I could feel his eyes on my back as I left, but I’d have heard him if he came out from around the bar. I was starting down the stairs when the door below opened and Sgt. Pribyl, looking irritated, came up to meet me on the landing, half-way. He looked more his usual dapper self, but his eyes were black-bagged.

“What’s the idea, Heller?”

“I just wanted to come bask in the reflected glory of your triumphant raid this morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means when Tubbo’s boys are on the case, the Outfit gets advance notice.”

He winced. “That’s not the way it was. I don’t know why Rooney and Berry and the others blew. But nobody in our office warned ’em off.”

“Are you sure?”

He clearly wasn’t. “Look, I can’t have you messing in this. We’re on the damn case, okay? We’re maintaining surveillance from across the way…that’s how we spotted you.”

“Peachy. Twenty-four surveillance, now?”

“No.” He seemed embarrassed. “Just day shift.”

“You want some help?”

“What do you mean?”

“Loan me the key to your stakeout crib. I’ll keep nightwatch. Got a phone in there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you if Rooney shows. You got pictures of him and the others you can give me?”

“Well….”

“What’s the harm? Or would Tubbo lower the boom on you, if you really did your job?”

He sighed. Scratched his head and came to a decision. “This is unofficial, okay? But there’s a possibility the door to that apartment’s gonna be left unlocked tonight.”

“Do tell.”

“Third-floor-301.” He raised a cautionary finger. “We’ll try this for one night…no showboating, okay? Call me if one of ’em shows.”

“Sure. You tried their homes?”

He nodded. “Nothing. Rooney lives on North Ridgeland in Oak Park. Four kids. Wife’s a pleasant, matronly type.”

“Fat, you mean.”

“She hasn’t seen Rooney for several weeks. She says he’s away from home a lot.”