The tac officer on the radio took a sip of something, slurping, and said, "How late is Big Boy?"
The Dominican was not only high up in the crews but tipped the scales at three hundred plus.
"Half an hour." Reilly looked at his watch. "Forty minutes."
"He ain't gonna show," the tac cop muttered. He was now chewing.
The gangbanger's absence probably wasn't cold feet, Reilly guessed. Drug suppliers at the Dominican's level are just very, very busy.
"You sure the unknown with him isn't with the DR crew?"
Reilly laughed. "Not unless times're so hard they're hiring choirboys. White ones. And times ain't that hard."
"Any idea who?"
"Nup. Descrip is blond, six feet, fucking piss-me-off skinny." Reilly scanned the guy's face close up. "You know, he's looking funny."
"What'sat mean?" the take-down guy said, between bites.
Fuck that. I want my calzone.
"Nervous."
"He made you, Sarge?"
"I'm sitting in a fucking plumbing van on a street in Brooklyn that's filled with plumbing supply stores. The camera lens is about the size of your cat's dick."
"I don't have a cat."
"No, he didn't make me. Just, he doesn't want to be with our boy."
"Who would?"
Good point. Alphonse Gravita--aka Alpho, but more popularly Alpo, woof woof--was a shining piece of non-work. The germ of a dealer had been lucky enough to miss getting busted but he had his eye on moving up, expanding his street business from the mini mart he hung out in in Ocean Hill to Bed-Stuy and Brownsville.
"Hold on." Reilly sat up straighter.
"The DR guy there?"
"Negative. But Alpo and his buddy... wait, something's happening."
"What?" The chewing had stopped.
"Looks like a transaction... Pull out." The latter spoken to the perfumed cop sitting beside him.
Bad choice of words, he decided. Or good. But she missed the innuendo.
The officer zoomed out to get a broader shot, to catch everything that Alpo and the blond man were doing. Alpo was looking around and fishing in his pocket. The blond kid was too. Then palm met palm.
"Okay, got an exchange."
"What was it?"
"Shit. Fair number of bills. But couldn't see the product. Could you see?"
"No, sir," the surveillance woman answered. Gardenia came to mind, the perfume, though Reilly had no clue what gardenias smelled--or looked--like.
The tactical cop radioed, "Your call, Sarge."