Paper or Plastic

by Mackey Chandler

  "If you want to play junior investigator, join the force like Anderson here." Steve told him. "When you start invading the customer’s privacy, I know the boss well enough to guarantee you’ll be looking for a job, even if they don’t find out. Crap – the way the forfeiture laws are, it would scare the hell out of me if I knew you were going to come by and scan my house. The best protection I have is I haven’t got anything worth loading on a truck. Sorry Anderson, but you know it’s the truth."

  "No problem. I know what you are saying and it’s not right. If these folks have diamonds and anybody called them suspicious, the task force would demand a trail of paperwork back into the ground they were dug from, on the spot. Otherwise they’d assume they were the product of unnamed crimes and grab ‘em."

  Very interesting, Josh thought. I’ll paraphrase that for my partners before we go down the hall. Then I get to break the news to them we have to do the consulate unarmed.

  It didn’t take much to get both Ono and Steve Coontz to join them for breakfast. For five guests the house sent a double team up to take care of them, a chef and a separate server.

  "I’m aware how shallow it is, but the truth is in a town like this, appearances mean a great deal," Roger claimed. "Now I know I’ve made some cutting remarks about your one and only suit Josh, but as far as most of the people in this town are concerned my own is a hayseed special. It’s more than adequate for a funeral, or a graduation in Hicksville USA, but I want us to have more than just a sharp look. I want one that is simply intimidating."

  "Mind if I comment?" Ono asked.

  "Not at all," Rog agreed.

  "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

  "I was thinking Pink – or any place that can do a hand-made suit that has obvious quality."

  "I was afraid of that. You said you have some appointments for tomorrow. The hand built shops are not going to get it done for you. Figure three weeks minimum if you push them. If you push them too hard they may skimp on the seams and things, that aren’t visible. Or they may just give you most of your deposit back and tell you to go away."

  "I figured if I threw enough money at it there would be no problem," Roger admitted. "I’d even pay double to have it in the morning."

  "Won’t make any difference. It just can’t be done that fast, even if the tailor stays up all night. I suppose they could teach a team to do that working together, but I’m sure they haven’t and I doubt just money will persuade them to try it, unless you’re the King of England or a big star."

  "What would you recommend then?"

  "Go to Saint Laurie or Brioni and pick a suit off the rack, but talk turkey with them that you have an important meeting and need it altered for in the morning, even if it costs an arm and a leg. Buy a couple custom suits at the same time, to give them a reason to like you."

  Roger was looking at Ono’s suit with a critical eye and he could tell what Roger was thinking.

  "Hey…these are my work clothes!" Ono reminded him. "I’m not on the job to compete with you, or stick up like a damn big…"

  "Target," Roger finished for him, not convinced yet.

  "Yeah, that too. But spend extra for accessories. Get a better than decent tie – a Hermes or something, a nice shirt, maybe French cuffs. Not a big watch. Don’t even rent one. People in the city think you are a jerk if you flash a hundred - thousand dollar watch around now. It’s passé." He looked a little funny at all of them. "And if you wear weapons have them on because they will alter for them to disappear too. Not that it’s any of my business."

  "You have a killer suit in your kit here, you could wear when we go out today?" Rog asked.

  "I have one from LS up on 45th St. Not a big name, but it looks it. Only about sixteen-hundred bucks, but it doesn’t look like this," he said running a thumb behind his lapel. "Salvation Army," he joked, "twenty bucks."

  Roger was not sure he believed that either.

  * * *

  One nice thing was that nobody had to stand and be chalked. The stores both had sub-millimeter measuring systems and took your measurements just like the older laser systems, but you didn’t have to take your clothes off. Martee was whisked away to the women’s part of the store at Brioni. Ono went in with them today, there wasn’t anything in the car to guard and they actually had a car, not a van like yesterday.

  The fact they had security was not surprising to the storekeepers, but how good Ono looked may have gotten them taken seriously sooner. The suits they picked were already having the seams ripped open before they left and they were promised at the front desk of the hotel, ready to wear, before four in the morning.

  Josh had an Italian suit from Brioni – dark, dark blue, with a shoulder that had almost no pad, but somehow it made Josh appear muscular. Seams that didn’t know how to pucker and fabric that draped just where it was supposed to go. Even the lining was beautiful. He managed to look tall in it and he certainly wasn’t.

  Roger was thinking in terms of projecting an image of trust for himself – I’m established – conservative – perhaps sophisticated as the most aggressive statement. Instead Josh's suit said – "Don’t mess with me. I have a posse who can only be described as evil minions…" It made him look like a gangster – sinister. He should have a five o’clock shadow to wear it.

  Roger was thinking he’d love to have picture of Josh in it, with the SAW hanging under one arm, with his hand around the grip. Maybe when they got back he could stage it, in front of some of the expensive marble work.

  Naturally, he loved it. The thing fit so close to perfect he’d have worn it home. But the tailor tisked and fretted and pulled little tucks of fabric to show him it wouldn’t look right when he sat down. So it was being altered, like the other he’d picked up at Saint Laurie. Rog had one from each also, but he didn’t know which he’d wear in the morning. He knew which Josh would have on.

  In the end he’d paid four hundred dollars for the perfect hat to go with it. It had a slightly lighter tone than the suit, a point in the front of the crown like an ax blade and a violet band of silk. They had a tie with little flecks of the same violet in the flowers and Roger could not believe they were altering the hat tonight. He hadn’t known you could alter a hat.

  His own suits were conservative. He’d tried to explain what he wanted. "Don’t think banker," he’d told the clothier. "Think Swiss banker. The sort you meet after your family has been with the bank for four generations." It looked like they had understood, but the custom cut suit he had gotten from Brioni was a bit more stylish, unstructured at a glance, tropical, in rich cream linen. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever owned and he had high hopes it would give Josh’s suit a run for the money for impact. He even got a hat to go with it, a pale Panama with a gay band.

  Martee… well, Martee hadn’t needed his help picking anything out. There was no cause for concern. It wasn’t that she had all the professional sales help to advise her either. She had firmly told them what would do and not. She picked the most expensive and elegant, without showing any excess of skin. She simply looked like she had been wearing these sorts of clothes all her life. She’d picked it all up off the net, or the few magazines she had seen.

  She had the last outfit of the day on when the men finished up first and went looking for her. She had on a suit of a dove fabric that had considerable body just like Roger’s suit. It was the first time he had seen her in a skirt. It was long, slit to the calves and had a jacket of a masculine flavor that fell somewhere between a tuxedo and a toreador’s jacket, pinched in at the waist.

  It went over a cream silk blouse and had a matching dove felt hat with silk decoration to match the blouse. The jacket and skirt both had piped edges, backed by a thin line of color on color embroidery and covered buttons. Her boots were by Bally, a soft low heeled, slightly darker grey than the suit and soft enough to have delicate wrinkles. The tops disappeared under her skirt.

  At her throat was a single small pin with a blood red stone. It was neither big nor el
aborate; the single spot of color jumped out against the neutral suit however, like it had a spotlight on it. That finished them up for the day.

  In the car Josh was admiring Martee's taste in her new outfit. "Are you sure that implant you were telling us about isn't getting weak? You sure do look fine today."

  "Some people can fall in love with a picture in a magazine," Martee observed. But it didn't seem to chastise Josh at all.

  "Oh Dear God," Roger exclaimed in a sudden insight. "I can see a sinister new dimension to scratch and sniff advertising inserts." They had a good laugh, but they couldn't explain it to Martee with Ono along, leaving Martee confused and Ono again aware there was something he was missing about them.

  They were chatting about other things when Josh’s phone got his attention. It didn’t make a noise, but he pulled it out and studied it carefully.

  "Any problem?" Roger asked.

  "Nah, just the computer at my place. It couldn’t decide it’s just deer out there, ‘bout a half kilometer west. There were eight of them. It has never seen more than seven together, so it called me. I can’t get mad at it – I programmed it, so – garbage in garbage out – my fault entirely."

  "I’ve never seen eight deer together either," Ono said. "I’ve seen one or two, driving upstate. Where the heck you guys from where they run around in big herds?"

  "Way out west in Washington. They’re pretty, but they can be a pest if you want to plant a garden or something. Sometimes they’ll eat even ornamental bushes. And an eight foot fence isn’t always enough to stop them," he told Ono. "They can float over it like they have wings," he demonstrated with his hand.

  They had Anderson and Harris for the evening, so they took Anderson and went out for dinner. Martee of course got a particular thrill out of it and they went to an Italian place Anderson recommended, where it took three hours from the antipasto to the cannolis to do it justice. They had musicians strolling with violins and a mandolin and then he switched off for an accordion.

  It was easy to think by now Martee had seen everything, but not an accordion they found out. She was delighted and had to ask Josh and Roger what to request, because she had no idea what the instrument could play. She tipped the fellow lavishly.

  On the way home Martee asked about brightly lit places they passed. Stopped at one light she asked about a garish place beside them, that was a strip joint. Roger was so straight laced he tried to avoid discussing it, but the laughter and unhelpful coy remarks from Josh, forced him to make a pretty thorough explanation. It finally ended with all of them laughing and Martee chiding Rog.

  "Don't you imagine we have similar things at home?" she asked. But Anderson was thoughtfully aware there was something different about Martee's home, that he wasn't picking up on.

  The next morning, their clothing was waiting for them downstairs when they woke up. The new shift was Steve Coontz and Ono again. They had established the day before that Ono was not his family name, but his given name.

  Josh had been delighted, since he already thought it was wonderful. He wondered what sort of a mother would name her son delicious? Ono asked if Josh spoke Hawaiian and somehow he told a joke and never got around to answering him.

  * * *

  Steve took the duty to go down and retrieve the altered clothing, turning down the hotel’s offer to run it up – Ono motioned him over to the table when he got back.

  There’s something bothering me," he confessed. His big hands around a cup of coffee.

  "What?" Steve asked. "Is the shift too long? You need a day off to do some stuff?"

  "No, not that kind of bothered. We were driving home yesterday and Josh got a silent call on his phone. He answered and looked at the screen quite a bit. Turns out his computer is set to run a security system on his property, way the hell out on the west coast. There were some deer about a half klick out in the boonies, away from his house."

  "And your point is?"

  "Did they ask for an electronic survey when we took the job? Did Dave send a crew to sweep for bugs, before we showed up?"

  "No, but that’s not something merchants usually ask for. Politicians and folks in big businesses that have trade secrets maybe, or public companies that investors want inside information, yes, you expect a sweep," Steve said.

  * * *

  "Uh-oh. Come quick, listen to this." Josh called to Martee and Rog in their rooms. They hurried to the computer, where the text of the conversation was scrolling over the video camera feed.

  * * *

  "Well what do you think the chances are a man, who keeps tabs on the deer playing in his yard, clear across a continent doesn’t know what’s happening in the rooms he’s rented right down the hall?"

  "Shit…"

  "Uh-huh," Ono agreed.

  "And I’m trying to remember everything we’ve said for days. Harris shot his mouth off about scanning their thingy on the roof, damn him."

  "Well you pretty much jumped all over his ass about that, but it might have been better if you had Tom pull him off the job."

  "That’s easy to say, but it’s not so easy to do. If you don’t want to work with somebody Tom has always figured it isn’t a onetime, one-way problem. Pretty much he decides one of you has to go and I’m not all that sure it wouldn’t be me. I’ve never liked Harris’s paranoia. He drags everybody on a job down with negatives, but the truth is he never really screws up. I wish he would. That would make it easy to dump him. But his negativity might just look like caution, to somebody that isn’t out here all day with him. Crap – here we are analyzing all this to death and they might be sitting listening to it right now."

  "I wouldn’t have any problem with that at all. I’ve worked lots of cases where I asked to be wired and was happy to have an ear keeping track of me, in case things went bad. I would have sat and written this out if I cared about that. But I’m rethinking the creepiness of the whole thing. I put on my vest for the first time this morning, just like working a case for the department. Do you have some armor you can put on, dude?"

  "You cops are nuts. I don’t put my vest on and off, based on some gut feeling about the risk today, like deciding whether to take an umbrella. I wear mine when I run out to the corner to buy a carton of milk. You never know but some crazed druggie got off the wrong subway stop and nobody told him my neighborhood is too nice for robbers. Of course I put it on."

  "Good, because I been thinking about these three, when we took those boxes down to the car you were ahead of me with the other two-wheel dolly. They let you go through the door first and then they went through almost simultaneously. They both looked along the wall the door was in on their side and then one looked all around the alley low, while the other looked all around up higher, like it was rehearsed."

  "Then, after they checked it out they made a couple hand signs to each other. I think we have more talent there than your average middle aged diamond broker. They sure looked more like a couple bad assed troopers, going through some compound door in the Trans Arabic Protectorate. I keep getting all sorts of subtle hints they are exotic, in ways I can't define."

  "You think they carry?"

  "I can't tell. They are either unnaturally confident, or they do and I can't tell for sure and I'm not about to risk any kind of hand scan to find out. I couldn't see the body scan at the tailors. It's none of my business, but it bothers me when I can't tell. They never do the little touch or pat, to make sure it hasn't moved, or print a shape for you to see. Not even when they get in and out of a car. If they carry they are really good at keeping it secret."

  "You said these three. Does the woman give you funny junior commando vibes too?"

  "Well, yes. I know how she didn't know what a strip joint was, but she doesn't come off as a quiet girl from the country. She has an edge. She looks around when she steps out the door and moves like somebody that has seen trouble. And she has this funny habit with her purse. All my female relatives – they toss the purse carelessly in the top of the cart at the groc
ery store, or drop it on the table when they come home, or set it on the floor by their feet."

  "She always has it on her lap, or half tucked under her leg on a seat, or under her arm. I’ve noticed too, some times after she has handled it a lot, getting in and out of the car say, she will give it a little squeeze and turn it around sometimes."

  "And this is significant how?"

  "It’s like my fanny pack. I’m required to carry my weapon off duty and it can be a real pain in the butt sometimes. Especially in the summer when you want to be in shorts and a T-shirt. So I wear a fanny pack, with a holster insert and room for a shield, cuffs and a couple mags. But sometimes, like in the car, you want it in front and sometimes if you are going jogging say, you want it in the back. But when you switch from front to back it puts the draw from the wrong side, so you need to unzip it and turn the whole insert around."

  "If you haven’t worn it for a few days, the first thing you do when you pick it up is give it a squeeze, to find out which end has the grips. I'm pretty sure she is packing – even more so than the men."

  * * *

  "That man is entirely too observant," Martee said. "I didn’t even know I did that. Now I’ll have to stop."

  "Yeah, it’s getting a little sticky," Josh admitted.

  "Call Steve up and tell him you had bad vibes about Harris and want him gone. Pay the guy off," Roger insisted.

  Josh looked dubious.

  "They don’t want him, so we sure as hell don’t and it’s a way to tell them we’re listening without saying it outright and we’re both rid of him.

  Josh nodded and dialed. "Steve, this is Josh. We’ve been talking and there’s something bothering us."

  "There’s a lot of that going around today," Steve deadpanned.

  "Well, we found all three of us have some really bad vibes about Harris. Not anything specific, but he just bugs us always asking negative questions. Now I know he was counting on this for income, so pay him right on out to the end so he doesn't lose anything, if he doesn’t have another assignment you want to send him on."