GUMSHOES

Chapter 7 - Tradecraft

Max tensed when he saw Donnie follow Fletcher into his shop. Either Hardy was planning on playing hardball, or Fletcher was afraid to deliver bad news alone. He waited by his table where his gun was positioned close by. It turned out to be neither. Donnie was just there to emphasize what Max was becoming involved with.

"As promised, Max." Fletcher dropped a thick envelope on the table. "So, you shipped it."

"Right after you left last time." Max opened the envelope and counted the money, nodding and replacing it.

Donnie strolled about the room, looking at the various masks, pausing occasionally to glance at Max and grin.

"Didn't wait to see if we'd pay, Max?" Donnie said, taking down a mask and examining it.

"I trust Gary. Just put that back, okay."

"What do these go for, Maxie?"

"They don't, they're all custom samples. Put it back."

"So what did they cost to customize?"

"Custom means each one is different," the answer smacked of sarcasm. "Just put it back, okay?"

Donnie studied Max for a moment, then stretched the mask out and fired it across the room like an elastic band.

"You prick! You know how much work goes into these?"

Max retrieved the mask and when he stood up, Donnie was right in his face.

"What'd you call me, Shine?"

"Let it go, Donnie." Fletcher put a hand on his sleeve. "Hardy wanted this done fast, and it was. It represents the possibility of a lot of business that won't happen if you screw things up, so c'mon. Let it go."

"There'll be a day, Maxie." Donnie snarled, and walked out.

Fletcher held up a hand. "I'm sorry about that, Max. I didn't want him along but Hardy loves to intimidate." He shrugged and offered a weak smile.

"I don't want him here again, and you can tell Hardy."

"Fine. Good. I'll do that. Just relax, we can do a lot of business together if this one works like you say."

"If they follow the instructions, I guarantee it."

******

"I told you I wanted regular updates, Jerome."

"I did! I called four or five times and it went to your service. Where the hell were you?"

Wendell glanced at the vacuum cleaner and realized he hadn't heard his phone. "Never mind then, what did you call about?"

"Two guys went in, stayed for about fifteen minutes and came out again. Looked like one of them was mad."

"What about?"

"Seriously? I'm in a car half a block away with a camera. How the hell would I know."

"Yeah, okay. Did you get a--"

"I got the licence, Wend-ell. You know, I took the same course as you - and passed."

"Sorry. Send it to me and I'll run some searches. You stick it out there for a while longer 'til I get back to you."

"Ten-four"

Wendell stared at his phone. "Ten-four?"

Half an hour later, after several attempts, the licence came up as registered to a Gary Fletcher, address 16 Oak Terrace, Apartment 402.

"Okay, Mr. Fletcher, let's see just why you're visiting Mr. Shine." Wendell called Jerome, told him what he'd learned, and to get back and pick him up right away.

"What's the rush?"

"We don't waste time when we have leads, Jerome."

"The lead won't go away, besides, it's lunchtime."

"I'm seriously beginning to doubt this arrangement."

"You're the one who promised Audrey you'd do the--"

"Not that arrangement - never mind. Just get back here."

******

Audrey strolled about the room, a finger trailing over picture frames and across table surfaces.

"Looks very good, Wendell. Did you do under the couch?"

"Under- uh, I moved all the chairs."

"The couch?"

"Dust can't get under there with that skirt. It goes right to the floor."

"And the light fixtures?"

"C'mon, Audrey. It took me nearly all day just to do these two rooms."

"Well, I wonder what lesson we've learned from that. What do you say, Jerome?"

"I'm hungry."

"Are you? And what time did you get home again?"

"Around one-thirty . . . hey, oh, wait a minute. I don't do the cooking."

"No, you don't, I do. And what time did I get home, Jerome?"

He had the courtesy to blush.

Dinner was a collaborative effort, with Audrey playing head chef with a vengeance. Wendell complained the entire time, claiming he'd done housework, and peeling vegetables was a task too far. That or not eating corrected his point of view. Jerome lost his appetite, under the same threat, while cleaning a whole fish.

Meal finished, and surprisingly well received, they discussed the case, as Wendell liked to call it, reviewing Jerome's photos and the material Wendell discovered online.

"The licence you sent me was registered to a Gary Fletcher, and from his photo there, and those you took, that guy on the right is Fletcher."

"The other one looks mean." Audrey said.

"Maybe muscle to intimidate Shine?" Jerome offered.

"Hmmm . . . maybe. I have the address for this Fletcher, so no more courses to devour? You're finally sated? Can we pay him a visit."

"Only if you take that apron off first."

Audrey shook her head, smiling, as they bickered all the way out to the car.

******

Oak Terrace was a mid-sized condominium building perched on a shallow hillside, along with a cluster of other buildings, overlooking a small golf course and the subway station. Wendell steered into the visitor's parking and sat studying the terrain.

"What are we waiting for?"

"I'm studying the terrain."

"What, you expect an ambush?"

"It pays to know your surroundings, Jerome - week one of the course, remember?"

"It's a parking lot in front of a building."

"Okay, let's move."

Entry was by phone, and Wendell announced that it was a postal express delivery when the phone was answered.

"Leave it with security."

"Sorry, Mr. Fletcher, it requires a signature."

"What is it?"

"I don't open them, sir, I just deliver."

"Fine. It's 402."

The buzzer sounded, and the door clicked open. Wendell winked at his partner as they moved inside to the elevators.

"Week two, Jerome, Tradecraft."