Mr. Paradise A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

back? What do you do?”
    “Hit the floor, man.” Jerome grinned. He said, “Tell me something. How much these paid informants get paid?”
    “Depends on how good the information is. We get tips all the time. A guy has a grudge, wants to pay somebody back and names him as a perp. Guy writes from jail. ‘Get me out of here and I’ll give you the guy did Bobo.’ It’s our junk mail. The pay for information we need comes out of what’s called Crime Stoppers. It’s a program.”
    “What I want to know,” Jerome said, “is how much that comes to.”
    “A reward’s offered, you’re into big money. I know of a C.I. who identified the guy who raped and murdered a teenage girl, and collected ten thousand. Crime Stoppers pays a grand for information leading to an arrest.”
    “Is that right?” Jerome said. “What’s this C.I.?”
    “Confidential Informant—and when I say confidential, I mean we won’t even reveal a C.I.’s name in a court of law.”
    “I’m getting paid for giving up Tyrell?”
    “That one’s different, since we have a few more eyeball witnesses and you’re not gonna testify. But we have other cases, Jerome, you might be of help with. We’ve got one, three Mexicanos shot in the back of the head, one of ’em dismembered with a chain saw.”
    “Cool,” Jerome said.
    “You don’t care for Mexicans?”
    “Motherfuckers say they gonna deliver? They gonna rip you off and shoot you they get the chance.”

    “We’re looking for a guy named Orlando,” Delsa said, “we think could give us some information.”
    “I mighta heard the name’s all.”
    “Had a place off Michigan Avenue, behind the old ballpark.”
    Jerome said, “Yeah, Orlando,” nodding his head.
    “Also, I mentioned Nashelle’s half-brother Reggie Banks? We got a tip he dumped Tyrell’s gun for him.”
    Delsa waited.
    “Yeah . . . ?”
    “And you might know something about it.”
    “You didn’t get that from Nashelle.”
    “It was another detective talked to some girl who knows Reggie. I don’t have her statement in front of me, but it’s in the case file.”
    “She say I was with him?”
    “I don’t know, but if you have something to tell me, it comes under what we’ve been talking about, confidential information.”
    Jerome said, “Lemme think on it.”
    Delsa said, “You got ten minutes.” He brought a pack of Newports from his desk drawer and offered one to his C.I.
    Jerome said, “I thought this was a no-smoking building.”
    Delsa said, “Only if you get caught.”

FIVE
    AS SOON AS THEY WERE IN THE CAR, still in front of the loft, the guy turned to them in the backseat. He gave her kind of an impatient look, mad, and said to Chloe, “How come nobody let me know?”
    Sounding like it was her fault.
    Chloe said, “What’re you talking about?”
    Montez didn’t answer. He was a terrible driver, changing lanes in the East Jefferson traffic as he made a call on his cell, Chloe telling him, “Will you watch the fucking road? Jesus.” When he didn’t get an answer to his call he said, “Fuck,” and dropped the phone on the seat next to him.
    Behind him in the dark Kelly leaned close to Chloe and said, “You think he’s cool, huh?”
    Chloe raised her voice saying, “Montez? What’s wrong?”
    Kelly saw him look at the rearview mirror. He said, “Don’t bother your head,” and was quiet after that, but kept glancing at them in the mirror.

    They arrived at the house, lights shining on its gray stone from the shrubs. Montez stopped in the circular drive and asked Chloe how long she thought they’d be.
    “It’s up to Tony,” Chloe said. “You know that.”
    Montez said, “See if you can cut your bullshit cheerleading short this evening.”
    As soon as they were inside Chloe brought Kelly through a hallway to the living room and introduced her to Mr. Paradiso, the old man seated in his chair that was like a cushy love seat facing a TV console. He said, “So you’re Kelly,”