Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm) Read Free Page B

stolen."
    I remember Hank telling me something to that effect once. "So
you write up a receipt. Not in the person's real name, I assume."
    "Nope. And the check's the same way."
    "Then how can he cash it?"
    "He doesn't. I pay him in cash. He endorses the check with
the fake name. And I just take it to my bank and deposit it right
back in one of my accounts. Then, if the cops come around, I got a
receipt and a canceled check, all legal."
    "Sounds complicated."
    "It is. But it works."
    "I guess you do a pretty good business."
    "It's a living."
    "How'd you get started?"
    "In a small way. And then it got bigger."
    I sensed that was all I would get out of him, so I went off onto
another tack. "Do people like those truckers—"
    "Thieves, you mean."
    "Well, yes, thieves. Do they come here any time they feel
like it?"
    "There's a pattern to it. Early in the morning, I'm usually
down here by seven. By ten I've done more of my buying. Then I take
it easy, wait for people to see the 'garage sale' sign and drop in.
Some of the stuff I buy comes from shoplifters.
They
start
coming in around one-thirty, two, after they've worked the stores
over the noon hour. That's when they get crowded and security is
lax."
    I'd once worked as a department store security guard and I
remembered those hectic noon hours all too well. Most shoplifters I'd
apprehended during the day were kids or frustrated housewives—people
you really had to feel sorry for on a certain level. But the
professional thieves who operated during the peak hours—they
were hard cases and, as far as I was concerned, deserved tougher
sentences than the courts handed out to them.
    Again I felt a twinge of conscience at even contemplating helping
Willie, but I had to admit I was fascinated. "So your thieves
pretty much keep to normal business hours?"
    "With me they do. Oh, when I was first in the business they'd
come around any time—two, three in the morning even. If I
didn't answer the door, they'd stand on the sidewalk and holler, toss
stones at my bedroom window. I put a stop to that fast—after
all, I got my reputation with the neighbors to consider."
    Willie looked thoughtful, scratching his curly head. "I guess
you could say I'm quieting down in my old age," he went on.
"There was a time when I'd do anything to turn a profit. But
now, I don't know. I don't need to prove anything anymore. I mean, I
know I'm good."
    I glanced around the garage. "I guess you must be."
    He sat up straighter, his enthusiasm returning. "I'll tell
you—a good fence is somebody who can move merchandise. I've
handled just about any kind of goods you can name in my day; I can
get rid of anything. But you know what? There's no thrill in it
anymore. Oh sure, dealing like you heard me do with those truckers
gives me a lot of satisfaction. But it don't last, not like it used
to. Hell, more and more I find myself making a legitimate deal just
because it's easier." He glanced sidelong at me, as if he had
just admitted a minor perversion and was afraid I would be shocked.
    "I wouldn't worry about it," I said mildly.
    "Okay, so now you tell me this: How are you going to stop
this guy who's following me?"
    I was about to say I wouldn't know if I was going to take his case
until I spoke with Hank, but something stopped me. This was
intriguing, dammit. Willie Whelan could provide me with an entree
into a world I'd never see otherwise. And the knowledge I'd gain
might be useful in solving future cases; after all, wasn't it better
to know how the other side operated? "How would you like to take
on a new employee?"
    "Huh?"
    "You say you have three runners—why not add another?"
    "You mean you'd pose as one and check things out?"
    "Right. It's better if no one knows who I am, even your other
people."
    Willie studied me, then nodded decisively. "That might work.
You can come along with me tomorrow to the flea markets and I'll show
you the ropes. I'll tell my runners I'm training you to handle the
Berkeley Flea