Jackknife and his partner were slated to search the “East Wing” cargo bays, as they were termed in station parlance, but he pressured another team into giving him the section with the kitchen. He wasted no time in smashing open a locked cabinet where the best alcohol was hidden.
“Cookie thought nobody knew where he stashed the good stuff,” Jackknife told the fat little dockworker named Lopez. “He might not a’ been no French chef, but he sure knew his booze.”
“And he could make a steak like nobody’s business,” added Lopez. “So how’d he get all this liquor?”
“He knew how to work the system,” Jackknife said, pulling back a foam pad to reveal half a dozen collapsible bottles of expensive liquor against the back wall of the cabinet. “He ordered the cheap stuff for us ‘cause that left room in the budget for a few nice ones, like these.”
“Hey, let me have that one,” Lopez said.
“Nah, that one’s mine.”
“How about that one?”
“That’s mine, too.” He pointed to the second row. “And those are for later.”
“So which one isn’t yours?”
Jackknife made a quick survey. “You can have this one.”
Lopez eagerly took what he could get while the offer was still good. He took a long swig and let out a satisfied aaah, then asked Jackknife how he had found the stash.
“I walked in on Cookie one day and he slammed the cabinet shut. He looked suspicious and, you know me, I’m just kinda nosey that way. We worked us out a little deal.” Jackknife grinned. “Yeah, one thing about ol’ Cookie, he sure knew how to work the system. He was slick, alright, and he had the connections. You don’t think it was luck that got him on the first transport, do you? Nah, he was an operator.”
Jackknife sampled from several bottles before he spotted one in the far back. “Oh, man, look at this!” He extracted his prize and held it up for Lopez to see. “And it’s none of that ‘space ready’ stuff—a real glass bottle even. This one comes with me. I’ll have it finished off in five minutes and then, well, you never know when broken glass might come in handy once you catch a prisoner.”
Lopez grinned and took a long draught from his own bottle. Then he began unloading the refrigerator. Jackknife turned around to see him forcing a large turkey leg into his mouth.
“Hey! What do you think this is, Cinco de Mayo? Put that stuff back. We’ve gotta get a move on.”
Lopez stopped in mid chew, a bewildered look on his pudgy face. “I thought we were just gonna hang out here for a while. I thought—”
“Yeah, well that’s your mistake. When I’m around you don’t need to think, you just need to do what I tell you. Now you can take the booze, but we don’t have time to waste on food. This con’s gonna be caught, and I’m the guy who’s gonna catch him. Let’s go.” And with a kick off the wall, Jackknife sailed toward the door.
“So how come you even care about this guy?” Lopez shouted as he carelessly tossed the food back into the cooler.
Jackknife paused at the doorway. “Cory and Ramon—they’re out to uphold justice. They want to go out of this life knowing they were good citizens and never let a crime go unpunished. But me, I just like blood.”