Six

SIX

JIMMY TAKES THE THREAT seriously, even if it came from a dead guy.

Joe Champi: former NYPD the way Jimmy is, the guy Rob Jacobson called Uncle Joe. The guy who'd been a fixer for Jacobson from the time he was first cop on the scene when Jacobson's father killed a teenage mistress named Carey Watson and then himself.

Jimmy is convinced that it was Champi who made Nick Morelli's boat come back without him that day. And who made Gregg McCall, the Nassau County DA, disappear after McCall hired Jimmy and me to look into the murder of the Carson family.

Jimmy is also convinced that it was Champi who ambushed and murdered Jimmy's old police partner, Mickey Dunne, after Mickey started looking too hard into Rob Jacobson's past. Fixing for Jacobson until the end.

Jimmy makes calls to his former NYPD contacts now, keeps making them after we arrive at my house. And keeps getting the same answer, that unless whoever sent the message is an idiot, it came from a burner phone.

"So absolutely no way to trace where the text came from?"

"Sure," Jimmy says. "Right after we put a trace on where the wind comes from."

Rip the dog goes crazy when we arrive. Being a trained investigator myself, I have come to suspect that Rip likes Jimmy better than he likes me.

But then most people do.

We're sitting on my back porch. Jimmy is throwing a tennis ball. Rip brings it back, every single time, as if he's willing to do this until the end of time. He doesn't bring it back quickly. The old boy has lost a step. Or two. But ask yourself: who hasn't?

"He doesn't do that for me," I say.

"Must be a guy thing."

Jimmy throws the ball as far as he can. Off goes Rip.

"I don't get a lot of text messages from dead guys," I mention to Jimmy.

"Especially not ones that you made dead."

Jimmy is heading over to his bar from here. Dr. Ben Kalinsky is coming over in an hour to cook dinner for the two of us. Ben's not a better cook than I am. He's nicer.

"Okay, Jimmy. Who sends me a text like that?"

"Jacobson?"

"Why? We both know he wants me to defend him again, even if he hasn't asked yet."

"It is still my opinion that he's batshit crazy."

"He's locked up now until his bail hearing. You can get a burner into jail?"

"Are you joking?" Jimmy says. "I'm surprised guys aren't starting their own YouTube channels from jail."

I check my watch.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy says. "Am I boring you?"

"Got a hot date. Need to take a shower, do my makeup. Then do hair, while I still have my hair."

Jimmy has his beer in his left hand. Keeps throwing the ball with his right. Rip keeps fetching it. Rip is supposed to be way past his sell-by date. But the old boy really is hanging in there.

Like he's beating the odds.

My hero.

"Whoever is messing with you," Jimmy says, "which means messing with us, knows who Champi is. Or at least knows about him. Could whoever it is know what Champi knew?"

I laugh now. "Are you shitting me ? We don't even know what Champi knew."

I take the ball from Jimmy and show off my arm. Nobody ever accused this particular girl of throwing like a girl. Rip chases it down to the end of the yard. Then he turns around, gives me a look.

And drops it in front of Jimmy.

Screw him. Game over. I put the ball on the table and leave it there. That'll show him.

Jimmy finishes his beer, then asks me one more time if I'm sure I saw who I thought I did in Mineola.

I didn't get that good a look at the guy, I tell him, but it sure looked like Nick Morelli to me.

"Who knows, maybe it is a day for the walking dead," Jimmy says.

"Gee, there's a lovely thought on which to build a night of romance."

"Too much information," Jimmy says, and leaves.

I'm on my way up the stairs to start getting ready for my date when there's a knock on the door.

When I open it, Jimmy's standing there.

"You forget something?"

He wordlessly hands me his phone, so I can see the text on the screen.

I still owe you 2 one.

Uncle Joe

I hand Jimmy back his phone, asking, "Who knew you could get cell service like this in hell?"