“Found him,” Gerald replied, pointing at himself. He wore big rings on his hands, like those football championship ones. “And you are?”
“Sebastian Snow. I own Snow’s Emporium in the East Village.”
“Yeah,” he said with a sort of friendly smile. “I know the place. It’s been about a year or two since I’ve been there, but it’s a nice shop.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m actually here because Aubrey Grant gave me your name.”
“Aubs, huh? I remember him. What’s he up to these days?”
“Managing a historical home in the Keys.”
“That lucky SOB.”
I smiled. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”
Gerald looked at the woman, and she shrugged and shook her head. “Nah. What’s up? Aubs isn’t in trouble, is he?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” I reached into my coat to take out the copy of Richard’s ID. “He said I should talk to you about this guy.”
I glanced at Max as Gerald took the picture. He gave me an excited grin.
“You’re not a cop, though,” Gerald stated.
I quickly looked back at him. “No.”
“You watch a lot ofCSI: Miami?”
“Aviators don’t suit me, do they?”
Gerald laughed from his belly.
“I have a light sensitivity.”
He nodded and didn’t question me further. “Yeah, I know this guy—I never forget a face. But his name isn’t Richard Newell.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hold tight.” Gerald left the counter and disappeared around the corner.
“This guy steal from your shop?” the woman asked, tapping the picture.
“Not exactly. But he’s definitely put himself on the cops’ radar.”
She scoffed. “Don’t expect them to do much.”
“I’ve got an in with a particularly good cop.” She didn’t seem impressed by my assurance, and I found that it made me rather defensive of Calvin’s reputation. He was a good—no—a great cop, damn it. If she rolled her eyes at me, we were going to have words.
Luckily Gerald came back before I had to puff out my chest.
“Here we are. He got banned from my store about four years ago for trying to off-load some stolen weapons. Took off before I could get the cops involved.” Gerald put an old piece of paper down on the glass countertop, the image of a faded driver’s license in the middle.
“Aubrey said it was a pistol and sword,” I said, pulling out my magnifying lens and leaning over the case to study the picture.
“Yeah, sounds right,” he agreed.
“And this says his name is Mark Lewis,” I stated before looking up at Gerald. “Do you have any idea where he might get away with selling high-value goods like that?”
Gerald crossed his huge arms over his barrel chest. “Parker’s Pawn on Ninth and Fifty-First.”
