Angola LaGrange: Lucky Day Part 4

Looking for the beginning of this story? Find it, and all the rest: Here.

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The taxi dropped me and my suitcase off in front of the police station. I tugged at my old suit, wishing I still had the FBI badge tucked into my breast pocket. I’d had it on my last visit to that particular precinct.

Hopefully the right look and a bit of confidence will be enough to get what I need. I glanced down. Not that the suitcase helps with that.

Sighing, I picked up my bag and headed for the doors.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll be in the middle of big bust or…something.

As I entered, I couldn’t help but notice how empty the lobby was.

The officer at the front desk gave me a half smile. “How can I help you, ma’am?” His voice was cheerier than I would have guessed from an officer in that neighborhood.

“I need to see what files you’ve got on a local loan shark, goes by the alias Bob Silver.” I kept my voice as flat and to the point as possible. Even working in the FBI, I’d only known a handful of agents who actually spoke that way, but it was always what the local cops expected.

Today, that’s to my advantage.

The officer jotted the name on a scrap of paper. “Sure, and you are?”

“LaGrange, right?” Another man stepped into the lobby. His suit made mine look like high fashion, and a veritable cloud of cheap cologne surrounded him. But his face was friendly. “Ange LaGrange, FBI?”

“Angola.” I corrected him.

His face looked vaguely familiar, though a lot of cops had the same look about them. Still, he clearly recognized me, so there was no point in hiding.

At least about that.

He nodded. “I knew it was something like that.” He held out his hand. “Jim Stallings. We both worked the Eastside Ripper case a while back.”

I took his hand, though the blood in my veins had gone icy. I’d tried real hard to forget that case. “Detective.”

“Come on back, I’ll see what I can get for you.” He ushered me out of the lobby and into a maze of overcrowded desks manned by overworked cops. I vaguely remembered the layout from previous, more official, visits.

Jim’s desk was as cluttered as any and most of the scattered files bore the brown rings of long gone coffee cups.

I took the chair he offered me while he settled down in front of his computer. “Thanks for your help. But I should tell you, I’m here on…unofficial business.”

He nodded. “I kind of figured, since you weren’t flashing your badge all over the place. So what is it that you’re looking into? Bob Silver, you said?”

“Yeah, local loan shark.”

He typed the name into his computer. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m only homicide. You’d have better luck with the boys over in organized crime. Maybe missing persons. His business isn’t really my kind of case.”

“I’m just trying to find out if you guys pulled him off the street recently.” And if possible, his real name.

“That shouldn’t be hard to figure.” He scanned his screen for a few moments.

This is going better than I could have hoped for. I fought the urge to glance around the bullpen nervously. If I was really still an FBI agent, I wouldn’t be worried.

“Ah, here we go. Harold Meyer aka Bob Silver.” Jim glanced over the file. “A few arrests but nothing in the last four years. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he cleaned up his act.”

“More likely, he just got better at hiding things.” I rose. “Thanks for the info, Detective Stallings.”

“Call me Jim. What’s a little interdepartmental cooperation between friends? If you really want to pay me back, let me buy you a drink later.”

“Rain check. I’ve still got to get settled.” I hoisted my suitcase.

“Sure. If you need anything else just give me a call.” He passed me a faded business card.

“Will do, Jim.” I wove my way back through the maze of desks, all the while trying not to look like a rabbit about to cross a busy street. But no one stopped me and I made it safely out into the mid-morning air.

While I waited for a taxi to come by, I made a quick check of Striker’s Bowling Alley. It wouldn’t open for a few more hours. Not surprising really. The laundromat on Sixth was open, but less likely to offer me any useful clues. Though it could be a good way to wait out the clock until Striker’s opens.

Regardless, I had no plans of checking either, dressed like an FBI agent. While that disguise had opened some doors at the police station, it would only slam them closed at any criminal business.

So I took the cab back to Lorenz Luxury Suites. I had to pass through the lobby again, not having a key, but in my suit I stood out less against the others milling about than I might have.

The “do not disturb” sign was still up on room 317 when I knocked. “Lucky, it’s me.”

He opened the door a few moments later, dressed only in the complimentary hotel robe. His hair was wet and his exposed skin was reddened from having just gotten out of a hot shower.

“Taking full advantage of your accommodations I see.” I pushed past him and into the room.

“Well not all of us got to go home and get supplies, I’m just making do with what I’ve got.”

I glanced around at the snacks and bottles from the minibar that were scattered around the room. “Yeah, you’re really suffering here.”

If we get caught, you’re footing the bill for all that junk.

“Did you learn anything?” He asked as he flopped down into a cushy chair.

“That Bob Silver’s real name is Harold Meyer, and that the police haven’t arrested him.”

“That’s…good?”

I shook my head. “If the police had him, he’d be easy to find and talk to. Perhaps not cooperative, but the search would be over. As it is….”

“He could be anywhere.”

“Exactly.” I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone. “I’ll swing by his office once it opens, but in the meantime, I have some more research to do.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to help?” I gave him an incredulous look.

He shrugged. “What can I say, I’m bored..”

“Fine, look into Harold Meyer, if you come up with anything that seems useful, let me know.” But I’m not counting on it.

We sat in silence for the next hour or so, scrolling through search results.

“Hey, it looks like Harold owns an apartment building just off Sixth street. That must be why he was by the laundromat.” Lucky’s face beamed with his revelation.

I’d found that out twenty minutes earlier, along with the detail that he lived in one of those apartments, but I let the kid have his moment. “Seems like something worth checking out.”

“Great! I’ll get dressed.”

“If you want, but don’t think you’re coming with me.” I glared at him.

“Come on, I’m going stir crazy cooped up in here.”

“Tough. With thugs like Rusty out looking for your head, it’s too dangerous for you to be on the street. If I find your loan shark, I’ll let you know so you can pay your debt.”

He sighed. “Fine. Just try and be quick will you? We’re running out of snacks.”

To Be Continued…