the dark. When his small eyes flew open, I thought I might have scored a hit, but I couldn't be sure.
”No idea what you're talkin' about,” he said.
I was about to press the point when a slim, small-breasted girl in high heels, a G-string, and a Santa hat bounced up and wrapped her arms around my neck.
”Alo, beebe. You come back to spen' some moany on DEZ-tin-ee?”
”Not today, Marical.”
She stood on tiptoes, beamed at me, and brushed her brown nipples across my lips.
”Pleeze, beebe. I make you world go round like craysee.”
The complimentary card for a trip around the world was in the wallet in my hip pocket. I swear I felt it vibrate.
”Sorry, darlin',” I said, and her face fell. She pouted, threw me a look that said her heart had just been shattered by the man of her dreams, and took her routine to a fatso in a plaid work s.h.i.+rt at the other end of the bar.
”My G.o.d, she's beautiful,” I said.
”Yeah,” Joseph said. ”And she can suck a hard-boiled egg through a screen door.”
”Know this from experience?”
”Oh, yeah.”
I took a small sip of Bud and tried to block out the image.
”So, Joseph,” I said, ”do you think the Maniellas have been making child p.o.r.n videos?”
”How the f.u.c.k should I know?”
The bartender was lurking now, interested in our conversation, so we spun around on our stools to watch a lone dancer swinging from a stripper pole.
”Somethin' wrong with your beer?” Joseph said.
”My doctor says I've got to quit the booze,” I said, and Joseph gasped as if he'd been told the worst news in the world.
Parisi's Crown Vic was already in the Johnston Town Hall parking lot when I pulled in beside it and rolled down my window.
”Somebody copied the address books and e-mails off the computers in the death house at Chad Brown,” he said. ”Loaded them onto some kind of portable hard drive. Was it you?”
”I'm a Luddite, Captain. I wouldn't have any idea how to do that.”
”You better not be lying to me, wisea.s.s.”
”I wouldn't dare.”
”Sure you would.”
”Okay, I guess I would. But I'm not.”
A five-second delay, and then: ”If it wasn't you, it must have been the perps.”
”Copied stuff from the smashed laptops, too?”
”Yeah.”
”How can you tell?”
”I can't. The department computer nerd figured it out by fiddling with the hard drives.”
”Fiddling?”
”Yeah.”
”You sure know your techie lingo.”
”f.u.c.k you,” he said, and shot me a look that could make Dirty Harry cry out for his mama. In all the years I'd known him, Parisi had always been as alert as an eagle and as well-groomed as a show dog. Today, his hair was tousled, he needed a shave, and the light had leaked out of his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
”What do you suppose they wanted the e-mails for?”
”Don't know.”
”Did they wipe them off the hard drive after they copied them?”
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