Double Jeopardy

20

8:58 P.M.

“HELLO?”

“How’s my friendly neighborhood FBI traitor?”

“Christ! Al!” The agent covered the receiver with his hand. Thank God he wasn’t using the speakerphone.

He quickly scanned the office. No one was around, except, of course, Mooney, who was walking toward him with a notepad. Efficient little twerp. He’d seen the light flash on his monitor board. Might’ve known Al would call when that squid was on duty.

“Should I take the call, sir?” Agent Mooney asked.

“No, thanks. I’ll handle it. It’s one of my informants.”

“I see. I’ll monitor on the extension.”

“No! I mean, I’m perfectly capable of taking my own notes. Continue with what you were doing, Mooney.”

Mooney eyed him oddly, but returned to his desk in the next room. Mooney had just been assigned to this special team; he was the typical asskissing backstabber. Just waiting for you to make a mistake he could ram down your throat. He didn’t care much for the look Mooney gave him as he left. If someone even suspected what he was doing … Well, he’d have to watch Agent Mooney very carefully.

He uncovered the receiver. “Al?” he whispered.

“In the flesh. Free as a bird. Can you believe it? Your plan actually worked, you dumbass son of a bitch!”

“Of course it worked. I told you it would. Why are you calling me here?”

“We got some business to conduct.”

“I told you we would—”

“Screw that plan, compadre. It takes too long, and I don’t have time to jack around.”

“What do you mean?”

He heard Moroconi plug another quarter into the pay phone. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“There were some complications. People got hurt.”

“Hurt! How bad?”

“I didn’t have time to take their pulse. I think one of them’s dead, though—I shot him in the fuckin’ neck. The other one might pull through.”

The agent was stunned silent. That stupid, vicious—

“Don’t bother askin’ if I’m okay,” Moroconi said. “I know you’re real concerned. I’m fine.”

“Oh, my God. This is awful. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything. And—my God! You shouldn’t have called me here.”

“Why? ’Fraid someone might be listenin’?”

“Who the hell knows? This changes everything. Hang up the damn phone.”

“What about our rendezvous?”

“Fuck the rendezvous! It’s too risky. You could be caught any second.”

“We made a deal, you chickenshit. I want the list.”

“Look, as soon as things calm down, I’ll get back in touch with you.”

“No way, asshole. We do it tonight.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“Do you want to do this deal or not? I can always take my business somewhere else. There must be others like you.”

There was an extended pause. “Fine. Have it your way. Where do we meet?”

“I’m not going to tell you over your might-be-bugged line, chump. Call me from a pay phone.”

“What’s the number?”

“Ready to play a little baseball?”

“Oh, Christ.” He rustled through his desk drawers, groping for a pad of paper and pencil. “All right. Ready.”

“It’s the top of the fifth and Tucker’s three-and-two with two outs. The man on third had seven hits on the eighth day of the ninth month and two strikeouts with all three bases loaded. Are you gettin’ this?”

He grunted as he scribbled down the proper numbers in the proper order.

“There’s a change-up. Jones pulls a slider and two men slip by. That’s six since the relief pitcher left at four o’clock. At the top of the seventh, it’s three up, three down, eight points behind. He decides to reverse it. Plan B. Got it?”

He reversed the numbers, added carefully, and examined the resulting phone number. “Got it.”

“Guess you learned somethin’ in crime school after all. I’ll be waitin’ for you. Don’t dawdle. Send the little woman my best.”

Before the agent could spit back his reply, the line went dead.