Free The Catch by Archer Mayor

to look out the apartment’s open door. “If anything.”
    Larry faded away. Chapman gave Gunther a half smile and murmured, “Don’t like him much; not sure why. He never gives me good news.”
    “It’s early yet,” Joe suggested hopefully.
    Chapman reflected on his looming bureaucratic headaches and muttered, “Not early enough.”
    He suddenly faced Gunther full on, his expression much lightened. “They’ve got things under control here. What d’you say about chasing that snitch down I told you about? He
might
have more to say about Grega. Where’s your sidekick?”
    Gunther crossed to the doorway leading into the apartment’s one bedroom and called out to Sam, who was watching the search there. She appeared at the door. “Boss?”
    “Field trip,” he told her, and pointed at Chapman, who was already heading into the hallway.
    The three of them went downstairs, to the sidewalk and the hum of the surrounding city.
    “We’re going to see a man about a man,” Joe murmured to Sam as they followed Chapman to an unmarked agency car.
    Gunther let Sam ride up front, mostly so he could stretch out in the back, wedge his shoulder into the corner, and shut his eyes, if only briefly. His days of being able to stay up around the clock with impunity were long gone.
    Chapman drove around for about half an hour, occasionally working his phone in an attempt to locatehis target, before finally parking opposite a bodega in a neighborhood Joe didn’t bother trying to identify.
    “We have to sit here for a couple of minutes,” Chapman explained. “So he can see us. Then we’ll pick him up around back.”
    “This guy reliable?” Sam asked.
    “Has been so far. I’ve been using him for maybe three years without a hitch. We started out because I had him by the balls, but he finally worked a deal with the prosecutor. So for the past half year or so, he’s been giving me stuff for free. Claims he owes me for helping him out—guess it’s all in how you look at something.”
    Chapman put the car back into gear and drove around to the rear of the building, into a small, fetid courtyard lined by blank brick walls and a row of evil-smelling garbage cans. He hadn’t come to a full stop before a shadow appeared at the window across from where Joe was sitting, and the door flew open to admit a wiry, dark-haired man with wide, unnaturally energetic eyes, with which he immediately scanned the car’s interior in a panic.
    “Who’re these guys, Lenny? I don’t know these guys.”
    Chapman twisted around and patted him on the knee. “Easy, Flaco. I told you about them. They’re out-of-town cops, from Vermont. They only want some information. I didn’t even give them your name.”
    Flaco had to absorb that for a few seconds, staring at the floor of the car before finally nodding. “I heard about Vermont,” he said.
    Joe wasn’t sure what to do with that but recognized it as a peace offering.
    “Nice place,” he said. “You ought to come visit.”
    Flaco cast him a quizzical glance before refocusing on the floor, as if doing so would make him invisible. “Thanks.”
    “We can drive or we can sit here,” Chapman stated. “Your choice.”
    Flaco worked himself into the corner, as Joe had done earlier, but slid way down in the seat, so he couldn’t be seen from the street. “Drive.”
    Chapman backed out of the alley and headed on a random drive around the area.
    “What d’ya want?” Flaco asked from his corner, addressing the back of Chapman’s head.
    “Tell us about Luis Grega,” Chapman requested.
    Flaco’s mouth opened. “Grega? Who gives a fuck about Grega?”
    “Gee,” Chapman reacted, yielding a little to the night’s pressures. “Maybe
we
do, Flaco. You mentioned him last time we talked, remember?”
    Flaco kept looking from one of them to the other, reminding Joe of a dog trying to decide who might hit him first. “Lucky prick—that’s about it.”
    “Making a lot of good money?” Joe