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There was some low conversation at the other end and then a new voice spoke. “Frank? Crow here. You’re on speakerphone. Look, I don’t want to try and bullshit you with some fairy tale about finding the coke. We didn’t find any, but we did find some other stuff and we need to talk to you. I know about the whole jurisdictional thing, but trust me when I tell you that this is important. Vitally important. ”
“Crow…”
“People are dying here, Frank. ”
“You have a police force. ”
“No,” said a third voice—Val’s. “No, Detective Ferro I don’t think we do. I think we’re all alone here and we need your help. ”
Ferro said nothing.
“Detective Ferro…Frank,” Val said, “you told me that at my father’s funeral that if there was ever anything you could do. I know people say that because they don’t know what else to say, but I’m going to take you at your word. I’m going to make you live up to your word. You said you’d help if I needed it, and I need it. What’s your word worth?”
“That’s pretty damned—”
“Answer the question,” she snapped. “What is your word worth? I’ve lost my father, my brother, and my sister-in-law, and one of my best friends is in a coma. Doesn’t that give me enough of a right to ask for help?”
Ferro felt heat bloom in his cheeks. “That’s a low blow, Ms. Guthrie. ”
“I don’t care. At this point I’d do anything to get you to come out here. Believe me when I say that. ”
“Okay,” he said. “I do believe you. ”
“Will you come?”
He sighed in disgust. “Oh, all right, I’ll come out. But you get to play this card once and that’s it. ”
“Thank you, Frank,” she said.
Crow said, “Can we do this tomorrow morning? Meet for lunch?”
“Why?”
“Because we may not have a lot of time with this. Look, Warrington’s about halfway…why don’t you meet us at Graeme Pizza? You know where that is?”
“Across from the movie theater? On County Line Road, just off 611?”
“Yeah. Noon okay?”
“Not really,” Ferro said, “but we’ll be there. ”
He slammed down the phone.
“Shit!
2
“Is this all of it?” Vic said, pulling open the panel truck’s back door. It was filled with cartons floor to ceiling.
“Everything you asked for,” said the driver. He was a weasel-faced man name Trent who owned a minority share in a candy company in Crestville. The truck was backed into an empty bay at Shanahan’s garage. Trent looked around, but there was no one else in sight.
Vic pulled one box down and tore it open. Inside were forty one-pound bags of Pine Deep Authentic Candy Corn. He took the clipboard from Trent’s hand and scanned down the list. Fifteen boxes of candy corn; forty boxes of marshmallow Peeps—ten each of bats, pumpkins, ghosts, and black cats; twenty boxes of Gummi worms; and the rest were cartons of rolled sugar dots in Halloween colors.
“Looks good. ” He handed the clipboard back. “Okay, leave the truck here and I’ll have some of my boys offload this shit. I’ll drive you to the Black Marsh train station. You packed?”
Trent gave a nervous bob. “By the time anyone starts tripping on these goodies I’ll be in Rio. ”
“Sounds fun. Don’t send me a postcard. ”
