Роберт Паркер - The Bitterest Pill

Suit’s hands and uniform were covered in blood. He fell back against the wall next to Lawton’s body and hung his head. “What do you think she was clawing at in the gym bag, Pete?”

Perkins, hands now gloved to begin doing the forensics, knelt down beside the dead woman and unzipped her gym bag. He pulled out a white pharmaceutical bottle and shook it at Suit. “This, probably.”

“But she was dying.”

“These damn things are why she’s dead, Heather Mackey is dead, and why he’s dead,” Perkins said, pointing at Georgi’s body. “It’s a plague, Suit, a goddamn plague.”

Jesse saw the light bars flashing a block away, and the sirens were deafeningly loud. It wouldn’t be long now until Sarkassian would have no place to go. Jesse wasn’t certain about the man’s weapon, but it didn’t seem to have an extended magazine, and he’d used a lot of ammo already. If he could only get Sarkassian to waste a few more bullets... But just as he was feeling confident, a yellow Camaro convertible backed out of a spot near the corner of the lot Jesse had worked so hard to herd Sarkassian into. Jesse understood Arakel Sarkassian was many things, but he didn’t think stupid was one of them. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Jesse almost had him penned in.

He ran toward the Camaro and jumped in just as the driver, a woman in blue nurse’s scrubs, stopped to put the car into drive. Sarkassian pressed the muzzle of the gun to her neck. But instead of freezing, the woman screamed and flailed at him. He slapped her across the face with the side of the gun and pressed it once again to her throat.

“Shut up and do as I say or I shall surely blow a hole through your throat.”

The nurse quieted just as the patrol cars stopped at the parking-lot gate, their sirens finally silenced.

“Sarkassian,” Jesse said, “you can’t get out of here.”

“Oh, but I will, one way or the other, Chief Stone. The question is who I will take with me. That is in your hands. Now drop your weapon and order your people away from the exit.”

“Take me,” Jesse said, dropping his nine-millimeter. “Let the nurse go and take me. I’ll toss my cell. My people won’t shoot while I’m in the car.”

“Do not take me for a fool, Chief. Go to the gate and order your people away. Now!” For emphasis, Sarkassian yanked on the nurse’s hair and put the barrel of his weapon in her mouth.

Jesse didn’t bother trying to retrieve his gun and walked to the parking-lot gate. Gabe Weathers and John Spellman met Jesse there.

Before Jesse could speak, Gabe said, “Two hit men killed Brandy Lawton. Suit got one of them.”

“Dead?”

“Dead. The other got away. He was driving a white van. Word is out.”

“Hurry, Chief,” Sarkassian said. “I am not certain the nurse will live much longer.”

“Deploy your spike strips on either side of the exit. We can’t afford him seeing them as the car pulls out. When the spikes are out, move your cars away.”

Jesse went back into the lot and walked toward the Camaro, hands raised above his head. As Jesse got within ten feet of the Camaro and the cruisers pulled away from the parking-lot gate, Sarkassian removed the gun from the nurse’s mouth.

“That is sufficiently close, Chief Stone. Be assured no harm will befall this woman as long as you try nothing foolish. Now step away, please.” When Jesse had walked back ten paces, Sarkassian turned to the nurse and said, “Drive, quickly.”

She put the car into drive, the tires squealing when she stepped down hard on the gas. The black-and-yellow barrier arm smashed against the windshield as the car barreled through the exit. Turning left out of the lot, there were four barely distinct pop-pop-pop-pop s as spikes dug into the tires. The Camaro slowed, but skidded because of the speed and the severe angle of the turn. Sarkassian was thrown against the door. By the time the Camaro came to a stop and Sarkassian had reoriented himself, Gabe Weathers had his nine-millimeter pointed at his head. Officer Spellman had already gotten the nurse out of the vehicle.

Sarkassian dropped his weapon. He wept as he was laid facedown, frisked, and cuffed.

At the station, Jesse and DA Malmon sat across from Arakel Sarkassian. The digital video camera was pointed at the prisoner, a yellow legal pad was on the table in front of him, a pen atop the pad. For the time being, the camera was switched off. None of them said a word, but for this once, Jesse wasn’t willing to let silence be his weapon of choice.

“I have Brandy Lawton in a holding cell, Sarkassian,” Jesse lied. “DA Malmon is in a deal-offering mood today. Isn’t that right, Mr. DA?”

“It must be the warm weather, but yes.”

Jesse said, “You are the bigger fish, Mr. Sarkassian, so you get first crack. But if you don’t supply us with a full confession and accounting of the mechanics of your operation, we’ll march from here into Brandy’s cell, and given the fact that she is willing to say just about anything for a Vicodin... She may not be able to give us much, but she can sure as hell give us you.”

Sarkassian laughed. “You need not threaten me, Chief Stone. A man can only drown himself once. I believe I have already accomplished that feat. You may turn on your camera.”

Jesse hesitated. “First, the name and location of the men in the white van.”

“Gladly.” Sarkassian smiled. “Sending them away will almost make my sins worth it.”

After gleefully giving up Stojan and Georgi, Sarkassian explained as much of the network as he could. He explained how they used area doctors and the pill mills to find candidates like Brandy to use for their purposes. He explained how addicts like Brandy were eager volunteers and were willing to do anything to keep their drugs coming.

“She would find someone like Chris or this Petra, seduce them, and we would exploit their weakness for Brandy to distribute our products. Foolishly, I had let Brandy introduce me to Chris. I helped arrange for him to sell the goods he received in trade with Precious Pawn. I should never have done such things. It was inexperience on my behalf. And then I came to very much like the boy...” Sarkassian’s voice faded away.

He remembered what he had witnessed Stojan and Georgi do to Chris and how they had turned him into a murderer. When he spoke again, any hint of gleefulness was gone from his voice.

Maryglenn was standing on the tarmac at the foot of the small jet’s door ladder. The engines were spinning in earnest, whining. The air stank of spent jet fuel and hot metal. The wind was whipping her hair into her face. Her face was lit on and off and on again by the strobing wingtip lights. Three black Suburbans were parked between the two of them and the hangar. There were six blank-faced special-ops types spread out around the jet. All of them seemed so uncomfortable in their civilian clothes. They looked much more at ease with the M4s held at their chests.

Jesse was surprised to get the call and had been reluctant to go to the little private airport in Marshfield. Still, one thing therapy and rehab had taught him was to not swallow as much pain as he always had. He’d always been so damn stoic about everything. What he had come to realize was that his Marlboro Man act was not only a defense but a means of intimidation. You can’t hurt me. You can’t touch me. But of course he could be hurt. He hurt a lot, and the tough-guy act only drove the hurt deeper and made it more persistent. Besides, he wanted answers. Jesse always wanted answers.

“Thank you for coming, Jesse. This is very Casablanca .” She laughed. “The airport farewell, I mean. All we need is Claude Rains, Humphrey Bogart, and the usual suspects.”