Jeff taps at his phone, going over to the couch and sitting down. Darcy and I exchange looks, and she shrugs. She doesn't know what he's doing either. Jeff ignores us for a moment and talks to someone on the other end of the line.
Darcy snaps her fingers in recognition and leans over, whispering. “Gabriel Hawkins, he's an Academy friend of Jeff's, and he's one of the sysadmins for the NOPD's connection with the national crime database.”
I nod and sit down on the carpet while Jeff talks. “Okay, yeah, I'll owe you some barbecue, that's all good. Thanks, man. Sure... name...”
“Michael Ball.”
“Michael Ball, not sure on the spelling of Michael. Age? Between forty-five and fifty claimed.”
“Jeff knows a lot,” I comment, looking at Darcy who nods.
“He's been interested in the case ever since he learned of our friendship. He knows more about the case than most.”
“Just a second, Gabe,” Jeff says, then covers his phone. “Any more information?”
“White male, five-foot-eight, brown/brown, and... he might be a bartender,” I say, recalling everything from memory.
Jeff gives me a thumbs up and uncovers his phone, repeating what I told him. “Yeah, that's what I was thinking, cross-referencing the name with the ABC list of bartender licenses. The ID's false, but probably good enough to get by the ABC. Yeah, you can do that? Cool. No, I'll wait.”
Jeff sets his phone down and gives me a smile. “He's running the search now.”
We wait for a few moments, and Jeff's phone makes some noise, and Jeff picks it up. “Yeah, I'm here, Gabe. Really? Three hits in the Dade and Broward counties? Yeah, send me their info, I'll pass it along. Honest man, I'm not making a dime off this, this is a favor to a friend. Thanks, Gabe, I owe you.”
Jeff hangs up, then waits a minute until his phone buzzes. “Here you go,” he says, reading the message. “Three matching that description in the area. Two of them are listed as married. How do you want it?”
“I'll write it down myself. You don't need any more of an electronic trail on this than you've already got. Jeff, you're sticking your neck out on this one.”
He nods, and passes his phone over to me. Darcy brings me a piece of paper and a pen, and I start copying the three addresses down. “Any phone numbers?”
“He could get them, but I figure you've got those skills. As to your comment, well, I've broken the rules before with Darcy, just not like this. It's about justice, and sometimes the law and justice don't always see eye to eye,” Jeff says, sitting back. “Now, I've got one more question for you.”
“Sure, what's that?” I ask, tucking the folded paper in my pocket and handing the phone back to Jeff.
“You staying for dinner or not? No offense, but you're skinny as a rail, and I'm pretty sure that we can scrape up something that'll put a little meat on your bones.”
I laugh and sit back, nodding. “Fine. But you know that saying, whether it’s true or not. We can never be too rich or too thin.”
Jeff rolls his eyes and looks over at his wife. “I see why you like her.”
Darcy, who's playing with Henry, hums her assent and smiles. “She's got skills, too. You should be careful, hun. You push her too far, you may end up using your sick time actually being sick, as in recovering from a broken arm.”
I give Jeff a wink, and the cop in him blanches slightly. “Don't worry, I haven't had to break an arm in months.”
“Uh... so what do you like on your pizza?”
Henry, hearing the word pizza, looks over, cheering. “Yay! Pizza!”
I look over at Henry, who's got two little fists jammed into the air, a giant smile on his face. “I think whatever he wants works for me.”
Chapter 16
Jackson
“So... three names?”
I'm in extreme pain, something I didn't think could happen with working out anymore. But this is the good sort of pain, the pain of hard work.
I'm trying to balance on just my hands, my legs resting on Katrina's shoulders while she stands and I do incline pushups. The burning is mostly in my stomach area, which has to hold everything in a totally straight line from my ankles to my shoulders, or else. I found out the hard way what 'or else' was a while back when Katrina kicked me in the stomach. Thankfully she didn't kick me too hard, since it was just meant as a warning when I let my back sag.
“Twenty. And yeah, three names,” she says, keeping a silent count as I start my next descent. Each pushup is timed, three seconds down, hold for two, then an explosive push up. And apparently, this is just the warmup. “Jeez Jackson, I thought you'd have gotten more functional muscle with all that mass you're carrying.”
“Didn't... think... I was deficient,” I grunt as I hold my down position, my forehead a fraction of an inch off the floor. I push, exhaling and grunting. “Did fine before.”