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Badde reached for the master door-locking button and pressed it. Williams opened the passenger door and climbed into the seat. With his right index finger, Badd made a gesture that meant Just one more second, then after Williams shut his door hit the master lock button again.
“Look, Jack. Make goddamn sure Kenny calls me ASAP. Got it? This is a lot of money, and I just can’t wait for him. Later.”
He broke the connection, then made a fist with his right hand and bumped knuckles with Williams.
“Good to see you, Rapp.”
“You, too, man.”
Badde then reached into the backseat, where he had his Italian black leather briefcase beside a small black duffel bag. He pulled from the briefcase two of the ten photocopies he’d made at the campaign house. They were all the same, copies of the bogus badge that Kenny Jones had laminated in clear plastic. It was strung on a black metal bead chain taken from one of the ceiling fans at the West Philly row house. The badge showed a color head-shot of him with long locks and a full beard, underneath which was: KAREEM ABDUL-QAADIR
COMMUNITY REPRESENTATIVE
CITY OF PHILADELPHIA
FORGOTTEN VOTERS INITIATIVE
“Here’s the most recent photograph we have of him. Real name is Kenny Jones”—he paused as he watched Allante pull out a small notepad and pen—“and he grew up at 726 Daly Street, where his older brother, Jack, who I was just talking to, lives with their parents. His younger brother, Reggie, got whacked last night. Kenny’s on the run. He jumped bail a couple years back after trying to sell crack to some cops.”
Allante snorted. “Brilliant dude, huh?”
“Right. Anything but. Anyway, first thing you need to do, Allante, is find him. I already told you about the drug debt we’re supposed to pay. I’ve got an idea how to play that. But first I need to get back some sensitive files, voter records, that he stole from my campaign headquarters.”
“Okay.”
“When he gets turned in for the reward, I can’t have it come back to me. . . .”
“I understand.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You know I got your back, Rapp. I’ll handle this one myself.”
Rapp Badde nodded, then heard his Go To Hell phone ringing again. The screen read: CALLER ID BLOCKED.
“Yeah?” Badde snapped as he answered it.
“Yo, Rapp. It’s Kenny,” he said, his tone flat.
Badde’s eyebrows went up. He pointed at the phone and mouthed to Williams, It’s him.
Badde went back to his smooth politician’s voice: “Hey, brother. Hold on a second while I get rid of this other call.”
Badde, putting his left index finger to his lips, signaled to Allante for silence. Then he hit SPEAKERPHONE.
“Where are you, Kenny?” Badde said casually.
Kenny ignored the question. “You got the money?”
“I’ve got something even better.”
There was a long pause.
In the silence, Badde could hear a familiar sound.
What the hell is that in the background? Badde thought.
That is a bingo game!
