Private: #1 Suspect

CHAPTER 29

Siggy O was a black kid, six-foot-plus, two hundred pounds, Rasta hair tied back with string. A third-generation druggie, the kid was hooked before he was born.

“Duuude,” Siggy called out to Cruz. “Been so long, man. How you shaking?”

They clasped hands, patted each other’s backs, Siggy going into boxing stance, doing some feints and jabs and footwork, Cruz catching the jabs with the flats of his hands. Siggy said, “I saw you on the TV, man. On Sports Classics, you know? The MGM Grand. You and Michael Alvarez. He put you down so hard in the eighth round.”

“I know,” said Cruz, laughing. “I was there.”

“You good now?”

“I’m good. How ’bout you?”

“I’ve been straight for thirty-eight days,” Siggy told Cruz. “I’m in a program. I don’t miss a meeting,” he said. “Very cute women there. They want to take care of me. But that’s cool. I want to be taken care of.”

More laughing, and then Siggy said, “So, whatchoo need, ’Milio?”

“We’re looking for a van that was jacked last night. Shitload of pharmaceuticals inside.”

“It’s air-conditioned? With vegetables and shit on the outside?”

“That’s right,” Cruz said.

“I gotta live, bro. What’s in it for me?”

“Fifty for the location. Two hundred more if we recover the goods.”

“Two fifty? ’Milio. There’s millions in that truck, homes. Millions.”

Siggy worked Cruz up to a hundred in advance, and when Cruz gave him the money, he said, “Warehouse on South Anderson. A flowerpot company, or, more like, looks like a flowerpot company. High-tech security all around. I hear the van is parked inside, and ’Milio, if you cut me in, I’ll cut you in.”

“We’re not going into the drug business, Sig. Thanks anyway. What else have you heard?”

“I heard the van was stolen from the Eye-talians and it’s not going to stay in that warehouse too long.”

Cruz said, “Thanks, Siggy.”

“Good seeing you, bro. You got my number now?”

“Give it to me.”

Siggy tapped his number into Cruz’s phone. Then the two clasped hands, bumped shoulders. The big kid lumbered off down an alley.

And Cruz called Jack.

“We’ve got a lead on the van,” Cruz said. “It’s stashed inside a warehouse. Sure. Okay. Really? No kidding.”

Cruz told Jack where they would be and closed his phone. He said to Del Rio, “Jack has a new guy he wants us to work with. He used to be a ballet dancer.” Cruz paused. “Does that mean he’s gay?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of don’t ask, don’t tell?” Del Rio said.