John Sandford - Silent Prey

Lucas hung up, and Fell asked, "All right-what's going on?"

"We're gonna surveil for a while…"

"Surveil what?" Another cop car rolled by, and again they got the look.

"This Lacey woman's building, for a start. Bekker knows me, I don't want to go right up front…"

"I know where we can get a hat," Fell said. "And it's on the way…"

They dodged from doorway to canopy, staying out of the rain as much as they could. Fell finally led Lucas into a clothing store that apparently hadn't changed either stock or customers since '69. Every male customer other than Lucas was bearded, and three of the four women customers wore tie-dye. Lucas bought an ill-fitting leather porkpie hat. In the mirror, he looked like a hippie designer's idea of an Amazon explorer.

"Quit grumbling, you'd look cute in the right light," Fell said, hurrying him along.

"I look like an asshole," Lucas said. "In any light."

"What can I tell you?" she said. "You ain't posing for Esquire. "

The rain had slowed further, but the streets were wet and slick, stinking of two centuries of grime emulsified by the quick shower. They found Lacey's building, cruised it front and back. The back wall was windowless brick. A weathered shed, or lean-to, folded against the lower wall. The gate in the chain-link fence had been recently opened, and car tracks cut through the low spotty weeds to the shed.

Lucas walked to the edge of the lot, where he had the sharpest angle on the shed. "Look at this," he said.

Fell peered through the fence. The back end of a rounded chrome bumper was just visible inside the shed. "Sonofabitch, it's a Bug," she breathed. She grabbed his arm. "Lucas, we gotta call."

"Lily and O'Dell are taking care of it," he said.

"I mean Kennett. He's our supervisor. Christ, we're cutting out the boss…"

"Soon," Lucas promised. "I want to sit and watch for a few more minutes."

They walked around front, and Lucas picked out a store a hundred feet up the street from Lacey's, on the opposite side, an African rug-and-artifact gallery. The owner was a deep-breasted Lebanese woman in a black turtlenecked silk dress. She nodded, nervous, and said, "Of course," when they showed their badges. She brought chairs and they sat at an angle to the window, among draperies and wicker bookcases, watching the street.

"What if he goes out the back?" asked Fell.

"He won't. There're cops all over the place. He's holed up."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"For some guys. Robin Hood and his merry men. If nothing happens in a half-hour, we go in…"

"Would you like some cookies?" the Lebanese store owner asked, a touch of anxiety in her voice. She was twisting her hands, and looked, Lucas thought, remarkably like the wicked-witch stepmother in Snow White, if he had his Disney movies right. "Baklava, maybe…?"

"No, thanks, really," Lucas said. "We're fine. We might want to use your phone."

"Yes, surely…" The woman gestured at a black telephone next to the cash register and retired to the rear of the shop, where she perched on a high stool and continued to rub her hands.

"Eat her goddamn baklava and your nuts'd probably wind up sealed in a bottle with a genie," Lucas muttered.

Fell glanced back and said, "Shh," but smiled and shook her head. "Fuckin' midwestern white guys, it must be something out there, wall-to-wall Wasps…"

"Look," Lucas said.

Two men in sport coats and slacks were walking up the street, not looking at Lacey's building. One was beefy, the other rail-thin. Their sport coats were too heavy for a New York summer, the kind of coat called "year-round" by the department stores, too hot in summer, not warm enough in winter. The beefy one walked stiffly, as though something were wrong with his back; the thin one showed a cast on his left arm.

"Cops," Fell said. She stood up. "They look like cops."

"The sonofabitch with the cast is the guy who whacked me, I think," Lucas said. Fell took a step toward the door, but Lucas caught her by the arm and said, "Wait, wait, wait…" and backed toward the counter and picked up the phone, still watching the two cops. They passed Lacey's building, strolling, talking too animatedly, phony, walked on until they were in front of the next building, then stopped.

Lucas punched Lily's office number into the telephone. She picked it up on the second ring. "I'm at Lacey's place…"

"How'd you get…?"

"I lied. And the Robin Hoods just walked in, we're watching them across the street. So it's O'Dell…"

"Can't be. He hasn't touched a phone."

"What?"

"I'm with him now. In his office."

"Shit…"

Across the street, the Robin Hoods had turned and had started back toward Lacey's. One drew a pistol while the other dropped a long-handled sledge from beneath his jacket.

"Get me backup…" Lucas said. "Jesus-they're going in. Get me backup now. "

Lucas dropped the phone back on the hook. "Let's go," he said. "Get on my arm, really drag on it, like we had a few too many."

They went out the door and Lucas, hat tipped down, wrapped an arm around Fell's shoulder and put his face close to hers. The two cops paused just before they passed the windows in front of Lacey's, looked around one more time, saw Lucas and Fell fifty feet away. Lucas pushed Fell into a building front with one hip, groped at a breast with his free hand. She pushed him away, and the two cops went to the door.

They were running now.

The cop with the hammer stopped, pivoted, swinging his hip like a golfer. Backswing and drive, the hammer flashing overhead.

The hammerhead hit the door just at the handle and it exploded inward, glass breaking, wood splintering.

The cop with the gun and the cast went through; the other dropped the hammer and drew his pistol. Then he went in, crouched, focused, straight ahead.

"Go," said Lucas. His.45 was in his hand, and he was at the door in three seconds. Through the door. The two cops were inside, their pistols pointing up an open stairway, and Lucas dropped in the doorway, screaming, "Police, freeze."

"We're cops, we're cops…" The cop nearest Lucas kept his gun pointed at the stairs.

"Drop the piece, drop, drop it, God damn it, or I'll blow your fuckin' ass off, drop it…"

"We're cops, you asshole…" The heavyset cop was half turned toward him, his gun still pointed up the stairs. The pistol was black with a smooth, plastic look about it, a high-capacity Glock 9mm. This guy wasn't using the issue crap from the department.

"Drop it…"

Fell came in behind, her gun out, searching for a target, Lucas feeling the black barrel of the cut-off Colt.38 next to his ear.

"Drop it," Lucas screamed again.

The slat-thin cop, who was closest to the door, dropped his weapon, and Lucas focused on the other, who was still looking uncertainly up the stairs. The disarmed cop said, "Jesus, you asshole, we're plainclothes for Bekker…"

Lucas ignored him, focused on the other gun: "Said drop the fuckin' weapon, jerkweed; you assholes beat the shit out of me, and I'm not in the mood to argue. I'll fuckin' pull the trigger on you right now…"

The cop stooped and laid his gun on the floor, glanced at his partner. "Listen…"

"Shut up." Lucas looked at Fell. "Keep your gun up, Bekker's here somewhere."

"Lucas, Jesus…" Fell said, but she kept the gun up.

Lucas motioned the two cops to a steam radiator, tossed them a set of handcuffs. "I want to hear them click," he said.

"You motherfucker, I oughta fuckin' pull your face off," the heavy one said.

"I'd kill you if you tried," Lucas said simply. "Cuffs."

"Motherfucker…" But the two cuffed themselves to the radiator pipe. Lucas looked up the stairs.

"Now what?" asked Fell.

"Backup's on the way, should be here." He kept the.45 pointed at the chained cops.