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He had given this much thought.
“Plus, there’s too much crap today,” he said. “Thieves don’t know the PC era is over, see? Don’t even try to bring in a PC nowdays, much less with Windows XP. Macs, iPads, iPhones, and Androids—those I can use.”
He pouted.
“And?” I said.
“The fuckin’ Salvadorans.”
“You have to go through them now?”
“Shit, they don’t care about stolen iPads. Stolen guns, they like those if they’re the right kind. No, they use my humble, locally owned retail establishment the way they want.”
He wiggled his arm to see a silver watch.
I put my hands behind my head, exactly the way Peralta used to do when he was either relaxing or trying to irritate me. It had the latter effect on Jerry.
“What do you want from me, Mapstone? Use your fucking imagination. Money and drug drops. Stuff I don’t want to know about, okay? If there’s heroin coming through here to be broken up and distributed, it’s not my problem. The less I know, the less chance they’ll feed me to their pit bulls.” He paused. “Cigarette smuggling is the biggie. That I have to know about.”
“What about the tax inspectors?”
“Haven’t seen one in years,” he said. “State cutbacks. Anyway, some of the inventory is legit. Go look, you’ll see tax stamps. The rest goes into the black market. I don’t get diddly as a cut even though I’m the one taking the chances here.”
“How’d they take over?”
“I needed a loan fast, okay? Goddamned Indian casinos, all around the city now. It’s their revenge on the white man. Anyway, I was fifty thousand short and a guy told me about a guy. You know how it goes. Next thing I know, Ahu is my babysitter.” He used his good hand to wipe away sweat. “Are we done?”
I thought about that. Ahu’s tattoos didn’t look like MS 13, one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the hemisphere. He didn’t fit the profile ethnically, either. Jerry, as a former cop, should know that. But somebody was leaning on him and Phoenix had no lack of gangs.
Even if Ahu didn’t belong to Mara Salvatrucha, this was cause for concern. CIs always went to the highest bidder. Peralta had taught me that. Now somebody was able to put in a higher price for Jerry than keeping him out of jail on condition that he provide information and not murder anyone, Peralta’s old deal.
I thought about the Tide. It was tough on stains, a cash cow for Procter & Gamble, and in recent years had become a street currency used to buy drugs. Addicts shoplift the 150-ounce bottles and at the most risk a shoplifting charge, way better than a felony count for burglarizing, say, a television. Organized groups called retail boosters have gotten into the racket, and not only with detergent. Fences buy the items at a discount and resell them, even to major retailers.
Jerry’s simple business model was keeping up with the times.
I said, “We’re not done. You have some place you need to be?”
“I need to close, Mapstone. Really.”
“Your sign says you’re open until eleven.”
His new partners probably had a shipment on the way. I affected nonchalance.
He blew a plume of blue smoke over my head, stood up, turned around, and studied one of the pinups. He sighed and faced me. “God, this town was way simpler when the Italians ran things, you know?”
I nodded sympathetically.
“Tell me about diamonds.”
He looked at me like I was insane. “Diamonds? What?”
“You heard me, Jerry. Tell me about diamonds and I’ll let you close or whatever you need to do.”
He plopped into the chair. “Diamonds. They’re hard. They’re forever. They’re a girl’s best friend. Color, cut, clarity, and carat. Who cares? Some lowlife brings in a stolen engagement ring and I’ll give him a hundred bucks. And that’s if it’s a good ring. The resale market stinks.”
My swollen eye and cheek throbbed in realization.
I smiled on the inside.
