Part 44 (2/2)

”Hoisin sauce,” I said. ”I hope.”

”How long since they moved her?”

I looked inside the closest cartons. ”Two hours, maybe.”

”s.h.i.+t.”

”So let's go,” Villanueva said. ”Let's go find her.”

”Five minutes,” Duffy said. ”I need to get something I can give to ATF. To make this whole thing right.”

”We haven't got five minutes,” Villanueva said.

”Two minutes,” I said. ”Grab what you can and look at it later.”

We backed out of the cell. n.o.body looked at the charnel house opposite. Duffy led us back to the room with the Oriental carpet. Smart choice, I thought. It was probably Quinn's office. He was the kind of guy who would give himself a rug. She took a thick file marked Pending from a desk drawer and pulled all the lists off the cork board.

”Let's go,” Villanueva said again.

We came out through the front door exactly four minutes after I had gone in through the bathroom window. It felt more like four hours. We piled into the gray Taurus and were back on Route One a minute after that.

”Stay north,” I said. ”Head for the city center.”

We were quiet at first. n.o.body looked at anybody. n.o.body spoke. We were thinking about the maid. I was in the back and Duffy was in the front with Quinn's paperwork spread over her knees. Traffic across the bridge was slow. There were shoppers heading into the city. The roadway was slick with rain and salt spray. Duffy shuffled papers, glancing at one after another. Then she broke the silence. It was a relief.

”This all is pretty cryptic,” she said. ”We've got an XX and a BB. ”

”Xavier Export Company and Bizarre Bazaar,” I said.

”BB is importing,” she said. ”XX is exporting. But they're obviously linked. They're like two halves of the same operation.”

”I don't care,” I said. ”I just want Quinn.”

”And Teresa,” Villanueva said.

”First-quarter spreadsheet,” Duffy said. ”They're on track to turn over twenty-two million dollars this year. That's a lot of guns, I guess.”

”Quarter-million Sat.u.r.day Night Specials,” I said. ”Or four Abrams tanks.”

”Mossberg,” Duffy said. ”You heard that name?”

”Why?” I said.

”XX just received a s.h.i.+pment from them.”

”O.F. Mossberg and Sons,” I said. ”From New Haven, Connecticut. Shotgun manufacturer.”

”What's a Persuader?”

”A shotgun,” I said. ”The Mossberg M500 Persuader. It's a paramilitary weapon.”

”XX is sending Persuaders someplace. Two hundred of them. Total invoice value sixty thousand dollars. Basically in exchange for something BB is receiving.”

”Import-export,” I said. ”That's how it works.”

”But the prices don't add up,” she said. ”BB's incoming s.h.i.+pment is invoiced at seventy thousand. So XX is coming out ten thousand dollars ahead.”

”The magic of capitalism,” I said.

”No, wait, there's another item. Now it balances. Two hundred Mossberg Persuaders plus a ten-thousand-dollar bonus item to make the values match.”

”What's the bonus item?” I said.

”It doesn't say. What would be worth ten grand?”

”I don't care,” I said again.

She shuffled more paper.

”Keast and Maden,” she said. ”Where did we see those names?”

”The building behind Quinn's,” I said. ”The caterers.”

”He hired them,” she said. ”They're delivering something today.”

”Where?”

”Doesn't say.”

”What kind of something?”

”Doesn't say. Eighteen items at fifty-five dollars each. Almost a thousand dollars' worth of something.”

”Where to now?” Villanueva said.

We were off the bridge and looping north and west, with the park on our left.

”Make the second right,” I said.

We pulled straight into Missionary House's underground garage. There was a rent-a-cop in a fancy uniform in a booth. He logged us in without paying a whole lot of attention.

Then Villanueva showed him his DEA badge and told him to sit tight and keep quiet.

Told him not to call anybody. Behind him the garage was quiet. There were maybe eighty s.p.a.ces and fewer than a dozen cars in them. But one of them was the gray Grand Marquis I had seen outside Beck's warehouse that morning.

”This is where I took the photographs,” Duffy said.

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