A wife’s loose lips put watchful eyes on Falco

Hermann “Read Him His Rights” Hauser sat in his cluttered study. Across the street from the Falcos’ obscenely large mock Tudor, Hermann watched half a dozen video screens, each with a different angle of his neighbor’s house and yard.

This is Keystone Kops stuff, Hermann muttered to himself. He could see Ernesto holding a gun on Genie. A monitor two feet over showed Bonner who was pointing a gun under the table at Falco. Still another monitor revealed Palmieri’s henchmen advancing toward the mansion, guns in hand.

Instinctively, Hermann reached over to pat his own small firearm reassuringly. “Baby doll,” he said to the gun, not taking his eyes off the videos, “you and I may soon have to do some business if these knuckleheads don’t wise up.”

After six months of avocational surveillance, Hermann knew more about Tony than anyone else on this planet. Getting cameras installed on Falco’s property was a piece of cake. Getting a handle on Falco was child’s play. The guy was as careless as a big rig driver with bad brakes.

It started with a simple bunch of roses. Hermann recalled the day that Evelyn Falco showed up at his front door. She hand-delivered flowers from her garden.

Hermann had recoiled at the thought of any cul de sac closeness. After 30 years as a cop and FBI agent, he had hit it big with a best-selling crime novel that a network bought for a series. He was rolling in dough. And in boredom.

He had nothing to do but add up his royalties and residuals. It wasn’t as much fun as chasing crooks.

Evelyn’s “Welcome to the neighborhood” posies saved him.

She told him who her husband was. Hermann was totally unimpressed with sharing a street address with a congressman.

He had had too many years in Washington, too many years with access to confidential information.

Evelyn had wormed her way into the living room. The roses needed water. A vase. She asked for water for herself. The water turned into gin. The one drink turned into a second and a third. Hermann found himself enjoying her company.

Married broads were like arsenic to Hermann. His barriers were up and in place. He wasn’t interested in an affair. But she was fun and she had charm. And she gave him a new hobby. Protect her from her lunatic, low-IQ husband.

Gin had loosened her tongue. She hooked him on her anecdotes about life with Tony.

Hermann could read between the lines loud and clear. Something was going on in Falcoland.

After his fourth drink, he developed an inexplicable protective attitude toward Evelyn.

He had her followed. He had Tony followed. Tony was not paranoid. He was right on target about someone being on his tail and trail.

Hermann’s little black book was full of phone numbers of people who followed people, of people who could inconvenience people, of people who could persuade people.

Something was going to bust wide open across the street. Hermann felt it. He tensed. He felt good. He wasn’t losing his edge. He eased his bare feet into a pair of loafers and grabbed Baby Doll. His phone rang. He picked up the receiver and grunted, “Hauser here.”

Helen Ann Thomas is a columnist for a freebie weekly and a self-described “Law and Order” devotee.