A few doors away, in a dim office, Elmer Gask fished out a stick of gum and a fresh toothpick from his chest pocket, crossed his arms, leaned back hard in his chair and watched King.
“She was a bitch to me all morning, is all I can attest to her ‘demeanor’.” Gask’s toothpick moved rhythmically with his chewing.
“What do you think happened?”
The toothpick froze as the gum chewing stopped.
“I’ll tell you what happened.” Gask’s eyes widened with cold rage. “I just lost a twenty-two thousand dollar bonus because of that stupid squaw.”
King waited for an explanation.
“I retire at the end of the week. You clock out with a loss free sheet, you get a grand for every year.”
“That’s a tragedy. What do you think happened?”
“If I knew that, we’d recover our load,” Gask resumed chewing. “She wasn’t careful. I told her to be cautious after the incident with the two jerks at the previous drop.”
“The two guys who approached the truck?”
“I told her to log it, to call it in to dispatch when we were in here servicing the ATMs.”
“Did she?”
“I doubt it.”
“What about her past, her personal and career history?”
“Squaw or half breed from some welfare-eating reserve in Montana, or some end of the world state like that. Supposed to have done a good job at security for some faggy antique dealer in New York. If you ask me, she was an equal opportunity hire. Right gender, right race, right useless.”
“You don't think she was qualified?”
“I don't hire 'em, Chester.”
“What kind of driver was she?”
“Substandard.”
“What about her past, any debts, habits, anybody leaning on her?”
“I wouldn't know anything about that shit.”
“Tell me about today, what sort of day was it?”
“Routine, we were just making our drops.”
“What about the truck? It had no finder?”
“That was her job as driver to deal with that. I told her to get that finder fixed. She ignored me.”
“Aren’t you her supervisor?”
Gask gave some thought to how he should answer.
“Yes and I supervised her to see the finder was fixed. I was intending to write her up for not following through.”
“I see. What do you know about Jessica Scout, her circles?”
“Not a goddamned thing. She never spoke to me. I told you, she was an ice bitch who acted like she was better than everyone.”
“Tell me about Gil Perez?”
“He's kind of a shifty beaner.”
“That right?”
“Always talking about his dream of going away and starting his own car wash business. Only thing holding him back was lack of cash.”
“That so?”
“That’s so.”
“And what about you, Elmer, what do you talk about?”
“Football and America.”
“What about America?”
“She’s fucked up real good.”
“What really happened to the money?”
“Jessica Scout got herself jammed. Thought she knew it all. Let her guard down, now she’s gone.”
“That prospect doesn’t exactly bring tears to your eyes.”
Gask shifted his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth then leaned to King. “Her stupidity cost me twenty-two grand.”
“But you break even.”
“How’s that, Chester?”
“Scout may have paid with her life.”
Later, Braddick and King compared notes at a quiet table at the casino's nearest bar, which serviced a keno lounge.
Braddick started. “My guy fears she is dead.”
“Mine hopes she is,” King said before his pager went off. He read the caller's number. “Looks like the Feds.” he squinted, tilting the pager for better light. “Yup. FBI’s offering to help. I’ll call.”
“Three point seven. What do you make, Chester? Inside? Outside?”