Upside Down

82

Tinnerino had followed Detective Manseur from headquarters to Charity Hospital and watched as the detective parked near the FBI agent's car on the street. Five minutes later his cell rang.

“What, Doyle?” Tinnerino said.

“I'm at the hotel. There's some bald guy staying with Massey. I figure he's another Fed, maybe undercover FBI working with Adams. Five minutes ago I spotted the bald agent driving Massey's car. He went in for maybe a minute and came back out. I'm trailing him toward downtown.”

“Yeah, he's headed to Charity. There's a powwow shaping up here. I'm parked on Tulane. Just meet me here.”

Ten minutes later the bald guy had parked near Manseur's car and waltzed into the hospital. While Doyle watched the building's entrance, Tinnerino used a flat bar to jimmy open Manseur's Impala. He planted a transmitter under the dashboard. They had to keep up with what the opposition was up to, and since they couldn't wire the detective or go inside the hospital, the car was the next best thing. Suggs had accessed Manseur's computer to see exactly what files he had been looking at. Suggs wasn't pleased with Manseur's snooping, but that was the extent of what Tinnerino knew about it. Tin Man hated Manseur, and anything he could do to fuck him up was fine with him. Doyle didn't care much one way or the other, but Tin Man's partner was always in for a penny, in for a dollar.

Tin Man locked Manseur's door and, holding the jimmy bar inside his jacket, strode back to his car and got in. He drove a block away, parked, and after calling Doyle to tell him he succeeded, he put on the headset and waited for Manseur to get back to his car. Doyle was watching the entrance: he'd call when he saw Manseur.

Tinnerino called Suggs's private number and brought him up to speed. “Chief,” Tinnerino said, “so we got three vehicles and there's two of us.”

“Call in the Spics.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yes. Absolutely certain.”

Tinnerino dialed the number.