The Racketeer Page 0,40

He pulled off the top, licked the creme, stared at Delocke, and finally said, "We had a mule down there who we suspected of being an informant. We lost two shipments under strange circumstances, and we figured things out. I went to see the mule."

"To kill him?"

"No, we don't operate that way. I couldn't find him. He apparently got word and took off. I went to a bar, drank too much, got in a fight, had a bad night. The next day, a friend told me about a good deal on a Hummer, so I went to see it."

"Who was the friend?"

"No comment."

"You're lying," Delocke said. "You're lying and we know you're lying. You're not even a good liar, Quinn, you know that?"

"Whatever."

"Why did you title the Hummer in North Carolina?" Pankovits asked.

"Because I was on the run, remember? I was an escapee, trying not to leave a trail. Get it, fellas? Fake ID. Fake address. Fake everything."

"Who is Jakeel Staley?" Delocke asked.

Quinn hesitated for a second, tried to shake it off, and answered nonchalantly, "My nephew."

"And where is he now?"

"Federal pen somewhere. I'm sure you guys know the answer."

"Alabama, serving eighteen years," Pankovits said. "Jakeel got busted near Roanoke with a van full of cocaine, right?"

"I'm sure you have the file."

"Did you try to help Jakeel?"

"When?"

Both agents overreacted with feigned frustration. Both took a sip of Red Bull. Delocke reached for another Oreo. There were a dozen left on the platter, and there was a pot full of coffee. From the looks of things, they planned to be there all night.

Pankovits said, "Come on, Quinn, stop playing games. We've established that Jakeel was busted in Roanoke, lots of coke, lots of years ahead in the pen, and the question is whether or not you tried to help the boy."

"Sure. He's part of the family, part of the business, and he got busted in the course of his employment. The family always steps forward."

"Did you hire the lawyer?"

"I did."

"How much did you pay the lawyer?"

Quinn thought for a moment, then said, "I don't really remember. It was a sackful of cash."

"You paid the lawyer in cash?"

"That's what I just said. Nothing wrong with cash, last time I checked. We don't use bank accounts and credit cards and things the Feds can follow. Just cash."

"Who gave you the cash to hire the lawyer?"

"No comment."

"Did you get the cash from Dee Ray?"

"No comment."

Pankovits slowly reached for a thin file and removed a sheet of paper. "Well, Dee Ray says he gave you all the cash you would need in Roanoke."

Quinn shook his head and offered a nasty smile that said, "Bullshit."

Pankovits slid across an eight-by-ten color enlargement of a photograph of Dee Ray surrounded by FBI agents, with his hands cuffed, his mouth open, and his face angry. Delocke explained, "We picked up Dee Ray in D.C. about an hour after we brought you in. He likes to talk, you know. In fact, he talks a lot more than you do."

Quinn stared at the photo and was speechless.

The Freezer. Four in the morning. Victor Westlake stood, again, and walked around the room. Movement was needed to fight off sleep. The other four agents were still awake, their systems pumped with over-the-counter amphetamines, Red Bull, and coffee. "Damn, these guys are slow," one of them said.

"They're methodical," another replied. "They're wearing him down. The fact that he's still talking after seven hours is incredible."

"He doesn't want to go to the county jail."

"Can't blame him there."

"I think he's still curious. Cat and mouse. How much do we really know?"

"They're not going to trick him. He's too smart."

"They know what they're doing," Westlake said. He sat down and poured another cup of coffee.

In Norfolk, Pankovits poured a cup of coffee and asked, "Who drove you to Roanoke?"

"Nobody. I drove myself."

"What kind of car?"

"I don't remember."

"You're lying, Quinn. Someone drove you to Roanoke the week before February 7. There were two of you. We have witnesses."

"Then your witnesses are lying. You're lying. Everybody's lying."

"You bought the Hummer on February 9, paid cash, and there was no trade-in. How did you get to the used-car lot that day when you bought the Hummer? Who took you?"

"I don't remember."

"So you don't remember who took you?"

"I don't remember anything. I was hungover and still about half drunk."

"Come on, Quinn," Delocke said. "These lies are getting ridiculous. What are you hiding? If you're not hiding something, then you wouldn't be lying so much."

"What, exactly, do you want to know?" Quinn