“Thinking the camera in the office.”
“Nah, don’t think that’s gonna work.”
“Why not?”
“Frank hasn’t upgraded anything. His cameras are all the old-fashioned hardwired kind.”
And jammers were useless without a signal to interrupt.
“Shit.”
“I’m assuming it is set up to face the door, too, so she can’t just casually block it without being seen.”
“Yeah, sounds like that.”
“How about one of those blinding flashlights?” Remo said. “You’re gonna have to ask her if she could inch the door open without being seen. Just enough to turn the flashlight on at the thing. As long as it is on the camera, she wouldn’t be seen. Should give her five minutes to search. But she likely won’t get a second chance after that if someone is watching the cameras.”
“I’ll pick one up and see what she thinks. She did mention that Frank’s office is packed with boxes—old and new. But she has no idea what’s in them.”
“I’d like to know, if she can spare a minute to look inside a couple of them. But I want to know if there is paperwork first and foremost.”
“Okay. I’ll mention it. Is Eric still breathing?”
“Yeah. From what Domenico said, Eric was the one in control of that interaction. Frank left red-faced and flaccid.”
“Interesting,” I said.
Eric was, on the outside, a local businessman who owned a handful of establishments. Which he used to keep the law from seeing his real money maker: cocaine.
“Yeah,” Remo agreed. “Things are looking more and more like Frank is not the player he thinks he is. I just need some damn proof that his business is as belly-up as I suspect.”
“Hopefully soon,” I agreed. “I gotta get going and locate a door lock.”
“Do I need to know?” Remo asked.
“Nope.”
“Good.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
I stood and watched him disappear… somewhere before I made my way out the way I’d come in.
I had a bunch of errands to keep myself occupied.
Unfortunately for me, all of them involved Roe. Which meant my mind was on her constantly. Not that that was something new. I hadn’t thought about shit else since I first spotted her.
Putting my hands on her wasn’t an option. Especially after hearing she was worried I might be expecting something for giving her a few little gifts.
—
“Yes?” the woman at the dress shop asked first thing the next morning.
She was an older woman with the kind of elegant carriage and innate confidence that told me as attractive as she was in her golden years, she had to have been a knockout when she’d been young.
“Hey. I need to buy a few dresses for someone.”
“Oh, lovely! Around here, we love a man who spoils his woman.”
