They'd probably be thinking too Pulaski might be part of a sting himself--scoring drugs knowing surveillance was there and seeing if Baldie and Blondie let him go, professional courtesy. Then Internal Affairs would sweep in and take them down. So they'd have to treat him like any other buyer.
"I didn't score any drugs."
There was silence.
"Search me."
A glance between them. Blondie did. A good search. They knew what they were about.
Then Baldie was talking into his microphone. "Sarge, nothing on him... K." He disconnected and barked: "So, the fuck's going on here, Pulaski?"
"That." He nodded at a wad of papers Blondie had lifted from his pocket. Blondie handed it to him. He opened one small sheet of paper and handed it back.
"What'sis?"
"I had some money trouble last month. Need a couple large. Somebody put me in touch with Alpho. He hooked me up with a money man. I paid him back the last of the vig today. He gave me the marker back."
The cops looked at the IOU.
Borrowing money at exorbitant rates of interest isn't illegal unless it's done to launder cash--though a cop doing so probably tripped over some departmental regs.
Baldie spoke into the microphone. "Wasn't drugs, Sarge. Juice. Paid his vig and got the note back... Yeah... I will."
"You know, that was just fucking stupid, Officer."
"Yeah? How fucking stupid is it to borrow some green for a friend who's losing a leg 'cause he's got cancer and no insurance?" The fear had translated into anger and he decided if you're going to make something up, pick the most outrageous story you can.
That set them back a bit. But Baldie wasn't deterred for long. "You could've screwed up a major operation here. Your boy back there, Alpo, was supposed to be meeting somebody senior with a DR crew. He comes in, tips to you being blue and who knows what might've happened? He could've had a shooter with him."
Pulaski shrugged.
"He say anything about a Dominican?"
"No. We talked sports and how fucked people can get when they borrow at twenty percent interest. My piece and shield. The wallet too."
Pulaski took them and eased to his knees, re-holstering his weapon. He snapped the strap around the small pistol and rose. "Anything else?" No response. Pulaski gazed at him for a moment then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
If he'd thought his heart was beating fast a few moments ago, it was like a machine gun now.
Man, man, man... You lucky son of a bitch, he told himself. But not all luck. He'd planned ahead. Alpho had called him earlier and said he had a lead to Oden, the man who could supply Pulaski with the new breed of Oxy. "Catch or whatever the fuck you call it." They'd meet at Richie's and Pulaski would pay him two thousand for the information.
But leaving One PP, where he'd dropped off the computer from the arson scene downtown, Pulaski began to feel paranoid. What if he was seen talking to Alpho by a friend, or fellow cop? He needed an excuse for hanging with the guy. He'd bought drugs once from him but wouldn't do that again.
For some reason the IOU idea had jumped into his head. Not bad. He'd scrawled out a fake marker. When Alpho gave him the Oden info he'd slipped it into the same pocket as the IOU. It wouldn't pass forensics--no friction ridges other than his own... and forget about handwriting analysis. But he guessed that the DSS cops back there weren't much concerned about him. They just wanted to get back to their pizza and the Dominican banger stakeout.
He now extracted and looked over the note Alpho had given him, memorizing the address and the other information on it. He closed his eyes and recited it a dozen times, then ditched it down a sewer.
The hour was getting late. Lincoln and Amelia had to be wondering where he was. And he himself was curious if there'd been anything on Williams's computer that might lead to Unsub 40. But, checking his phone, neither had called. He texted Amelia that he was heading home--the Gutierrez case had taken up more time than he'd believed it would--but if she needed anything, give him a call.
Was she mad? Probably. But nothing he could do about it.
He was going to flag down a cab but was painfully aware of how much of his own money he'd just handed over to Alpho so it was subway time. He walked back to Broadway Junction to begin the complicated journey to his wife and children. Feeling dirty, tainted. And sure that even seeing their soft, smiling faces would do little to bring him comfort.
Amelia Sachs pulled her Torino up to the curb and shut the engine off. Sat for a moment, reading texts. She slipped the phone away but still didn't get out of the car.
After leaving Rhyme's she'd gone on two missions. The first was to meet with a reporter for one of the big local papers and give him a follow-up to the People's Guardian story. As part of the article he would print the list of products that contained smart controllers--though in the online edition only, since the number of such items was so lengthy. She'd also explained what Chaudhary had said, that manufacturers were reluctant or too lazy to install the patches to improve security. The CEO was going to contact them again but she'd decided that a news story about that reticence would create some public relations pressure for them to install the security updates.
The reporter had thanked her for the tip and agreed to keep her anonymous since she hadn't cleared her calling him with the brass at One PP. He left to further research and write up the story.