Found Money - James Grippando [135]
Norm’s garage was their meeting place. Both cars had been backed out to give them room. Norm was a bit of a gadget man himself. A long wooden workbench stretched across the back. A wide array of tools was neatly arranged on the tool board, though most of them looked like Father’s Day gifts that had never been used. The bare cement floor and white fluorescent light made the garage look cooler than it was. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was just one of those sticky summer nights. Ryan, however, was sweating heavily beneath his Kevlar jacket.
“I’m roasting.” Ryan was dressed in long pants and a full-length ballistic jacket. It looked like something he’d wear on an autumn hike in the mountains.
Dembroski zipped him up, checking the fit around the torso. “You want safety, or you want a fashion statement?”
“If I get any hotter, the choices will be white meat or dark. Will this really do any good?”
“Heck, yeah,” said Dembroski. “You have a Kevlar lining in here that protects the full upper torso. It’s less conspicuous than a vest, and it’s better protection. Most vests don’t protect against side entry. The jacket does.”
“Let’s just hope no one shows up with a bazooka.”
“Actually,” said Dembroski, “I could probably arrange for that.”
“Stop,” said Norm. “This is crazy enough as it is.”
“I was only kidding.” He reached in his duffel bag and removed a pistol and ammunition clip. “This is another advantage of the jacket. You can easily conceal a firearm. This is a Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter parabellum pistol. Four-inch barrel. Slide mounting decocking lever. I brought one with tritium night sights, which may come in handy in the dark. Fifteen-round magazine. We’re talking serious firepower.”
“I know how to use a gun. My dad was quite the hunter.”
“Well, you can hunt elephants with this baby.” He slammed the clip into the stock and checked the safety. “Keep it in the breast pocket. Don’t take it out unless you intend to use it.”
Norm said, “I’d rather you leave it here.”
Ryan ignored him. He took the gun and placed it in the pocket.
Dembroski stepped back and checked out the ensemble. “Looks good, my man.”
“I feel like a bulletproof flasher.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Can I take this off now that we know it fits?”
“I’ll do it,” said Dembroski. “You have to be very careful not to disconnect your microphone.”
Ryan slipped off one sleeve at a time. A small tape recorder was strapped to his chest. The microphone was clipped inside his shirt collar.
“Remember,” said Dembroski. “The microphone is voice-activated, so you won’t be recording a bunch of dead time. Just speak in a normal tone of voice and it will pick it up.”
“It’s not my voice I’m worried about.”
“It should pick up anyone within a good fifteen feet of you.”
“So I have to get reasonably close.”
“You don’t have to stick your tongue down anybody’s throat. But yeah, reasonably close.”
Norm began to pace, obviously concerned. “Ryan, I really wish you’d let Bruce come with us. Fifteen feet is getting too damn close to someone who may be armed and dangerous.”
“I’m more than happy to go,” said Dembroski.
Ryan shook his head. “There’s a public figure involved. If you come with us, you’re likely to recognize her. Nothing personal against you, Bruce, but I don’t want you to know who she is.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know you. And I don’t know what you might do with that information.”
“What?” he said, half smiling. “Do I look like a blackmailer or something?”
“In my experience, they can look like just about anybody.”
Dembroski glanced at Norm, then