Agent Wilson sat in his dark office. The desk lamp splashed light across the photographs that were strewn across it. His eyes wandered from face to face. How could he make the connections? He just needed to find the weak spot. Give it a poke and see the whole operation tumble to pieces.
However, Frank Sicero had all the loose ends tied up in a little bow. The I’s were dotted, the T’s were crossed and all the P’s and Q’s were minded. From what they could see every business was completely legitimate. The only problem was that they were very, very wet. Everyone was crooked in this town and turned a blind eye. Even the civilians, coaxed and greased with libations, aided and abetted the organization. Evidence was drained from every glass and wiped clean at the mere hint of a raid. All fines were paid and then some. Paperwork was mysteriously replaced. Witnesses changed their stories at the drop of a dime. An absolutely infuriating struggle as lawmakers called for blood and yet fed the beast with their late night booze filled political fundraisers.
Agent Spiegel was hell-bent on landing Sicero, but Agent Wilson was left holding the bag on figuring out how to pull it off. He wanted to hook Sicero where it hurt. He shifted the photographs around again as if they would somehow speak to him. He jumped as the telephone rang. He fumbled with the receiver.
“Agent Wilson here…I see…thank you…If the tip pans out, I’ll make the usual deposit.” He hung up and his eyes landed on a face on the desktop. He snatched it up and went to the door. A policeman left at his disposal sat half asleep on a bench outside the office. Wilson shook him awake and held out the photograph.
“It’s time. Go pick her up for possession. On her way home from the club.”
The young police officer slowly realized what he was being asked to do, then shot out of his seat. He ran out of the building. Agent Wilson retreated to his office and picked up the receiver again.
Agent Spiegel had just laid down on his lumpy mattress. He was too tired to even kick off his shoes, but he loosened his tie and tossed it on the floor. His back still ached, but the pain had lessened. It felt good to stretch out after so many hours sitting in a car. The moonlight reappeared from behind a cloud and cut across the room. He rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh. His eyelids were heavier with every blink. The darkness was curling up around him, enveloping him. His body felt like sandbags sinking into the down.
Spiegel shot upright as the telephone’s ring clanged in his skull. He darted for the contraption, anything to make that noise stop. Still in the process of waking up, he held up the ear piece and spoke into the telephone.
“Whatsit?” he mumbled.
“Spiegel! It’s Wilson. I hope you haven’t turned in yet, because there’s been a development. They’re bringing in the waitress.”
“The waitress?” Spiegel ran a hand over his face. Then it clicked. “The waitress! When?”
“Could be any minute. You better get down here.”
“I’m on my way,” Spiegel barked before he slammed down the earpiece. He stumbled around the room before realizing he was mostly still dressed. He grabbed his coat and hat, then rushed out of the room.
As the connection died, Wilson released the telephone and leaned back in his chair. His finger tapped absentmindedly. He stared down at the photograph. It was a waitress at Libellule in the upper class lounge. She stooping over some empty glasses on a side table, when she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of a discarded napkin. In the background, staring at her sat Micky O.