Free Body Guard by Rex Burns

clients by the week unless they were a big enough corporation to stand the shock of a grand total at the end of a job. Moreover, a little working capital was always welcome. Devlin walked the check down to the bank to deposit it. He’d also discovered it was good to find out early if a man’s paper was really rubber.
    His midday was spent down the street from Zell’s house. It was a split-level in a neighborhood of similar designs and located on the kind of curving avenue that a million other suburbs had. The lawn was getting shaggy, and Zell might discover enough physical ability to mow it one of these days. Armed with the cameras and lenses and a book to skim between snoops, Kirk slid the Subaru into a parking space just in sight of the yard and waited for something to happen. It seldom did, and today was no different. The lawn still hadn’t been mowed, and the hedge running down the property line from the street to the back fence was growing leggy and ragged. The afternoon sun slid toward the mountains and filled the car with drowsy warmth, and he could feel the drag of last night’s late hours pull at his eyelids. Yawning, struggling against sleep, Kirk finally gave up; it was time to move on. He wouldn’t do anyone any good dozing off when he should be watching.
    The office telephone answerer gave its familiar red wink for Message Waiting, and far down the tape Kirk found a raspy voice that identified itself as Oscar: “Some guy called me to talk to Bernard DiAngelo, Dev. I give him what you told me— you know, DiAngelo’s out of town but I could hold his messages. This guy didn’t have no message. Thought you’d want to know.” And that reminded Devlin to check out Eddie Visser’s police record.
    Sergeant Lewellen preferred to do favors for Bunch—they had gone through police training together and shared a squad car for almost a year. But he condescended to help Devlin because he was Bunch’s partner, because Devlin wasn’t asking for much, and possibly because of the expensive Christmas gifts Kirk and Associates provided each year. “Hang on, Kirk. I’ll see what I can punch up.”
    In the background, Devlin could hear a blather of voices and an occasional telephone bell, the routine sounds of a squad room. “Okay, here we are: Visser, Edward Leonard … two felony raps and a misdemeanor sheet going back to juvenile. Spent time in Buena Vista … was a guest in Canon City … rape and assault with a deadly. Off parole last year. Looks like your everyday scumbag, Kirk. But right now he’s a rehabilitated citizen with all the rights and privileges thereof. What’s going down?”
    “We have a security problem in the plant where he works. I’m checking out everybody in his section.”
    “I’d say you found your problem. And if it’s on private property, I don’t want to hear any more about it. We’re understaffed and we got shit up to our ears.”
    “How about Scott Martin and John Atencio?” He added quickly, “Then I won’t bother you anymore.”
    “Hang on.” An audible sigh and more background noises. “I got two Scott or Scotty Martins, one in Canon City right now and one with a couple knocks for dealing. Nothing big locally, but he did a stretch in Illinois for burglary. No cross- reference to Visser in the known-associates file. Atencio I can’t help you with unless you got a birth date or his Social Security number. I got maybe fifteen John or Juan Atencios.”
    Kirk could get that information from the man’s personnel file and call back. “Thanks, Sergeant. I owe you a bottle.”
    “Make it Johnny Walker. Black label.”
    Kirk would, and on the Advantage expense account. The electric clock on the wall—placed there for Bunch’s convenience because his wrist was too big to wear a watch—marked ten after three. Though Kirk was eager to find out what Chris Newman had learned at work today, it was best not to call him at the plant. For one thing, it was against company policy