Two rings, hang up, three rings, hang up, some kind of shit like that. A lot more discriminating than on Jonah’s circuit. Chase called the number. After it rang twenty times, he disconnected and tried again. They weren’t a twitchy bunch but there would be rules to follow. No matter what though, even if they figured the cops were on the line, they’d eventually have to answer. It was Marisa’s phone, they’d need to find out what happened to her and see how badly their action was blown. After another twenty, a dead-calm voice said, “Yes.” “Are you the getaway man?” Chase asked. Silence. Let him roll it around for a while, get the questions burning, but without being able to ask any of them. Give nothing. Chase said, “Are you the driver? All I want is the driver. I left a message with Marisa Iverson. I’ll leave it with you too. I don’t care about your knockoffs or what happened inside the ice merchant’s. I just want the driver. Don’t tell me he was your regular guy.
