photographed Mercado in the parking lot, filmed him eating crabs with his contact, and photographed both as they got into their cars. The late-model Volvo SUV is registered to Bradley Pfitzner.
On film, he looks to be in decent shape, with a gray goatee and waves of gray hair. Retiring in luxury seems to be suiting him well. He’s almost eighty years old, but moves like a much younger man.
Nolton says, “Congratulations, Post. We finally have the link.”
I am too stunned to speak. She says, “Of course we can’t indict Pfitzner for having lunch, but we’ll get warrants and we’ll know when he takes a pee.”
I say, “Be careful. He’s pretty savvy.”
“Yes, but even the smartest criminals do dumb things. Meeting with Mercado is a gift.”
“No clue that Pfitzner has any contact with DiLuca?” I ask.
“None whatsoever. I’ll bet my paycheck that Pfitzner does not even know DiLuca’s name. Mercado moves in the dark world where he knew about the Aryans and arranged the hit. Pfitzner probably supplied the cash, but we’ll never prove it unless Mercado sings. And guys like him do not rat.”
I’m overwhelmed and struggle to keep things in order. My first reaction is “What a train wreck. In the span of three days Mercado leads you to Ramon and Diana Russo, and then to Bradley Pfitzner.”
Agnes nods along, quite proud of their progress but too businesslike to gloat. “Some of the puzzle is coming together, but there’s a long way to go. Gotta run. I’ll keep you posted.” She’s off to another meeting, and the tech guy leaves me alone in the room. For a long time I sit in the dim light and stare at the wall and try to process these bombshells. Agnes is right in that we suddenly know a lot more about the conspiracy to murder Keith, but how much can be proven? And how much can help Quincy?
I finally leave the room and the building and drive back to the hospital where I find Marvis sitting with his brother. He tells me he talked his boss into a few days of vacation and he’ll be around. This is welcome news and I hurry back to the motel and gather my things. I’m inching out of town in traffic when inspiration hits so hard I’m almost compelled to pull over and walk around my car. I keep driving as a simple yet beautiful plan takes shape. Then I call my new best friend, Special Agent Agnes Nolton.
“What’s up?” she says crisply after I hold for ten minutes.
“The only way to nail Pfitzner is to suck him into the conspiracy,” I say.
“Sounds like entrapment.”
“Close, but it might just work.”
“I’m listening.”
“Have you already packed off DiLuca to parts unknown?”
“No. He’s still around.”
“We need one more job before he vanishes.”
* * *
—
AT HIALEAH PARK, DiLuca takes a seat in the grandstand far away from other spectators. He holds a racing sheet as if ready to start betting on the horses. He’s wired with the latest bug, which can pick up a deer snorting thirty yards away. Mercado appears twenty minutes later and sits next to him. They buy two beers from a vendor and watch the next race.
Finally, DiLuca says, “I have a plan. They moved Miller again, between surgeries. He continues to improve but he ain’t leaving for some time. The guards are rotating and there’s always somebody watching his door. The prison sends a few boys over now and then. That’s where the plan begins. We borrow a guard’s uniform from Stone and one of my boys puts it on. He eases in late at night. On cue there’s a bomb threat at the hospital, maybe we’ll blow up something in the basement, nobody gets hurt. Typically, the hospital will go berserk. Active shooter drill and all that craziness. In the melee, our boy gets to Miller. We’ll use an EpiPen needle, get one from the pharmacy, and load it with something like ricin or cyanide. Jab him in the leg and he’s gone in five minutes. If he’s awake, he won’t be able to react in time, but they keep him knocked out a lot. We’ll do it late at night when more than likely he’ll be asleep. Our man walks out and disappears into the confusion.”
Mercado sips his beer and frowns. “I don’t know. Sounds awfully risky.”
“It is, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. For a fee.”