Lawrence Block - Eight Million Ways to Die

"You're not Latin. Where'd you get this macho hangup?"

"Just pass the word, Danny Boy."

"Sit down a minute." He leaned forward, dropped his voice. "You don't want to walk out of here without a piece. Just sit here a minute and I'll get you something."

"I don't need a gun."

"No, of course not. Who needs one? You can take his machete away from him and make him eat it. Then break both his legs and leave him in an alley."

"Something like that."

"Will you let me get you a gun?" His eyes searched mine. "You've already got one," he said. "On you, right now. Haven't you?"

"I don't need a gun," I said.

And I didn't. On the way out of the Top Knot I put my hand in my pocket and felt the butt and barrel of the little.32. Who needed it? A little gun like that doesn't have a whole lot of stopping power anyway.

Especially when you can't make yourself squeeze the trigger.

I went outside. It was still raining but no harder than before. I tugged the brim of my hat and took a good look around.

The Mercury sedan was parked on the other side of the street. I recognized it by its crimped fenders. While I was standing there the driver started the engine.

I walked over to Columbus Avenue. While I waited for the light to change I saw that the Mercury had come around in a U-turn and was approaching. The light changed and I walked across the street.

I had the gun in my hand and my hand in my pocket. My index finger was on the trigger. I remembered how the trigger had trembled beneath my finger not too long ago.

I'd been on this same street then.

I walked on downtown. A couple of times I looked over my shoulder. The Mercury stayed a little less than a block behind me all the way.

I never relaxed, but I was especially tense when I got to the block where I'd drawn the gun once before. I couldn't help looking back, expecting to see a car careening toward me. I spun around involuntarily once at the sound of brakes screeching, then realized the sound was a good two blocks away.

Nerves.

I passed the spot where I'd dropped to the pavement and rolled. I checked the place where the bottle had broken. There was still some broken glass there, though I couldn't be sure it was the same broken glass. A lot of bottles get broken every day.

I kept walking all the way to Armstrong's. When I got there I went in and ordered a piece of pecan pie and a cup of coffee. I kept my right hand in my pocket while my eyes scanned the room, checking everybody out. After I was done with the pie I put my hand back in my pocket and drank my coffee left-handed.

After awhile I ordered more coffee.

The telephone rang. Trina answered it, walked over to the bar. There was a heavyset fellow there with dark blonde hair. She said something to him and he went to the phone. He talked for a few minutes, looked around the room, came over to my table. Both of his hands were where I could see them.

He said, "Scudder? My name's George Lightner, I don't think we met." He pulled a chair out and sat in it. "That was Joe just now," he said. "There's no activity out there, nothing at all. They're laying doggo in the Mercury plus he's got two sharpshooters in second-floor windows across the street."

"Good."

"I'm in here, and there's the two fellows at the front table. I figured you made us when you walked in."

"I made them," I said. "I figured you were either a cop or the killer."

"Jesus, what a thought. This is a nice place. You more or less hang out here, huh?"

"Not as much as I used to."

"It's pleasant here. I'd like to come back sometime when I can drink something instead of coffee. They're selling a lot of coffee tonight, what with you and me and the two guys down front."

"It's pretty good coffee."

"Yeah, it's not bad. Better than the shit in the station house." He lit a cigarette with a Zippo lighter. "Joe said there's no activity elsewhere either. There's two men staked out downtown with your girlfriend. There's a couple others with the three hookers on the East Side." He grinned. "That's the detail I shoulda drawn. Can't win 'em all, huh?"

"I guess not."

"How long you want to stay here? Joe's guess is that the guy's either set up by now or he's not gonna move tonight. We can cover you every step from here back to the hotel. Of course we can't insure against the possibility of a sniper firing from a rooftop or a high window. We did a rooftop check earlier but there's no guarantee."

"I don't think he'll do it from a distance."

"Then we're in pretty good shape. And you're wearing the bulletproof vest."

"Yes."

"That's a help. Of course it's mesh, it doesn't always stop a blade, but nobody's about to let him get that close to you. We figure if he's out there he'll make a move between here and the doorway of your hotel."

"That's what I figure, too."

"When do you want to run the gauntlet?"

"A few minutes," I said. "I might as well finish this coffee."

"Listen," he said, rising, "what the hell. Enjoy it."

He returned to his spot at the bar. I finished my coffee, got up, went to the lavatory. There I checked my.32 and made sure I had a round under the hammer and three more rounds to back it up. I could have asked Durkin for a couple more cartridges to fill the empty chambers. For that matter, he'd have given me a larger gun with more of a punch to it. But he didn't even know I was carrying the.32 and I hadn't wanted to tell him. The way things were set up, I wasn't going to have to shoot anybody. The killer was supposed to walk right into our arms.

Except it wasn't going to happen that way.

I paid the check, left a tip. It wasn't going to work. I could feel it. The son of a bitch wasn't out there.

I walked out the door. The rain had let up some. I looked at the Mercury and glanced at the buildings across the street, wondering where the police sharpshooters were planted. It didn't matter. They weren't going to have any work to do tonight. Our quarry wasn't taking the bait.

I walked down to Fifty-seventh Street, staying close to the curb just in case he'd managed to find a spot in a dark doorway. I walked slowly and hoped I was right and he wouldn't try to do it from a distance, because a bulletproof vest doesn't always stop a bullet and it doesn't do anything to protect you from a head shot.

But it didn't matter. He wasn't there. Damnit, I knew he wasn't there.

Still, I breathed easier when I walked into my hotel. I may have been disappointed but I was also relieved.

There were three plainclothesmen in the lobby. They identified themselves right away. I stood around with them for a few minutes, and then Durkin came in alone. He went into a huddle with one of them, then came over to me.

"We struck out," he said.

"Looks that way."

"Shit," he said. "We didn't leave many loopholes. Maybe he smelled something but I don't see how. Or maybe he flew home to fucking Bogotб yesterday and we're setting a trap for somebody who's on another continent."

"It's possible."

"You can go get some sleep, anyway. If you're not too wired to unwind. Have a couple of drinks, knock yourself out for eight hours."

"Good idea."

"The guys have had the lobby staked out all night. There've been no visitors, no check-ins. I'm gonna keep a guard down here all night."

"You think it's necessary?"

"I think it can't hurt."

"Whatever you say."

"We gave it our best shot, Matt. It's worth it if we can smoke the fucker out because God knows how we could get anyplace combing the city for emerald smugglers. Sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you don't."

"I know."

"We'll catch the cocksucker sooner or later. You know that."

"Sure."

"Well," he said, and shifted his weight awkwardly. "Well, listen. Get some sleep, huh?"