Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [106]
“Doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Columbo said, looking around the barren room. “Years ago, before I hooked up with Richie, I did it all, didn’t care what it was. ’Course, I was a little better-looking back then, but I’m still willin’ to do it all, whatever it is, so long as the money’s there at the end. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this. But Carmella said—”
Edward interrupted her, his arms spread out in front of him, the smile on his face locked in place. “Does your husband know about any of this?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Mrs. Columbo said. “Wait till you meet him. I mean, I love the guy and all, but my Richie’s lucky if he can find his ass with two hands. There are guys just made that way. I’m sure you met some workin’ this job.”
“A few,” Edward Glistner said, leaning back in his chair, resting his hands on top of his head.
“Then you know what I’m talkin’ about,” Mrs. Columbo said, running a finger under the folds of the baby’s chin.
“I might have a job for you,” Edward said, turning his head slightly at the sounds of empty garbage cans being tossed by the sanitation workers outside. “If you really are as interested as you seem.”
“Let’s hear it.” Mrs. Columbo looked over Edward’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Boomer crossing the street. “Make it quick. Before Richie comes inside.”
“You don’t want him to know?” Edward asked.
“Not till I know,” Mrs. Columbo said. “Then, depending on what it is, we’ll see if he can handle it.”
“It’s everything you say you’re looking for,” Edward said, checking the time on the wall clock. “Steady hours and a pretty good salary.”
“What do I have to do?” Mrs. Columbo asked.
“Come back tomorrow,” Edward said. “Without Richie. We’ll work out the details then.”
“How about a hint?” Mrs. Columbo asked, throwing Edward her most alluring smile.
“Do you like to fly?” Edward asked, smiling back at her, then standing to greet Boomer as he walked into the room.
• • •
PINS WAITED OUTSIDE Harry Saben’s Cleaners, watching as the blonde in the skintight leggings dropped off three of Saldo’s jackets and two of his slacks. He saw Harry, old and hunched from too many years behind a counter, fill out the work slip, his eyes more on the blonde’s cleavage than on the cut of Saldo’s clothes. The blonde took the slip, gave Harry a smile, and walked out of the store, heading east.
“Good morning,” Pins said to Harry, closing the glass door behind him.
“How may I help you?” Harry asked, traces of a childhood spent speaking Russian still in his voice.
“It’s really about how I can help you,” Pins said. He reached into the side pocket of his windbreaker and flipped his detective’s shield.
“You a cop?” Harry asked, squinting down at the badge through thick glasses.
“I’m investigating a ring that’s ripping off designer labels,” Pins said. “I’m sure someone as experienced as yourself in the business knows the routine. Take a secondhand jacket, tag a designer label on it, sell it on the street for three times the price.”
“I’ve heard of people doing things like that,” Harry said, nodding his head.
“Then you know there’s a lot of money in it,” Pins said.
“I imagine,” Harry said. “But what can I do?”
Pins leaned closer to Harry and lowered his voice. “Can the department trust you?”
“Yes,” Harry said, lowering his voice right back. “I’m very pro-police. I’d like to see a couple of thousand more of you out there.”
Pins nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to take a chance.”
“It’s not a chance,” Harry said. “Believe me, I’ll go to my grave with what you tell me.”
“The blonde that was just here,” Pins said. “I’m sure you noticed her.”
“Even at my age.”
“She’s part of the ring,” Pins explained. “These clothes she left, they’re not designer clothes. They come out of some sweatshop in the Bronx.”
Harry reached down and felt Saldo’s black Armani jacket. “It looks so real,” he said. “It even feels the way it should. The label’s in it and everything.”
“I can get you a case of labels by this afternoon.” Pins reached over and grabbed Saldo’s clothes. “That’s the easiest part.”
“Are you going