Excerpt
L.A.'s
permanent layer of smog was hidden by darkness.
Looking though binoculars, Charles Carr stood at the
window inside a dark and bare-floored apartment. He
knew that the black woman standing inside the bay-windowed
apartment across the courtyard couldn't see him. In
his line of work, he mused, invisibility was an ideal
condition. His feet certainly didn't feel invisible.
They were tired to the point of numbness. The stakeout
was in its tenth hour.
A fit man, Carr was dressed in a short-sleeved white
shirt, off-the-rack trousers and wing-tip shoes; attire
that was neither fashionable nor particularly becoming,
but served the Treasury Agent's Manual of Operations
requirement "to be dressed in business attire at
all times while on duty except when acting in an undercover
capacity." Without the weight of a gold badge,
handcuffs, revolver and bullet pouch on his belt to
sag his trousers, he looked like most other middle-aged
men with graying temples.
In the corner of the room, Carr's partner, Jack Kelly,
lay on his back on the hardwood floor. A bear-sized
man with enormous ham-hock fists, he had his arms folded
across his chest like a cadaver. He was snoring.
Charles
Carr adjusted the binoculars to get a better view.
The lanky black woman lit a marijuana cigarette and
took a puff. She was dressed in a pink velour outfit
two sizes too small and had a foot-high Brillo pad hairdo.
The woman fiddled with a stereo set. The muffled sound
of rock music came from the apartment. For the next
few minutes she lollygagged about the room puffing smoke,
picking things up and putting them down and adjusting
her frizz in a mirror over the sofa. At one point she
answered her telephone and, having said a few words,
hung up. Back to the mirror. More picking at her frizz.
Because of fatigue, Carr's mind wandered. He remembered
being on a similar surveillance over twenty years earlier
when he was a young special agent still on civil service
probation status. As he'd been taught in Treasury Agent
School, he had kept a surveillance log and dutifully
noted everything the suspect did and the time. During
the trial, he had learned that such logs were nothing
more than cannon fodder for defense attorneys. "Agent
Carr, you log shows a notation that the subject read
the newspaper at ten fourteen P.M.," the lawyer
had said. "How do you know that the suspect read
it? Couldn't he have been just looking at the pictures
in the paper?" From then on, he had prepared only
the most concise of reports. This habit, among others,
was a source of constant consternation to his superiors,
few of whom he respected, either then or now.
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