Flights

My flight arrived at 8:05 yesterday morning.  I was on the trail of Eddie Suberi.

Eddie was a small-stakes grafter who stayed a step ahead of the law until he got violent.  He assaulted a man in Kansas City and spent a few years behind the high, gray walls of Missouri’s historic state penitentiary.  They give tours there now so the curious can see where prisoners slept behind yard-thick stone walls and made shoes for German-American businessmen in from St. Louis.  The morbid can see where the condemned died from injection, gas, electricity, or hanging, depending on how far back they want to go.

Eddie didn’t die in prison.  He learned.  He got out and moved on to bigger marks and bigger scores.  He learned how to use muscle and he wasn’t afraid to flex it.

Eddie finally took money from someone who had enough money to do something about it.  He called the agency and the agency sent me.

I’ve talked to police in six jurisdictions since I landed.  Eddie had at least as many addresses.  A pretty girl who worked for a living and paid her own rent occupied each address.  They said Eddie was fun.  He was happy to pay for drinks, clubs and contraception.  His drinking buddies couldn’t remember any specific instance when Eddie paid for drinks or a cover charge.

I haven’t slept since I got here.  I’ve eaten all my meals in a rental car that is so nondescript it isn’t worth describing.

I’ve pieced together a good picture of what Eddie has been up to the last several weeks.  It looks like his flight out of town left at 8:20 yesterday morning.