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The traffic enforcement agent said, “I need your license.”
Alex sighed and retrieved her wallet from her purse. She pulled out a valid Pennsylvania license in the name of Michelle Pagan and gave it to the agent.
It was legit except for the photo. It also would cost her $2,600 and was now useless. She’d have to toss it as soon as she was free of this overzealous agent. It was too bad. She had started to build this identity up nicely.
As the woman finished writing the ticket, Alex noticed Detective Michael Bennett walk out the main door of his building with another man. The man was almost as tall as Bennett and had an eighties mustache. He had to be another cop.
Alex needed to get going and felt her anxiety rise.
She was careful not to snatch the ticket from the parking attendant when she signed it. There was no sense in pushing this woman any further.
She scribbled her false name, then darted into traffic with the rental car. She could see Bennett’s Impala a few blocks up and fell into her surveillance mode again.
Chapter 70
I wasn’t that crazy about meeting the regulator again. I understood he had a certain image and wanted to project that he was quirky and odd and that everyone could trust him, but he was nevertheless involved in the drug trade. I didn’t care if he talked about curbing violence and making everyone happy—he still lived off other people’s misery.
Sergeant Tim Marcia had once again set up a meeting. We had to find out more information, because the last lead the regulator had given us was a dead end. With Julio Laza out of the picture, I had nowhere else to look.
We met in the lobby of the Aloft Hotel, a little south of our office. The bar tucked in next to the side entrance was empty, and we sat at a table where no one could hear us. A skinny young waiter delivered my Coca-Cola and a glass of Scotch for John, the regulator.
Today John was a little more dressed up, with a long-sleeved plaid shirt and a bolo tie. His long silver-streaked hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and the beautiful woman who had been sent to keep an eye on him was nowhere in sight. I didn’t ask any questions about it.
He insisted on paying for his drink, and I noticed the first name Johann on his American Express card. Again, I wasn’t going to ask any questions.
The regulator said, “I heard what happened to the Dominicans I told you about. Did you have anything to do with their deaths?”
“Not at all.”
“You realize that no one on the street or in their crew believes they shot each other in an argument.”
“I don’t believe it, either.”
“The whole crew is running scared. Whoever they crossed has no sense of humor whatsoever.”
I said, “I was hoping you might have another lead for me or some information I could use.”
The regulator shook his head and said, “I was lucky to get those names. Things are odd right now with this unpleasantness going on between the Mexicans and the Canadians.”
“So you have no idea why they would want to kill me?”
The regulator said, “The question is, what would lead them to you? What connection do you have to the Mexican cartel?”
I thought about everything that had happened in the recent past. Brian being arrested. My being forced to shoot a teenage hit man named Diego in the Columbia library. The man who had corrupted Brian.
I snapped my fingers.
The regulator said, “There’s always a moment when things become crystal clear. What have you recalled, my friend?”
“Caracortada.”
This time it was Sergeant Marcia who said, “The guy we arrested in his underwear? What’s Caracortada mean again?”
The regulator said, “Scarface.”
I said, “He’s a dealer for the cartel. I locked him up a few months back, and he’s in Rikers Island right now.”
The regulator took a sip of the Scotch and said, “Perhaps he could help.”
