Chapter Text
Finding the stiff was the easy part, but finding the smoking gun was a different story, and it was not the garrote lodged in the throat of Raymond Mitchell.
His death was around the time frame Marty claimed hearing the murder, but Fusco and Reese didn’t have the hitman.
“Well, he can’t be that much of a good hitman if he failed to kill a blind woman in broad daylight,” Fusco exhaled sharply as he watched the body being transported.
Turning his head, Fusco then brought up, “Got any idea where he’s hiding?”
Listening to his earpiece, Reese replied that he has an idea where George went, but this one’s a bit different than other numbers.
A lot of fake names were used during his illicit career and no doubt he’s using them to cover his tracks.
“We got cameras out the ass, he’s gotta turn up on one of them,” Fusco counters.
Reese then reminded Fusco that most cameras don’t work, some even fake to give illusion people are being watched.
Scoffing, Fusco then says if they can’t find George the conventional way, they’ll have to look in all the wrong places.
“A hitman like him’s gotta have haunts. Somewhere he can operate freely without someone ratting him out,” Fusco gestures as he followed Reese back to the Dodge.
Opening the door, Reese inquires if Fusco knows any, and admittedly, Fusco kept tabs on all the seedy bars lingering underneath the Big Apple, but warned he can’t enter them.
Because of being a detective and all that, Fusco doesn’t think the patrons would be too happy seeing him coming through the doors.
Some might take offense seeing his ugly mug, again, and take it personal.
It took him a moment to realize what Reese had in mind and the silver trimmed Dodge pulled away from the processed crime scene.
Find George and get him to talk, should’ve been simple enough, but there was more to this as Fusco pointed out.
“What are the chances our hitman panicked?” Fusco brought up a theory as he drove the Dodge.
Sitting quietly in his seat, Reese finally says, “What’s that?”
Shrugging, Fusco brings up that whoever hired George was someone with a lot to lose.
Both figuratively and literary.
Raymond owed money, but dead men can’t pay back their loans, anyone with a brain cell knows that. At best, whoever Raymond borrowed could’ve gotten back their money by making him their drug mule.
At worst, chop shops.
A kidney’s at least 10K if it can be processed quickly and efficiently.
Triple if Raymond’s got a rare blood type.
Quadruple if Raymond’s mixed and has a rare blood type.
Point is, killing him would be worthless, even to make a point.
It’s one of the few things changing in the crime world after someone took the time to sit down and think about it.
Raymond couldn’t whistle Dixie if he wanted to the ADA because of his prior convictions and a crime lord doesn’t directly meet with their pawns unless someone’s getting whacked.
And.
George having money problems could explain some things.
The worst thing someone can do in the criminal underworld’s sticking their hands in their boss’s cookie jar.
Maybe George tried to have the best of both worlds without resorting to stealing from his boss’s cookie jar, but that didn’t end well for him.
Just a theory, perhaps George tried snatching the pebble from Raymond’s hand in hopes that if he could absolve some of his money troubles.
Since Raymond was already in trouble for his scheming and bad gambling luck, he hoped this would allow him time to use the stolen money since Raymond already moved money around that it’d take time to track it down.
By then, George would’ve hid the remaining money he stole from Raymond.
“You think George’s alcoholism got the better of him?” Reese summed up what Fusco’s angling.
Pointing at him with his finger, Fusco says, “I think Raymond tried getting away and got into a fight. George has violent streak written all-over him, so he goes Hulk on the guy. When he finally sobered up and realized the mistake, I think he’s laying low. We don’t know how much money Raymond had, but it had to be a lot for our hitman to throw caution in the wind.”
It sounded contrived, but Reese fed this information to Finch to allow him to process it, see if there’s any truth to Fusco’s words.
“It would seem our detective is smarter than we realized,” Finch revealed that Fusco had an excellent point, much to Reese’s genuine surprise.
Can’t quite find good camera angles with George’s face on the screen, he doesn’t carry a cellphone, so he must meet his handler personally.
“Like a bar?” Reese suggested and Finch nodded as he expressed that it would be a good place to exchange money and targets over drinks.
Though, if George went to one of the seedy bars, they’d likely make sure none of the cameras outside work.
Likely, they have spotters and corrupt officers working for them to keep outsiders away.
Which means, things will get hairy quick.
“You worry too much,” Reese assured him that he can find George without much problem.
Arriving three blocks from one of the possible bars that George frequented, Fusco turned his head as he asked what Reese intended to do, on account that his face is recognizable by anyone who had a run-in with him in the last couple of months, not to mention George has his head on a swivel, he’ll figure out something’s amiss if Reese starts asking for him.
“You worry too much, Lee,” Reese glimpsed at him in the corner of his hazel brown eyes.
Stepping out of the Dodge, Reese informed Fusco he’ll go to the bar and see what shakes out, maybe get an idea where George’s hiding out.
“Just don’t make me do more paperwork, huh?” Fusco called out to him as he disappeared into the crowd of people.
Walking through the streets to reach the seedy bar hidden among the chic shops that have taken over the Hoboken area, Reese ran a hand through his slick hair, making it rough, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt by two buttons, his face taken on a disheveled look.
Having spent years on the streets, Reese knew how to make himself presentable or desperate, it helps when it comes to keeping the peace, or in this instance, finding a killer.
In his ear, he heard the Machine giving him instructions on what to do and say to sway the general audience of the bar that he wasn’t himself, but a man willing to kill.
Popping out his cuff links, Reese checked himself in the windows he passed, making sure he doesn’t look like a well-to-do.
The Machine gave him a cover, his name was Tobias and that’s all, he needed someone to want him to take care of business, and he heard on the streets that there was someone he can go for just that.
Slip the bartender a clean 20 and he’ll fold with ease.
While the Machine can’t be sure that George’s currently at this bar or even if his handler is, Reese can still prop himself as the better hitman than George and have someone at the bar point him where he could find George’s handler.
No doubt George’s handler wasn’t happy about the way things turned out and someone willing to put George out of a job without asking too many questions would be a blessing.
Just had to sell the act well enough that the handler takes notice and hopefully points Reese in the direction of finding the ever-elusive George.
To Be Continued... Mr. Tobias