Free Rizzo’s Fire by Lou Manfredo Page B

I’ve added a bit to that. I’d rather not be involved any further. If you’re thinking about intercepting him when he comes for his follow-up care, I’d really rather you . . .”
    Rizzo raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry, Doc,” he said soothingly. “That’s one way we could do it, but not the only way. We’ve got his address and employer, you don’t need to be involved any further. When he shows up Monday, treat him the same way you normally would. I wouldn’t mention any of this to him, and tell your staff not to, either.”
    Rizzo stood, indicating the interview was over. Jackson rose also.
    “ ’Course,” Rizzo said as he reached across the desk to shake hands, “don’t be surprised if he misses that Monday appointment. He may have a more pressing engagement.”
    * * *

    THE FOLLOWING afternoon, Thursday, at four o’clock, Joe Rizzo once again worked the phone in the Six-Two detective squad room. After some fifteen minutes, he replaced the black plastic receiver on its cradle and stood. He crossed the room and sat heavily in the chair beside Priscilla’s desk.
    “Just got off the phone with Gordon’s Sporting Equipment,” he told her. “Their corporate office over in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. You ready for this? Our man Jurgens works in the Brooklyn store. Over on Bay and Shore Parkways, right here in the precinct. Gordon’s is big on hunting stuff—rifles, tents, knives, clothes, stuff like that. They’re one of only two places in the whole precinct. Imagine? We’da been showing that artist sketch around, maybe showin’ it to Jurgens himself and askin’ him if he ever saw the guy.” Rizzo laughed. “Who figured the guy worked in a place like that?”
    Priscilla shrugged, a smile touching her lips. “This job stopped surprisin’ me a long time ago,” she said.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I forget how it is.”
    “Did you call over to the place?” she asked.
    Rizzo shook his head. “Didn’t have to. Friggin’ Nazi at corporate was all anxious to show me what good citizens these hunter types are. He went into the company payroll file. Jurgens is scheduled to work till closing to night, nine o’clock.”
    “You wanna make the pinch at the store?”
    He nodded. “Yeah, I think. Guy seems to be a boozer, chances are the best time to catch him sober is at work. And he’ll probably be less likely to give us a hard time if he isn’t tanked up. Plus, he may be embarrassed in front of his coworkers and just deny it all and come along quietly.” Rizzo paused for a moment. “Yeah. I think we grab him at work,” he continued. “After we bring him in, we’ll print him and have my buddy Torres compare the partial from the shell casing. That should be the clincher.”
    “Let’s go, then,” Priscilla said. “We take him now, I can run him through Central Booking and still get home by midnight.”
    “What makes you figure I’d stick you with the paperwork?” Rizzo asked lightly.
    “Shit,” said Priscilla, “I never seen an old pro take a collar on straight time. We pinch the guy at ten to night, you’d be shoving me aside for the overtime. But not this early in the tour.”
    “I forget sometimes, Cil,” Rizzo said, “you been on the job for a while.”
    She nodded. “Long enough, brother. Long enough.”
    “You run that DMV?” Rizzo asked.
    “Yeah. Jurgens has a two-year-old black Ford F-one-fifty pickup registered to his home address on Stillwell Avenue.”
    “Good,” Rizzo said. “Another nail in his coffin. You haven’t been out in the field with that gold shield for a full week yet, and you cleared two cases. You’re a friggin’ star already.”
    “ We cleared two cases, Joe. And I think it’s you who’s the star.”
    Rizzo laughed. “Yeah. I forget that, too, sometimes. C’mon, let’s go grab this asshole. I got a feelin’ he’s about to lose his God-given right to bear arms.”
    Later, as Priscilla drove the Impala toward the