Superbia (Book One of the Superbia Series) by Bernard Schaffer Page B

had his badge ready when the door opened.   A large city cop wearing a t-shirt and blue
jeans answered the door.   He squinted at
both badges and said, “How y’all feeling?”
    “All right,” Vic
said.   He looked into the dark warehouse
behind the officer and frowned, “Dez around?”
    “He in the back
with the rest of those clowns.   Come on
in.”
    The warehouse was
filled with hundreds of folding tables stacked on top of one another.   “I thought this was an FBI operation,” Frank
said.   “What’s with the Philly cops?”
    “It’s a
taskforce.   They take guys from all
over.   There’s only a handful of Feebs,
but they fund it, so they run it.”
    “Feebs?”
    “It’s a term of
affection,” Vic said.   He came to a room
in the back and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.   “Is this where the 4-H club is meeting?”
    Several voices
greeted him, and Vic waved for Frank to come inside.   There were a half-dozen cops inside the room,
dressed in baseball caps and t-shirts.   There was one man in a suit.   He
immediately looked Frank over and said, “Who’s the new guy?”
    “This is Frank O’Ryan,”
Vic said.   “He’s the hero who shot the
mope that killed one of our guys.   Frank
took a round in the leg and he’s working with me while he recovers.   Hopefully longer.”
    The rest of the
men nodded and murmured their approval.   One of the cops in the back said, “Where the white girl at?”
    The man in the
suit’s head snapped at him.   His eyes
flared, but he caught himself before he spoke.   “Yeah,” he said, turning to Vic.   “How is Aprille?”  
    “Haven’t seen
her, Dez.   How’s your wife and kids
doing?”
    For a moment, no
one in the room moved or spoke.   Dez
cracked a thin smile and said, “They’re good, thanks.   So now that we’ve made do with the
pleasantries, why don’t you tell us how you two wound up with a real life drug
dealer out there in the boonies?”          
    ***
    One of the
officers passed around flyers and said, “Here’s your boy.   Paris Deimos, black male, twenty-two years
old.   He’s got two priors for delivery of
controlled substances.”
    Vic looked down
at the color photograph in his hands of a handsome dark-skinned male with
braided hair.   “Any weapons offenses?”
    “He shot two
people when he was sixteen.   Did six
months for Agg Assault.”
    “We suspect him
in several other homicides,” Dez said.  
    “Our boy says
he’s seen Paris shoot people down here,” Vic said.
    “That just
confirms he’s a high-priority target.   What’s
the status of your CI?”
    “What’s a CI?”
Frank said.  
    There were a few
chuckles and Vic shot a glance back at Frank with his eyes narrowed.   Dez held up his hand, “Easy.   He’s new to all this.   A CI is a Confidential Informant.   Is the local asset signed up yet?”
    “No,” Vic
said.   “Not exactly.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m letting him
sweat a little.   We’ll get better
cooperation out of him that way.”
    Dez nodded,
“Okay.   Just make sure you get him on
board soon.   We don’t want to miss this
chance.   Keep me posted.”
    The officers got
up from their seats and Frank leaned close to Vic to whisper, “I thought Billy wanted to call the FBI.”
    “Shut up,” Vic whispered.   He looked at Dez and said, “Hey, I need a
minute.”
    The two men went
into the corner, talking in low tones with their backs turned to everyone
else.   Frank shook hands with the other
cops who introduced themselves and offered their hands as they walked past
him.   Frank saw Vic mouth the words Truth Rabbit and Dez’s eyes fixed on
Frank, suddenly interested.  
    ***
    Everyone filtered
out of the building toward their assorted vehicles.   Blacked out Chryslers with chrome rims and
beat up pickup trucks that wheezed smoke.   Dez locked the door behind them and held up his keys to autostart a
brand new Audi parked near the building.   As he