Drawing Dead by Rick Gadziola

Author:Rick Gadziola
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC022010
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2006-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I’d laid a few baseball bets down at the Barbary Coast and was sitting at home playing online poker when the telephone rang.

“Hello?” I answered, ready to blow off some telemarketer.

A male voice responded, “Door,” and then the connection was cut.

I went to the front door of my two-story condo and opened it wide. There on the step was a 10x13 manila envelope. I picked up the package and looked down at the yard and along the street without seeing anyone who could have been the delivery person.

I closed the door, locked it, and went into the kitchen, where I poured the contents of the envelope onto the table. There were six sheets of names, addresses, and telephone numbers, one for each year’s Vice roster starting with the year 2000. Two dozen or so photos of standard ID size were bound together by elastics.

I started with the oldest list and worked my way to the current one. There were anywhere from 15 to 20 names on each, and I noticed that for the most part, the names didn’t change. There was the odd transfer to Narcotics or Robbery, but I wasn’t interested in those. I found what I was looking for when I located three names that had DECEASED printed beside them. Two were marked as having died from gunshot wounds back in November of 2001 and their names were Anthony Rinaldo and Jerry Ball. The third was Vladimir Kasparitis.

I shuffled through the photos like I was sorting through a deck of cards, trying to find anyone I might recognize. A couple looked familiar, as if I might have seen them at the retirement party, but one, in particular, stood out from the rest. It was the large black cop who had joked around with me when I was dealing on Saturday. The one with no neck. The one I could have sworn resembled the silhouette I saw when I was hiding out in the men’s room. I read his name and filed it in my brain: Parker. Theodore Parker. And probably the Teddy Bear that had been referred to by one of the conspirators.

I remembered this being how most investigations got off the ground: a name here, a reference there. Like a puzzle, it had to start somewhere, and it always started with the first piece fitting in with the second. I was on my way.

I also knew from my own experience that most cops were like poker players; many of them had nicknames to set the individuals apart. Some of the guys I played cards with had monikers as simple as Kid Poker, Big Bob, Little Bob, Fast Eddie, Chinese Dave, and JB, JR, or JT. Then you had those that were a little more abstract. Like Wallbanger, for the guy named Harvey, AK47 for the guy who always raised with Big Slick, or Stinky, which pretty much explained itself.

And then you had the big 300 pound cops named Theodore who were affectionately known as Teddy Bear.

I started going up and down the lists, stopping here and there when I thought I might have something.

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