“Me?” He tried to imagine who that could be but drew a blank. “What’s your plan?”
She sighed. “This is where it gets a little sketchy, Frank, I can’t give you a road map. All I can suggest is you get closer to this person than you already are; pump him for information about his job without arousing his suspicions; become his confidante; use him to figure a way for us to move up the chain of command to the major figures in the conspiracy.”
“I see.”
“We’ve got to get a key player to turn State’s Evidence, a co-conspirator who will furnish us with enough hard evidence to make a terrorism charge stick.”
He smiled. “For a gal who never went to business school, Roxy, you’re asking a lot from a guy who never went to spy school.”
“I realize it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to wing it, Frank, and we’re also going to need some luck.”
“Is it going to be dangerous?”
She took a few seconds to answer. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“The Americans, we believe, are in it solely for monetary gain, however, the bunch in the Middle East is ideological. For them, the money is merely the means to political and religious ends.”
“Praise Allah!”
“Yes.”
“So we’re talking radical Islam, Roxy, very fearsome people.”
She dipped her head. “Fanatical, irrational people you can’t reason with and who are willing to die for their cause.”
“Hmm.”
“Death is a gift for some Muslims, Frank, because martyrdom has its own special rewards in the Afterlife.”
“Like 72 vestal virgins waiting for you up in Heaven when you get there.”
“Exactly. It is a chauvinistic mantra but going instantly to Heaven is very appealing to uneducated young men with no money, no prospects, and nothing to lose.”
“I suppose.”
“And there are other benefits as well. Suicide bombers are honored in their villages. The families they leave behind also profit greatly from their sacrifice; they are looked up to in the village, they receive cash and privileges, the kids get to go to the best schools, and the widows remarry more senior members in the cause and move up socially.”
“So it’s a win-win situation for both the living and the dead.”
She nodded. “Which explains why there is no shortage of volunteers willing to strap on explosives and blow themselves up in crowded places.”
“Don’t worry, Roxy, I’m not chickening out. I just wanted to get the lay of the land.”
“As I said, your part in this should be fairly safe, Frank, it’s only when we move up the chain does it become really dangerous.”
He shrugged. “Up or down the chain, Roxy, it makes no difference to me. My wife is dead, I’ve no family to live for, and nobody much cares.”
Claire pressed his arm. “That’s not true, Frank, you’ve got friends who care about you.”
“It’s true enough.” He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “I’ve been bored stiff for years, ladies, a bit of derring-do is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“Ok, Frank, if you’re sure.”
“Tell me, Roxy, how soon do I begin this assignment?”
“Tonight, Frank, this very minute.”
His breathing quickened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m ready; you only have to steer me in the right direction.”
She averted her razor-sharp gaze towards the section of the bar where a man was perusing a newspaper and munching on Buffalo wings.
He twisted sideways in his seat to view the object of her attention without being unduly obvious about it.
“That’s him.”
“Carl Pizzi?”
“Yes.”
“You’re way off base, Roxy, Carl’s a … a skirt-chasing, bullshit artist and totally Mets-crazy, a true creature of the nose bleed section of the stadium bleachers. In addition, he’s not the brightest bulb in the room; he talks with his hands.”
“That may well be true, Frank, but he’s all we’ve got to start with.”
“How did you get your crosshairs set on Carl?”
“The informant who tipped us to the stock scam also alerted us to a parcel which was being sent by the terrorist group to a P.O. Box at the Church Street postal substation here in New York. We watched the box and Pizzi showed up to retrieve it.”
“What was in the package?”
“We X-rayed the parcel so we’re sure it wasn’t a bomb or radioactive. Beyond that, we are at a loss, our people couldn’t open it due to the way it was taped.”
“Where did Carl deliver the parcel?”
Roxy grimaced. “Unfortunately, we lost track of him on the streets near the World Trade Center site. It seems there was a large demonstration taking place that day over a new mosque to be built nearby and the tour-bus hordes were larger than usual.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, very regrettable.”
“I trust your agents will do a better job keeping track of me.”
“The agent detail has been expanded, Frank, it won’t happen again.”
“Who rented the P.O. Box?”
“The name and address on the application proved to be bogus.”
He sighed. “Anything else?”
She shook her head. “That’s all, which, admittedly, isn’t much.”
“Ok, I’ll give it my best shot.” He slid his chair away from the table.
Claire wagged a warning finger at him. “Play it safe, Dick Tracy, no heroics; sniff the ground and report back to mother.”
He scoffed. “I can deal with the likes of Carl, he’s no problem.”
“Just remember, Frank, it’s not the snake you see that bites you.”
*
Midget
Rudy Kowalick, 51, the accountant for the Bull & Bear Tavern, always wore a green eyeshade on the job. It was his routine to leave his basement office and make the rounds several times during each shift to check up on the bartenders and servers to make sure they weren’t stealing from Hilda. Rudy was born with a salty tongue, sharp elbows, and a nasty disposition. As a result, he wasn’t on good terms with any of the other 77 employees who worked there. Customers also disliked Rudy and would often murmur obscenities under their breaths as he passed their barstools and tables.
Rudy took pleasure in berating the bar staff for their many shortcomings: the tardy submissions of timesheets, their overfriendliness with customers, the foot-tapping, lowbrow music they played too loud on the bar’s stereo speakers, for their paltry tax withholdings on tip incomes, their unsightly tattoos and weird haircuts, for their bad choices in choosing significant others, for their poor work ethic and lack of ambition, and for their general unprofessionalism on the job.
So much combativeness in a single individual was all the