MY HEART started pounding. The Wiz, my boss, was the one tailing me.
Did he know? Did he know I was Internal Affairs? Did he know that I was more than just a homicide detective, that I was working undercover for Goldie and BIA?
Did he know that he was one of the main targets of my undercover investigation?
The tall African American guy, he of the camel coat and colorful scarf, was making his way toward me now. Goldie had sent him, so he was almost surely BIA.
The man walked up and stood next to me as though he didn’t know me—just another guy waiting to take a northbound train.
I kept up my bogus conversation on my phone. I shook my head as I spoke, like something in the conversation was frustrating me.
Yep, two guys just waiting for a train.
I mean, we had to make it look like we were trying to be surreptitious, right? My tail—whom I now knew was the Wiz—would expect nothing less.
As casually as I could, I turned around so my back was to the platform and, more important, so that I was facing away from Wizniewski. I wanted it to be easy for the Wiz to watch me, and if I had my back to him, he could stare all he wanted. He could even snap photos with his phone if he was so inclined.
Now it was time for the guy next to me, Mr. Camel Coat, to sneeze.
He did. Faking a sneeze isn’t hard, especially when the person you’re trying to fake out is across the train tracks from you. After he did so, Mr. Camel Coat turned away, an instinctive, polite thing to do, so he could blow his nose. He reached into his coat as he turned. He produced a handkerchief and a manila envelope, one large enough to hold a set of glossy eight-by-ten photographs.
At this point we both had our backs to the Wiz, and we made a point of keeping a small distance between us so the Wiz could clearly see the envelope pass from Camel Coat to me.
Camel Coat, without missing a beat, blew his nose, or pretended to, then folded up his handkerchief and turned around to face the platform again. He was good. I caught a whiff of his aftershave as he turned. But I never looked directly at him.
I stuffed the envelope into my coat and pretended to end my phone conversation. I turned around so that I, too, was facing the opposite platform again.
Just two guys waiting for a train. Eyes cast casually downward, in a fog after a long day of work.
Now that we were both facing the platform again and the Wiz could see our faces, it was time for Camel Coat to speak, just one word.
“When?” he said.
He enunciated the word sharply, so it would be easy to read his lips.
Now it was my turn to utter one word, and I did it the same way, pretending to be casual but making sure the word would be easy to read off my lips, as though I were serving it on a silver platter to Lieutenant Paul Wizniewski.
I said, “Soon.”