7-Eleven
November 28, 12.45 p.m.
The wipers on Eddie’s red Pontiac struggled against a scuzzy grey sleet as they drove at high speed up to Harlem through the post-vacation traffic. Shoppers laden with bags from the pre-Christmas sales hunkered down into their coats, carelessly stepping into the stream of cars and cabs as they hurried to the subway.
Up in East Harlem, Eddie slammed the car hard against the kerbstone and both cops rushed out towards the 7-Eleven. The door jangled and hit a wire stack of magazines but no one appeared at the counter. ‘Police! Can we get someone out here now!’
Benny Marconi, in a different coloured Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, appeared from the back, pushing a kickstool with his toe.
‘What’s the fucking noise for?’
‘We got to talk to you, now,’ said Harper. ‘Your man, the big guy who works here, where is he?’
The short guy stood up and looked them up and down. ‘Not again, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s out. What’s it to you?’
‘Listen, Mr Marconi, we’re investigating a homicide case and we need to speak to the big guy. Where is he?’
Benny laughed out loud. ‘Are you kidding me? Fuck you! We don’t hear nothing out here. We don’t know nothing. All I know is he’s not here.’
‘I promise we ain’t kidding you,’ said Eddie, moving up tight to the storekeeper. ‘I can have twenty detectives tear the store to pieces, close you down for so long you ain’t never gonna open again.’
‘You think the fucking shakedown is gonna work on me? Forget it. Show me a warrant. You ain’t got a thing. Go find him yourself.’
Harper turned quickly. ‘What name does he go by here?’
‘He’s called Redtop, on account of his preference for wearing the same top every day of his life. I gave him the name.’
‘What about his real name for payroll?’
‘I pay him cash. He’s called Mo. I don’t know any more.’
‘You got an address?’
‘No. Don’t know where he lives. I pay him peanuts and I pay him daily. He’s only just started. He’s the cheapest labour I ever had so I ain’t asking questions.’
‘You want to be an accessory after the fact in a major homicide case, Mr Marconi? Now, give us his address.’
The man went into the back store and came out with a ledger. He put it on the desk and turned it to them.
‘This is his employment record. It’s all I got.’ On the page was the name Mo and a straight line under the address. ‘I don’t know where this man lives or even if he has a place to live. He carries a laundry bag everywhere, maybe he lives out of that.’
Harper handed him a card. ‘The moment you hear from this guy, you call me. He could be a killer.’
Benny laughed. ‘He’s not a killer. He can’t even swat a fly.’
‘Call us,’ said Tom.
They didn’t know if this had anything to do with the American Devil but Harper felt this was the nearest they’d been since the beginning. They just had to find this guy now. How hard could it be to find a man like that in Harlem?
They walked out of the store. ‘I’ve got a team coming up to watch the 7-Eleven. What do you say we do, Tom?’ asked Eddie.
Tom wasn’t sure. He stopped for a moment. ‘The thing that’s bothering me is this. If he’s got Lucy James hidden somewhere in the city and we spook him, she could starve to death. We got to tread carefully. Can you get any more bodies up here to walk the streets?’
‘I’ll call in some favours,’ said Eddie.