Box Nine

Chapter Six

Peirce is in the parking lot, unlocking her Honda, when Lenore moves up next to her.

“Never a dull moment, huh, Charlotte?” Lenore says.

Peirce balks and drops her keys to the ground and Lenore says, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s not you,” Charlotte says, stooping. “I hate these briefings.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t let things get boring.”

Peirce smiles, but it’s clear she wants to get going. Lenore leans her behind against the Honda to show she’s not finished talking.

“They teamed you with the professor,” Peirce says. “Zarelli will go nuts.”

“Screw Zarelli,” Lenore says, pauses, and adds, “What’d Welby want?”

All Charlotte can say is, “Huh?”

“At the end there. When he asked to speak with you.”

Peirce straightens up, tries to square her shoulders. They stare at each other for a few seconds.

Finally, Charlotte says, “Look, Lenore—”

But Lenore cuts her off and in a low but still-friendly voice, says, “Look, Charlotte, I couldn’t care less who you sleep with, okay? I think you know that. If Welby was telling you where to meet him or what to wear tonight, great, have a goddamn ball. Doesn’t concern me.”

Charlotte nods.

“But if he was asking you about any of us … about me or Richmond or Zarelli or even the lieutenant, that’s a different story. And I won’t put up with an inside mouth. You know I won’t.”

“Put up with?” Peirce repeats.

“You know what I’m saying, Charlotte. We stay out of Welby’s way and he stays out of our way. That’s how it’s always been. If he’s saying he wants to suck on your neck, great. Get what you can. But if he’s asking you to talk about fellow officers, if he wants to know about narcotics …”

She trails off shaking her head and Peirce says, “Yeah, what?”

Lenore says, “Then you and I have a problem, Charlotte.”

There’s another round of staring, then Charlotte steps forward and sticks her key into the door lock. Without looking at Lenore, she says, “He asked me to wear this black chemise tonight. He bought it for me.”

Lenore holds back a laugh, raises up off the Honda, and says, “That’s what I thought.”

She touches Charlotte on the shoulder and takes a step away, then turns back and says, “Remember who broke you in, kid.”

Charlotte gives her own smile and says, “How could I forget, Lenore?”

She climbs in behind the wheel, kicks over the engine, and watches Lenore walk to her Barracuda, then she pulls out of the lot and takes a left toward Main Street. When she’s a couple of blocks from headquarters, she pulls the Panasonic microrecorder from her bag and thumbs the On switch.

Victor, Victor, Victor. Master of persuasion. How’d I let you talk me into this? Okay. Professional voice. It is Monday. November twentieth. Ten A.M. I’m sitting in my Honda at a red light on LeClair Ave. That digital sign on the front of the Quinsigamond National Building says it’s thirty degrees outside and there are thirty-three shopping days left till Christmas. Which reminds me, I’ve got to make a withdrawal today. It’s that time of year, Victor. So what are you getting me? [Giggle] Your favorite narc, Charlotte Peirce, and I’ve been such a good cop all year. Have you made your list, Victor, checked it twice? Okay, I’ve got the green. I’m not exactly sure what you want from me here, Victor, Mr. Mayor. Should I call you Mr. Mayor on this? How official is this, boss? That’s the bitch about this thing. Not like talking on the phone. Or pay phone in your case. No one ever answers you back. It’s just talking to yourself. The guy in the red Camaro in the next lane is staring at me, Victor. Thinks I’m nuts. Nowadays you see people talking to themselves in their cars all the time. Take a picture, schmuck. He just blew past us. It’s an ’81 Camaro. Vanity plate. Mass reg L–I-N-K. Link. Like that black guy on Mod Squad, remember? No, you wouldn’t remember. That’s the big thing about couples like us. The difference in ages. We refer to different TV shows and the other guy never gets it. I’m turning left onto Main. I’m heading for the highway. [Pause] Back again, dearest. Just rolled off the expressway and onto Kimble. I’ve decided to start with the Institute. You never said whether you wanted me to tape interviews. Should I try to hide this thing in my bra or something? You know, it’s small but not that small. Are any of these things made by American companies? Jesus. It just hit me. This isn’t it, Victor? This better not be it, Victor. It’s nice. Great. Panasonic. Voice-activated and all. But it’s not going to cut it for a Christmas gift. Not from you. Not after the past six months. That would be just like you, you know? And you probably took the money out of office expenses. Probably had that secretary buy the damned thing. I don’t know what to make of you lately. After the briefing, you say “my personal input” and — what was it? — “the investigation within the investigation.” You use these words. You’re always using words. That should be the big requirement for mayor. Forget voting. Get the guy who’s best with words and make him the boss. I don’t know why I’m going along with all this. I figure I’ve got two choices here. Either you’re, like, paranoid over the edge, or you just want to hear my voice all day. Which would be sweet. Number two would be nice. But I’ve got this feeling that you’re just one more guy with a little more power than he’s comfortable with. Okay, so back to the briefing. Obviously, there are people you don’t trust. You want a cop’s perspective, right? But it’s got to be someone you can trust. Why are you so scared, Victor? [Pause] I’ll tell you one thing right off the bat. I looked around that conference table this morning and I listened to that weird-as-they-come Oriental guy, Woo, the language guy there, and you know what hits me most of all? I’m bored. I’m bored to tears, Victor. Sorry, but that’s from the heart. Anyone with the brain of a five-year-old can see that this Lingo stuff is just one more log on the fire, you know? To me, it’s just not that interesting or different. Maybe the way it hits the brain and all makes Doc Woo all hot. Great for him. To me it’s just one more product that no one’s supposed to have. A controlled substance. That’s the term. That’s supposedly my job. Stand between the public and the product. They’ve got no right to it. Protect them from themselves. I don’t want to get into a big discussion here ’cause that’s not what this tape is for and I know how you get and it would only annoy you. But you’re right to ask my opinion. ’Cause the fact is, you and I can’t help but look at this thing from two different places. So, from my point of view, where does that leave us? The same boring vicious circle. The same system, over and over again. I’m not the smartest cop in the world, Victor, but I can’t help but think every now and then about how both sides, the dealers and the cops, live off each other. And what would happen if it really ended? If you eliminated the product? What would they do and what would we do? Someone would have to think up something else. Forget it, I’m babbling. You know what’s scary? I’m realizing that this is how my brain always works when I’m driving. Listen. The most likely way to distribute a new product is to run it through already-opened channels. Give it to the marketers to market. They’re already set up for business. They know what they’re doing or they’d be shut down already. They’ve got liquid capital. They’ve got experienced personnel. They’ve got distribution centers. They’ve got a pipeline to the customer. The customer’s already trained, already running to them. Just bring in the spring line and hang it on the rack. They’ll buy. If they liked designer A, they’ll love designer B. So that gives us the Park, of course. There’s no question. Bangkok is where the stuff is going to end up. So, it seems to me, this should run just like a normal investigation. We get word on a new shipment, something larger than normal. And you know, like they say, we round up the usual suspects. The system takes over. There’s some fireworks, maybe. Some gunplay. The newspapers run a real sweaty story, a lot of front-page pictures, bodies facedown on the sidewalk, half covered up by blankets. And on Monday you come back to work again. But you seem to think there’s something more here. You want to say the difference is the capacity for violence that the drug triggers. But please, don’t insult me. I’ve seen almost ten years of people wired over the edge. It’s just a matter of degree after a while. You think we’ve got a problem here. You say everything’s still too vague, we don’t have enough information yet. But you know what I think, Victor? I think that you think that there must be someone, maybe someones, that you suspect aren’t exactly on the right team. And in this case, that bothers you a lot more than usual. [Pause] All right, Victor, I’m not saying yes or no. I’ve got some thoughts on the subject. Just opinions, you know. I’m pulling up to the visitors’ parking lot at the Institute. There’s a little white shack and a gate. I’m shutting off now. I’ve got to talk to the guard. Later, boss.