Chapter 66 Chapter 66

In one corner of the pool room, Fred Dellray sat in a rickety chair, turned to face R. C． .It didn't create much intimidation--from the backs of their chairs--but it was good, because Delray didn't need R. C．Being too scared to think normally. But he needs R. C．There is a little bit of fear. "Do you know what I do, R.C.?" The skinny young man sighed and shook his body. "No, I mean, I know you're an FBI agent and you're undercover. But I don't know why you're arguing with me." Dellray continued: "I'm a living lie detector. I've been in this business for a long time, and I can examine a girl and hear her say, 'Let's go home and we can have sex.' I know she's actually Thinking, when we get home he's going to be so drunk and I can get some sleep."

"I'm just protecting myself. You're scaring me." "Fuck, yes, I'm trying to scare you. You can just keep silent, say nothing, wait for a lawyer, get help. You can even call the FBI and file a complaint against me. But either way, It's going to get to your dad in Sing Sing, New York, that his son got into an argument with the FBI. He's going to think, one of the things he left you to look after while he was in prison was to run this Rundown pub, hope you don't screw it up, but you do." Dellray looked at the embarrassed R. C． , "So, let's deal with this together?"

"What do you want me to do?" Just to make sure the back of the chair does not let R. C．Feeling too comfortable, Delary clapped one hand on the young man's thigh and squeezed it hard. "Ouch, why are you pinching me?" "Have you had a polygraph test, R.C.?" "No, father's lawyer said never—" "It's a rhetorical question," Delary said, though it wasn't.This is only for R. C．The brain produces a little intimidation, like firing tear gas at protesters. Delary squeezed again.He couldn't help but think: Hey, McDaniel, you can't do that while eavesdropping in the Cloud Zone, can you?

That's too bad.Because this is much more interesting. Fred Dellray has one person to thank for being here: Serena.She never asked to clean the basement.That would make him make a fool of himself.She sent him downstairs into the untidy storage room where his undercover outfits were kept.She found one in particular, packed in a type of plastic bag once used to hold wedding dresses.It's homeless drunk clothes that smell musty - with a bit of cat piss on them - and you'll get what you want when you hang out with the suspect. Serena said: "You lost your informant. Don't feel bad about it, find his tracks. If you can't find him, find what he found."

Delary smiled, hugged her, and went to change clothes.Before he left, Serena said, "Wow, you smell so bad, kid." She gave him a playful slap on the bottom.Few people had ever treated Fred Dellray with such affection. He came to the street. William Brent was good at hiding tracks, but Delray was good at finding them.He soon learns that Brent may be working by now.Dellray found out by following his actions that this informant had gotten a clue, something related to Gaut or "for the justice of the earth" related to the attack.This person has been working hard, and his whereabouts are deeply hidden.He finally learned that Brent had come here, this dark billiard room, and apparently the informant had been looking for it, and successfully obtained important information from this young man whom Delary pinched.

Dellray said, "So, my card. It's on the table. Are we having fun?" "God," R. C．His face twisted violently, almost spasming, "Tell me what you want." "That's the man, man." Delary pulled out a picture of William Brent. Dellray stared into his face, R. C．A light flashed in his eyes, then disappeared, and it was obvious that he knew the man.Delary immediately asked him, "How much did he pay you?" R． C．With a blink of an eye, this told Dellray: one, Brent had already paid him; two, the amount he was going to quote must be much less than the actual transaction.

"A large sum." Damn.Brent was fucking generous with Dellray's money. R． C．With a little whining, "That's not a drug, sir. I don't do that." "Of course you don't. But I don't care about that. He's here to get information. So now... now... now. I need to know what he asked, what you told him." Delary started fiddling again His slender fingers. "Okay, I'll tell you. Bill—he said his name was Bill." R. C．Point to the photo and say. "It doesn't matter what it's called. Go on, my friend." "He heard some guy was in the shanty town right here. A guy who just came into town not long ago and drove a load of goods in a white van. A big guy of forty-five. He killed people."

Delary followed closely: "Who did he kill? Why did he kill?" "he does not know." "What about the name?" "I don't even know the name." Dellray doesn't need a lie detector. R． C．What I said was the truth. "Come on, R.C., friend, what else is there about him? White van, coming to town, big forty-five year old. Killing for some reason." "He's probably kidnapping and then killing...someone you don't care about." The kind that goes without saying. R． C．Continued: "This Bill or whatever it is called, hear me hooked up, you know. Connected to wires, you know."

"electric wire." "Yes. Not what that bastard used to kill. I mean the rumors in the street." "Oh, that's what you were referring to," said Dellray, but R. C．objected sarcastically. "You're connected, aren't you, young man? You know everything about shanty towns, don't you? You're Ethel Metz from the Lower East Side." "Who?" "Go on." "Well, oh, like, I've heard a bit. I want to know who's around and what kind of bastard's going in there. Anyway, I've heard about this guy Bill was talking about. I sent him to his place. That's the way it is. That's the whole situation."

Delary believed him, "give me the address." He gave the address, a dilapidated street not far away, "That's a basement apartment." "Okay, now I have everything I need." "you……" "I won't tell your father anything. Don't worry. As long as you're not playing tricks on me." "I didn't, no, Fred, really." When Delary came to the door, R. C．"It's not what you think it is," he said. Delary turned around. "It's really because you smell like hell that's why we're not serving you, not because you're black."

Five minutes later, Delary walked quickly to R. C．Tell him about that block.He hesitated to call backup, but decided not to.Street undercover requires strategy, not alerts and task forces.He's not Tucker McDaniel.Delray strode across the streets, out of the way of the passing crowd.He thought as usual, it was noon.What the hell are these people doing?Then he turned two corners and walked slowly into an alley so that he could approach the R. C．Tell his apartment about it. He took a quick look at the dark alley that smelled of decay. Not far away, a white man in a cap and loose shirt was sweeping the cobbled streets.Dellray counted the house numbers; he is now in R. C．Behind where William Brent was sent. Okay, this is weird, Delray thought.He walked forward into the alley.The cleaner, wearing a pair of reflective sunglasses, stepped aside and continued cleaning.Delary stopped beside him, frowned, and looked around.Trying to figure out what's going on here. Eventually the cleaner asked, "What the fuck are you doing?" "Oh, I tell you what," Dellray said, "I'm here to visit an undercover NYPD cop who, for some reason, is trying to cover up a shanty town by sweeping cobblestone streets, oh, about a A hundred and thirty years ago, no one cleaned the streets here." Delray took out his ID. "Dairy? I've heard of you," the officer said defensively. "I was just doing what they told me to do. Surveillance." "Surveillance? Why? What is this place?" "You do not know?" Delary rolled his eyes. When the policeman told him the truth, Delary was stunned.But only for a moment.Seconds later he stripped off his stinking undercover outfit and threw it in the trash.As he sprinted toward the subway, he noticed the policeman standing there bewildered, imagining that what he was seeing could be one of two things: that it was a striptease itself; Underneath the disgusting attire he was wearing a yellow-green velvet tracksuit.He guessed a little of both.