12
They sat parked east of Lexington, where Jack had waited Friday night. Cordova had insisted on using his aging, smelly Jeep Laredo, saying he had all his equipment stowed in the back, plus they might need the four-wheel drive.
So Jack had parked his rental a couple of blocks from Cordova's Williamsbridge house and cabbed to Tremont Avenue. They'd met in front of Cordova's office and driven downtown together.
"What's with the gloves?" Cordova said. "It ain't that cold."
Jack looked down at his hands, tightly swathed in black leather driving gloves. "My fingers are very sensitive."
Cordova snickered. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Pardon?"
"Never mind."
Probably thought he was funny. A real comedian.
Jack eyed his suet body, his suet lace with its suet cheeks, his suet hands resting on the steering wheel, and wondered if this was the same car he'd used to snatch Sister Maggie.
Be so easy to reach over and grab his suet throat and squeeze… squeeze until he passed out. Let him wake up, then start squeezing again… and then do it again…
Jack wondered how many hours he could keep it up, how many times he could—
"Hell-o-o?" Cordova said. "Did you hear me?"
Jack shook his head, not trusting himself to speak at that moment.
"I said, What time's Brady usually head for the hills?"
Jack stared at the garage exit. Eight o'clock already and so far no sign of Brady. Jack remembered Jamie telling him about Brady's Sunday night trips, but had she said anything about time? He didn't think so. Had to improvise here.
"Varies. Sometimes early, sometimes late. But always after dark."
"Well, it's already after dark, so let's hope this is an early night. I hate stakeouts anyway. And to be frank, Lou, you ain't much of a conversationalist."
"I'll have plenty to say once I have Brady where I want him," he snapped. "I gave you your money. Don't expect chitchat too."
He noticed Cordova's quick, sidelong glance and reminded himself to remain in character.
He let out a long sigh. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Cordova. I'm usually quite a talker. Sometimes I swear I just can't shut up. But tonight I'm a little tense. No, I'm a lot tense. I mean, this just might be the night I get something on him." He reached over and laid a gentle hand on the fat man's suety shoulder. "You simply have no idea how badly I want this."
Cordova shrugged off his hand. "Easy with the touching stuff. I ain't into touching."
Jack snatched his hand back and dropped it into his lap. "Sorry."
Cordova's laugh sounded forced. "Hey, relax about the rest. If there's something to get, I'll get it."
Jack hoped they got something—the bigger the better. He had three scenarios planned. Plan A was the one most fully worked out, and would kick in if they hit pay dirt scandal-wise. If not—if Brady was involved in nothing blackmail-worthy—then Jack would go with Plan B. Plan C was the simplest and the least appealing: If Brady didn't show up tonight, Jack and Cordova would return next Sunday.
The thought of allowing Richie Cordova to go on breathing for another week made him queasy. And to have to spend another night with him in this car… that might just be too much to bear. Might force Jack into doing something rash.
"Hey," Cordova said, pointing across the street to where a black Mercedes was pulling out from the garage. "Is that our boy?"
Jack squinted at the plates. "Yes! That's him! Go! Go!"
"Just take it easy," Cordova said, singsonging as if addressing a child. "A professional doesn't tip his hand like that. We'll wait a few seconds, let another car get between us, then start after him."
Jack wrung his hands. "But we'll lose him!"
"No we won't. I guarantee it."