Free The Third Rail by Michael Harvey Page A

waitress's cell phone came alive in her hand, bleating out the theme song from
Sanford and Son
. She beamed at her ring-tone choice as if it were a newborn and then returned to the unappetizing prospect of her job ... and yours truly.
    "Listen, sir, I have things to do. You want something else?"
    Hubert Russell drifted into view--baggy jeans, red sneakers, and backpack a perfect fit for the Filter vibe.
    "My friend behind you might want something," I said.
    The waitress rolled her eyes and flipped open her still-singing phone. "I'll call you back." She hung up without waiting for a response. Then she took Hubert's order for chai tea and moped away.
    "What did you do to her?" Hubert settled into a chair across from me and pulled off a chili-red stocking hat. Underneath was a mop of black hair, tied back in a small ponytail.
    "Nothing. How you doing?"
    "Okay." Hubert began to unpack what I assumed was a nuclear-powered laptop. He kept his body turned away from me and his head slouched low between his shoulders. I knew there was a problem. Then the light coming through the window shifted and I knew why.
    "What happened to your face?"
    A shiver of anger settled in his jaw. Hubert turned toward me and blinked out of one eye. The other was partially closed and that was the good news. He had a ragged run of stitches holding together the upper half of his eyelid and swelled up into his brow. The left side of his lower lip had caught some thread too, and I bet whatever had happened might have cost him some teeth.
    "Was it just fists or something else?" I said.
    "No offense, Mr. Kelly, but I don't want to talk about this."
    "Not how things work, Hubert. You look out for your friends. And your friends look out for you."
    "Maybe I don't need looking out for?"
    "Really. You take care of the truck that hit your face?"
    Hubert tried to smile, but it looked like it hurt.
    "Let me ask you something," I said. "You want to live your life like this?"
    "Like what?"
    "Scared, ashamed. Pretending whatever it is, it's not a big deal."
    "Not right now, Mr. Kelly." The pleading edge in his voice tugged at the fabric of denial that lay bunched between us.
    "We're gonna talk," I said. "Later, for sure."
    Hubert took a sip of his tea. "Can we do the case now?"
    I shook my head and gave him the bare bones. Most of it he had already picked up from the news.
    "We have one at least solid lead," I said. "Guy dumped his rifle in an alley after the shooting downtown."
    "He never would have done that if it could have been traced, right?"
    "You'd be surprised at how careless these guys can get," I said.
    "Guys?"
    "We think there are two people operating together."
    "Can you tell me what you got on the rifle?"
    I shrugged. "Nothing yet. No prints. Feds are running a trace."
    Hubert lifted his one good eyebrow. "Speaking of the feds, what do you think I can do that the FBI can't?"
    "I know the Bureau," I said. "They're running all kinds ofscenarios, working up a profile, comparing details of the crimes against other cases. All the stuff you'd expect."
    "Makes sense to me," Hubert said. "Use your database to look for patterns."
    "Yeah, but I'm thinking the guys we're looking for might not fit any of the normal patterns. On top of that, the Bureau can't do anything without discussing it for a day and a half. Meanwhile, these guys keep killing people."
    Hubert didn't look like he completely bought the logic, but there was enough there for him to be intrigued. "Do they know about me?"
    "I'll talk to the powers that be. Maybe get you some sort of consultant's role."
    "And if you can't?"
    "It's a free country, isn't it?"
    Hubert grinned. It might have been my imagination, but it looked like the smile hurt a little less. "Do I get to carry a badge?"
    "No, Hubert. What you get to do is think outside the box. Develop an analysis modeled on factors no one else is taking into account."
    "And you think that's where these guys live?"
    "I think it's worth a shot. You nose around