Westermann drove farther into Praeger’s Hill, making his way through the slow late-afternoon traffic to Rudi Odeline’s garage on a largely deserted block it shared with a series of run-down storage units. Rudi’s was more of a storage facility than a garage, a white cinder-block box with only the word AUTO painted over the side door to indicate its presumed function. It was an open secret that the garage made its money as a front for a fencing operation, but Rudi was smart or lucky enough that they’d never been able to make it stick.
The garage was closed up tight. Westermann put his ear against the door, heard muffled voices from within, and pounded hard. Nobody came. He pounded again and put his ear to the door. Silence. A group of kids, a couple of them smoking, watched from the end of the block. The garage wall was pasted with the mayor’s campaign signs. The sun was hot on his neck.
He pounded the door a last time and followed it with a yell. “Rudi, it’s Detective Westermann. I’m not here on a bust; just some questions. Don’t make me go to the trouble of getting a warrant.”
He put his ear back to the door and pictured Rudi thinking it over. Eventually he heard approaching footsteps. He stepped away before the door opened to the massive presence of Rudi Odeline; at least six and a half feet tall and, even at that height, stocky. His blond hair was cut nearly to the scalp, his face chiseled and severe. Westermann noticed that the top third of Rudi’s right ear was missing. Had it been missing the last time they’d met?
“What do you want, Piet?” His voice always surprised Westermann with its high pitch.
“A few questions. You want to do it out here or inside?”
Rudi blew out a big sigh. “Okay, okay. We do it outside, yes?”
Rudi found a comfortable position leaning back against the cinder-block wall, a pose of unconcern—even boredom. His white T-shirt was saturated with sweat; his green mechanic’s pants clung to his massive legs. Westermann glanced down the block. Rudi’s appearance had scared off the kids, but a pack of five dogs stood alert at the end of the street. Rudi was watching them, too.
“Rudi,” Westermann started, getting back the big man’s attention, “I’m going to ask you about something from the past. I give you my word that I’m not interested in bringing you in on this crime. Do you understand? I’m not interested in your part in it.”
Rudi nodded, not happy, but weighing the possibility of getting a chit in his favor with Westermann. His face was sunburned. Westermann could make out white scar tissue over his eyes.
“A few months ago you cased a B and E up in Godtown.”
Rudi looked as if he was about to protest, decided against it, and nodded.
“So I’m guessing that you, what, you heard about Godtown, it sounded interesting, and you went up there to watch the place, get a sense of how things go there. Maybe you picked a roof on one of those abandoned buildings and watched. And you saw that these people, they cut out for church every night for hours and the whole block was just empty. How’s that so far?”
Rudi grunted. “Close enough.”
“So this is where I kind of lose the plot, Rudi. It looked like an easy score, right? You wait until everyone heads off to church and go house to house—no hurry, no hassles. But it didn’t work that way and that’s what I don’t get.”
Rudi talked quietly, but his eyes blazed. “Who did you talk to?”
“Don’t worry about that. He knew that I wouldn’t come down on you.
Just trying to get chits; you know how that goes. So what happened, Rudi?
Why wasn’t this the perfect score?”
Rudi shook his head. “Not so good, going down to Godtown. Not a good place. See, I went down there with another guy—”
“Who?”
“Christ, is it important?”
“I won’t know unless you tell me.”
Rudi sighed.
“I’m not going to roust him, Rudi,” Westermann said quietly. “It probably means nothing.”
“It was Klaus Hess.”
The name wasn’t familiar. “Do I know him?”
Rudi shrugged. “He’s not so big. Some people call him Der Flederklaus. Ugly bastard.” Rudi half-smiled, not feeling it.
“Okay.”
“Klaus, he does locks. So him and me, we’re in Godtown, thinking just like you said, we’re going to go down the block, take what looks good. Like shopping, okay? But we start on the first house, we’re up on the stoop and my friend is working the lock, and I hear this tapping from across the street, so I turn and look to see what it is, and it’s this guy, big boy, tapping his piece against this steel rail.” Rudi grimaced. “Look, what’s this got to do with?”
“Keep going, Rudi. You’re doing great. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Yeah,” he said ruefully. “So I tell Klaus, I tell him look over there, and we both look over at this guy, and he’s looking back at us, holding his gun at his side, okay?” Rudi seemed genuinely astonished by the incident; even now. “We’re not carrying, you know. No reason to tack on time if we’re caught, and I take care of myself, you know? Gun or no gun.”
Westermann nodded. Rudi was sweating hard, beads rolling down his temples, dropping off his jaw.
“Then this guy, this big boy, he takes his gun and points it at us. He’s, like, maybe thirty yards away, something like that. He points it at us and just kind of slowly jerks it up, points it again and jerks it up; like he’s just shot us both. Then he just stands there, holding the gun.”
“What’d you do?”
“What the fuck would you do? We got out of there. Not running or anything like that. But we got down off that stoop and we walked away.”
“And that was that?”
“Look, Detective, don’t take this wrong, but you’re not a street guy. Everyone knows that. You’re tough and smart and all that, but you didn’t grow up with it, okay? That guy up in Godtown, you don’t want to take a piss with him. Some people, you’re better off steering clear. Like this guy.”
“So he just backed you off?”
“You been listening to a thing I said?” Rudi sighed in frustration. He probably didn’t have many stories where he was the victim.
“This guy, he a big guy? Big as you? Blond hair? Cat tattoo?”
“I wasn’t close enough to see no tattoo, but, yeah, that could be him. Very big.”
Westermann thought about Koss and his aggressive posture; how he had all the cops’ nerves jangling.
“And you haven’t gone back?”
“Would you?”
Westermann ignored that one. “Then you put the word out.”
“That’s right. Stay the fuck away from Godtown.”