Thompson said, “Aboutthat warrant…”
“Yeah, about that,” Capslock said. “We’re desperate. We admit it. We gotta have some information, one way or another.”
Thompson held up a finger—wait one—and walked over to the stairs, walked up four, craning his neck, then another step, seeming to peer down a possible hallway at the top, took one more step, then turned and came back down. “The people who run my former country can be very rough. A lot of people would be happy to do them a favor as, you know, insurance, in case they decide to go back.”
Sherwood: “Yes.”
Thompson looked him over and said, “You’re not a cop.”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“You don’t want to know that,” Sherwood said.
Another few seconds spent examining Sherwood, then, “Okay, I’m up to my neck in shit. I’m hoping the other lady upstairs doesn’t hear us. You want to talk to Lawrence Bell, formerly Ilarion Belov, who I believe,who I know, is close to the people you are interested in. The people in Russia, maybe not exactly this crew you are searching for. People like…” He nodded at Sherwood.
“Where’s he live?” Lucas asked. “Belov?”
“I don’t know, exactly. Minneapolis, in general. He seems to have several places. I have his cell phone number.”
“We’ll take that,” Lucas said.
“If you tell Belov where you got the number, I will probably part ways with my testicles, if not my entire skin,” Thompson said.
“We’ve already forgotten your name,” Lucas said, “though we have it written down on this warrant. We’ll be back with it, if you’re lying to us.”
“I’m not. I really don’t want…Listen, you gotta…If you…”
Like that, for ten minutes.
• • •
Out on thesidewalk, after more threats and saying goodbye to Thompson, Sherwood looked back at the house and said, “You know, that place could be a little treasure chest of information. I bet there are places like it in every big city in the country.”
“Probably,” Capslock said. “Even some middle-sized ones. I know there’s one down in Cedar Rapids.”
“Local cops know that they’re running sex workers out of there…but you don’t do anything with it?”
“Nothing illegal about escorts, if all they’re doing is hanging on the arms of tech bros at parties,” Capslock said. “Who’s gonna testify that they’re providing sex for money? Even if we could prove that’s happening, it would be like a two-hundred-dollar fine and harsh words for their customers. Not worth chasing after. At two thousand bucks a night, you’d be embarrassing and pissing off a lot of rich potential political donors.”
“Where are you going with this?” Lucas asked Sherwood.
“Possibly simultaneous raids by FBI agents looking for information about overseas connections. Get the warrant, grab every phone and computer in the house, and then, you know, see what else we can squeeze from the women and the managers in return for non-prosecution.”
“What a shitty thing to do,” Capslock said. “I like it.”
“Let’s go see Larry,” Sherwood said. “Call your phone guy at the BCA, see if he can get a billing address.”
“If we get an address, we go back to the judge and ask for another warrant,” Lucas said. “If he’ll do it.”
“He’ll do it,” Capslock said.
• • •
The BCA camethrough with a billing address for Bell’s cell phone, and Capslock told the judge about the possibility of Russian spies in the community, and about the hit team, and the judge came through with another warrant. He asked only that he be told of the outcome, in a narrative way, and not just through the return on the warrant. Capslock said he could do that.
The address was on the south side of Minneapolis, in a trendy neighborhood of older houses and coffee shops and people who didn’t have much to do in the morning.
