Dirt

has an electronics degree, underwent some training by those people and spent several years in their employ. He eventually got bounced. His real name is Thomas Bruce, and his brother’s name is Charles. Charlie is probably out of jail recently; he was doing five to seven at Chino, in California, and my guess is he’s jumped parole. That ought to be enough to pick him up on.” “It would be if we got a request from California,” Dino said. “Hang on, let me check the computer.”
    Stone heard some keystrokes, then some more.
    “Okay, I’ve got his record; his sheet is short but sordid. Picked up for male prostitution when he was nineteen, suspended sentence; suspect in a dozen burglaries; finally got nailed in somebody else’s house, went up to Chino. No mention of parole; according to this, he’s still inside.” “Maybe they’re slow to update records,” Stone said.
    “Maybe. Oh, his picture looks a
lot
like his brother.”
    “So there’s not enough to pick him up?”
    “Not when he’s still in Chino, Stone,” Dino said drily.
    “Can you check with California and see if he’s out, and if he’s been reporting to his parole officer? If he’s bolted, you’d have an excuse to arrest him.”
    “My superiors wouldn’t think it was a very good use of manpower to start hunting down parole violators from California, when California doesn’t care enough to send out a bulletin.” “Oh, come on, Dino, you’re not trying! I may even know where he is.”
    “Where?”
    “At the Chelsea Hotel, maybe.”
    “Under what name?”
    That stopped Stone; he hadn’t thought to ask Lou Burch about a new alias, and she was certainly not going to volunteer it. “I don’t know. Try Dryer, try Power, try Gable, try Bruce. Maybe he’s dumb enough to use his own name.” “First, let me see what I can do with the state of California. I know a guy who might be of some help. Where are you?”
    “Somewhere in New Jersey.”
    “Oh, shit; in this weather?”
    “I’m standing still just short of the Bridge, while snow is relentlessly rising around me.”
    “Lotsa luck, pal. I hope I don’t read in the papers that you were one of hundreds who froze to death in their cars.”
    “I’m moved by your concern. Get back to me.” Stone broke the connection.
    Miraculously, traffic began to move, or rather to inch forward. Twenty minutes later, the road had been squeezed down to one lane, past a rear-ender that was blocking the other two. Once past the wreck, Stone was back up to thirty miles an hour, which, in the current conditions, felt like sixty. Shortly he was in Manhattan again. His pocket phone rang.
    “Yeah?”
    “Okay, he’s out of Chino, but he hasn’t busted parole.”
    “You mean he’s still in California? I don’t believe it.”
    “He’s not due to check in with his parole officer until day after tomorrow. If he doesn’t show up, my friend has got him flagged to go into the computer immediately as a runner, and he’s promised to fax me a request to pick him up.” “But not until day after tomorrow?”
    “Not until the day after that, at the earliest. Sorry, it’s the best I can do. Oh, I’ve got an address for him: the Santa Fe Residential Apartments, on Melrose, should you want to go looking for him.” “Nah, he moved out of there a week or so ago. I think I’m going to go looking for him at the Chelsea Hotel.”
    “You watch your ass, Stone. Remember Arnie; next time I see you I don’t want to see a tag on your toe. Are you carrying?”
    “No.”
    “Me, I wouldn’t go after these guys without a piece. You shouldn’t either.”
    “See you, Dino.” Stone punched out, put away the phone, got off the West Side Highway at 48th Street, drove over to 9th Avenue, and headed downtown, trying to stay in the bus tracks.
     
     
    “Gee, I’m not sure,” the man behind the desk said, looking at the ad Stone had ripped out of
Vanity Fair.
    Stone flashed the badge. “You don’t want to be thought of as harboring a fugitive, do you?”
    The man shook his head and checked his guest list. “He’s in ten-oh-one.”
    “Under what name?”
    “Jeremy Spencer.”
    “Is there somebody bunking with him?”
    “No, he checked in alone last week, and I haven’t seen him with anybody else, except a girl or two. They always leave in the morning.”
    “Passkey,” Stone said.
    “Not a chance,” the desk clerk replied. “Not without a search warrant. I’m not getting into that kind of shit