“Sounds kind of British,” Lucas said.
“Fuckin’ British drug dealers,” Ochoa said.
“Almost as bad as the fuckin’ Canadians,” Lucas agreed. “Scum, the whole queen ass-kissing bunch of them.”
* * *
When Ochoa dropped Lucas back at the hotel, Orish asked, “You got it figured out?”
“Grab him the first chance we get, put the screws to him. Taking Pruitt to Manhattan sucked up a lot of time—would it be possible to do the first interview with Curry here at the hotel?”
“Could blow our cover, bringing a cuffed guy through the lobby,” Kerry said.
“How about some other place? A motel somewhere? How about the post office or some other federal office? We need to get a quick read on him. If he’s like Pruitt and tells us to go fuck ourselves, I need to warn off Virgil and Rae. If Sansone tries to get in touch with Pruitt and can’t, and starts to wonder, and then calls Curry, and can’t get him, we could have a problem. They killed at least three people in South Florida just cleaning up, not counting the shooters who died, or Bob, or the Coast Guardsmen. If they decide they need to clean up Virgil and Rae . . .”
Orish scratched her forehead, wandered over to the window and looked out, thinking, then said, “Curry’s at his house. Why don’t I get a warrant and a couple of uniforms from National Grid Gas? And a truck. We’d need a gas truck. We’d need somebody with serious weight to get the truck, to ask for it . . .”
“That’s what an AIC is for,” Devlin said.
“It’s an hour from Manhattan to here,” Orish said. “We could do preliminary interrogation and the offer right at his house.”
Devlin looked at Lucas, who said, “Six hours to dark. What would it take to organize a gas truck? Two or three hours? Let’s try that. Have somebody get us the uniforms and the truck. I’d take an extra large. Devlin, what, a large?”
“Yeah. Large. Maybe we could get some kind of technical-looking tool box,” Devlin said.
Orish looked at Kerry, her second, and asked, “What do you think?”
“I like it,” Kerry said. “We would need to put some SSG guys right there, on the block, when Davenport and Devlin go through the front door, to make sure nobody runs out the back.”
Orish said, “Let’s plan on this, figure out what else we need to do. Get a satellite picture of that block up on one of our screens . . . I’ll call the AIC.”
* * *
After some discussion, the Manhattan agent in charge agreed to the daylight pickup and search. Warrants had been prepared for all the homes of the identified prime distributors, and the warrant for Curry’s house was printed out in a half hour.
National Grid agreed, after some persuasion, to loan a van, uniforms, and tool bags for what they were told was a surveillance operation in Pleasantville, which was in the opposite direction from Staten Island.
The AIC was getting involved: “You kick the door, or whatever you do,” he said to Lucas, with the rest of the task force team listening in, “We’ll put SWAT guys in a couple of the SSG cars and have them close when you kick the door. That way, if you’re shot to pieces, we’ll have somebody to pick up the pieces. And shoot back.”
“I wouldn’t want our pieces neglected,” Devlin said.
Then the AIC continued, “Then we send in three nicely dressed ladies in a small SUV. They knock on the door and you let them in, like they’re going to a tea party. Or a quilting bee. One’s an assistant U.S. attorney, who’ll help sweat Curry. The other two are search specialists. They’ll have lady-style tote bags with their tools inside . . .”
Over the next two hours, details were filled in and the tension began to crank up. The gas company van arrived, the unforms were brought up. Before Lucas and Devlin had time to change, an SSG agent called to say that Curry was leaving his house in the pickup.
Orish: “Ah, no! We’re ready to go.”
Lucas looked at his watch: 1:20. “We’ve got to move on this. Virgil and Rae will be on their way to the boat before four o’clock. If I’m going to pull them, it’s got to be before three.”
The SSG agent called again, three minutes later, and said, “He’s going to a ShopRite, a supermarket.”
Lucas said, “Let’s get the uniforms on.” He and Devlin went into the bathroom, got out of their street clothes and into the uniforms, which fit well enough. The uniforms had leg pockets for tools, and they put their handguns inside them.
When they came out of the bathroom, Kerry said, “I’d buy it.”
Orish: “Except that the uniforms have never been used and they both have creases from the packages they came in.” Lucas and Devlin spent a couple minutes bending and stretching, trying to twist up the uniforms, and an agent came out of the bathroom with a damp towel and wiped them down. “Still look too clean,” she said. “And you still have creases. You could spend a couple minutes crawling around the parking lot when you get outside.”
Devlin said, “I put on a suit right out of the dry cleaners and five minutes later I look like I slept behind a dumpster. Now I can’t uncrease my goddamn pants. Why can’t they make suits out of this shit?” He pulled at his pant legs.
Lucas: “Because it’s canvas. They make tents out of it. You wanna wear a tent?”
* * *
Curry was inside the supermarket for twenty minutes, came out pushing a cart and loaded four grocery bags into the truck, then drove to a bakery and went inside.
Lucas said to Devlin, “He’s gotta be on his way home with the groceries. Let’s go,” and to Orish, “Tell everybody. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Kerry: “Good luck, guys. Careful.”
* * *
In the elevator, they dropped two floors, the elevator stopped, and an older couple got in. As the doors closed, the woman looked at the uniforms and asked, “Is there a problem?”
“No, a routine inspection of the shutoff valves and the safety inner locks,” Devlin said cheerfully. “Everything is fine.”
“I didn’t smell anything,” the woman said.
“That’s because there aren’t any leaks,” her husband said.
She said, “Huh,” and peered at Devlin, then Lucas, as though she didn’t believe a word of it.
When they were across the lobby and out the door, Devlin looked back and said, “Suspicious old bat.”