Weiss. All well here but slow. Chris Wannamaker checking me on planes so we spend time together in the air. But he’s very sullen, silent. No way to question him. Watchful of his wife Kathleen too, suspicious, doesn’t want me close. Always home when she’s home so far. I managed some chats with her at work. Tough crust but lonely, abused. I just need a chance to get to her, pump her for info.
“Uy,” Weiss groaned softly. Pump her for info. Bishop’s e-mails were always full of stuff like that. Weiss was probably the one person on earth Bishop cared about at all, the one person whose good opinion he actually wanted. But he knew the older man didn’t approve of some of his methods and I think he liked to rag him about it a little. The wild son giving the dig to his stodgy father sort of thing. Pump her for info.…
Weiss put a hand on his stomach and groaned again. With the other hand, he scrolled the e-mail down. Read on.
Another sighting of gray moustache, out at airfield this time. Now confirmed: moustache is Bernie Hirschorn. VBM. Heads Driscoll Foundation, which pretty much runs the city, maybe more. Lots of money, drug connections. A lot of dead bodies on his way to the top. Local businesses pay him off or he burns them out, maybe whacks them, takes them over. Owns most of the airpark now, half of Ray’s business.
And Ray’s right—something’s going on. Some of Hirschorn’s front orgs. have been chartering Chris to fly. Sometimes with passengers, sometimes with Hirschorn, sometimes just with freight. Destination mostly Arcata, the county seat, according to the manifests. But Chris’s plane keeps returning from the north—Arcata’s to the west. Plus the flights take too long—the Hobbes time is way off.
Weiss swiveled back and forth in his chair a little, thinking. He didn’t know what Hobbes time was exactly, but he didn’t like the sound of this. It seemed pretty clear what Bishop was telling him. This Hirschorn character was hiring Chris Wannamaker to fly somewhere in secret, falsely listing Arcata as the destination. But what for? North of Driscoll there was nothing but forest for miles and miles. Was it some kind of smuggling deal? Drugs, cigarettes, CDs in and out of Canada, something like that?
Whatever it was, it made Weiss worry. Hirschorn sounded like a VBM all right—a Very Bad Man. A lot of dead bodies in his wake. And he knew how hard it was to rein Bishop in once he was onto something. Weiss would have to keep an eye on his operative, make sure he didn’t get himself into this too deep.
The last paragraphs of the e-mail didn’t reassure him any.
Working a possible angle. Chris Wannamaker’s a boozer. Big mouth, hothead, out of control. Hirschorn may want a better pilot, more reliable. I’ll see if I can find a way to move in there too.
BTW, our client, Ray Grambling’s a fucking idiot. Scared, talks too much. Nearly blew my cover—called me by my real name—three times. Could get me killed. Seeya. JB