On their way to the De Luca residence, the Simon brothers spent more time reviewing the latest information.
"So, it's safe to assume Bergman is not a pawn in this scheme, wouldn't you say?" asked A.J.
"Yeah, I would." Rick agreed. "You know, I'm not the only one who really screwed up here. What kind of idiot would plant a top-secret message in a car that's slated for a repo? And why did he pick that Ford truck to hide the message in the first place?"
"There's another thing that's really peculiar. It appears an FBI informant planted the message since De Luca and quite possibly some other FBI agents showed up at the bank to collect it. But by yesterday evening, the salt and pepper duo that showed up at my place not only had all our personal information but also knew about the missing message. How did they manage to get their hands on presumably the classified information?"
"So, the bureau has a mole problem." Rick sounded amused, almost gloating.
"Or, the other way around."
"Curiouser and curiouser."
Knowing Rick, A.J. wasn't sure if he was quoting Lewis Carroll or had forgotten how to speak good English like little Alice.
Anthony M. De Luca's home was modest but neatly maintained in a nice residential area. By looking at the size of the house, Rick and A.J. guessed he was single, or, married with no children, or an empty nester.
Rick parked the Volvo about a block up from De Luca's. He replaced his trademark cowboy hat with a Padres cap before getting out of the station wagon. A.J. was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. As they stepped out of the car, they sized up each other. Rick thought his brother looked like a whitebread kid who had wandered into a wrong neighborhood and been beaten up; A.J. could only hope that the residents of this nice middle-class neighborhood would not call the police when they saw Rick loitering.
As they had planned, Rick walked ahead with A.J. trailing about half a block behind him. When he reached at the front door of De Luca's, Rick knocked on the door and strained to hear any sign of someone inside. All was quiet—no footsteps, no TV or radio, no flushing of the toilet. He turned around and gave A.J. an almost imperceptible nod.
A.J. looked about to make sure that no one else was on the block, then quickly went to the back of the house. He slipped on a pair of gloves and tried the kitchen door first. It was locked, but it was an easy lock to pick, and the door had no deadbolt on. When he gained access to the kitchen, he went straight to the front door and tapped it softly to let his brother know he was in before he began a fishing expedition.
As soon as he heard the rapping noise, Rick left his post and casually strolled down to the sidewalk. He stood by De Luca's mailbox and took out a pack of cigarettes. He kept an eye out while pretending to be a guy on a cigarette break during a walk. Several cars went by, but there was little foot traffic. He figured kids were in school and most adults were at work. He was about to finish his smoke when a jogger in his late fifties or early sixties came up the block. The old man was out of shape and huffing and puffing as he waddled past him, but he stopped after taking ten, fifteen paces. First he bent over, the hands on the knees, to catch his breath then turned around.
"Hi there. Are you a friend of Tony's?"
Oh, great. Just what I needed, Rick cursed his unlucky star as he slapped on a pleasant smile on his face. "Yes, sir. Well, in a sense." He recalled De Luca was a decade or so older than he. "My brother, Johnny, went to school with him back home and asked me to look 'im up while I'm visitin' this fair city." He spoke with a southern accent.
"Back home? You mean, you're from New York?" Judging by the tone of his voice, the man might as well have said, "Are you kidding me?"
"Our family moved from Galveston to New York around the time Johnny started college." Rick lied effortlessly without missing a beat. Sometimes what he'd learned in his misspent youth paid off. Either that, or he was a gifted liar like his brother would say.
"I thought Tony graduated from Brown."
"Yes, he did, like my brother."
Rick had no idea where Brown University was located, but he could tell it was obviously not in New York. He realized he might be painting himself into a corner by answering questions and tried to turn the tables on the old man. "You seem to know Tony very well, sir. You live around here?"
"Yeah, about three blocks down from here. He and I go to the same gym."
"Well, good for you, sir. I really should work out more myself," flattered Rick. "I wanted to surprise Tony, but it looks like he's still at work. Maybe I'll pay him a visit at his workplace."
"Do you know where he works?" The old man seemed a bit surprised.
"Don't you?" Rick's radar picked up something.
"All I know is he's a government employee. He's always been vague about his work."
Bingo! "I believe he works for the federal government. I'll just drive over to the federal building and catch him when he comes out for lunch or somethin'."
Rick could hardly wait to tell A.J. what he'd learned.
When he stepped outside the De Luca residence through the kitchen door, A.J. heard two male voices. He instantly recognized Rick's; the other one sounded older and raspy like a smoker's. He walked quietly to the nearby bushes and hid behind them to eavesdrop on the conversation. It turned out they were just shooting the breeze. A.J. hazarded a peek to see what they were up to. Rick and a rotund man in his sixties were smoking and chitchatting like a couple of old friends.
A.J. had to wait for another five, ten minutes before the old man left. Rick stood alone for a minute or two finishing his smoke, and finally turned around and saw his brother hiding behind the bushes. He gave A.J. a signal and started walking back to the station wagon. A.J. scampered out of the yard and followed Rick.
"Who was that guy you were talking to?" asked A.J. as he got into the Volvo.
"Oh, some fella who lives in this neighborhood. He told me De Luca works for the government and has two kids who live with his ex. What did YOU find?"
"Well, according to the last year's tax return, he is a federal government employee, still paying alimony and child support to his ex-wife. He doesn't seem to be on the take unless he has a Swiss or some offshore account stashed away somewhere. And if he's crooked, he's a very organized one, almost to the point of obsessive-compulsive."
It takes one to know one, thought Rick disparagingly. "Did you find his pictures?"
A.J. produced a couple of photographs that he'd taken from a photo album. One was older, colors somewhat fading, and showed a tall man with dark hair, a woman with mousy brown hair, a girl about ten and a boy about eight—obviously a family photo from the happier time. De Luca looked older, heavier, grayer and stern in the other picture. The DMV record pegged him at six-two, one-eighty. He apparently hadn't updated the DMV stats for some years.
"He looks like our guy. Why don't we postpone our trip to Linda Vista and go straight to the federal building?" Rick suggested.
"And see if De Luca would be engaged in, shall we say, extracurricular activities after hours?" A.J. seemed to be on the same page.
The brothers knew this might be another false lead, but it was the only one they got thus far.