Linwood Barclay - Bad Guys

“So we try to flag him down, and he veers, going right up on the sidewalk and around, and by this time we’re out of the car, both of us, guns drawn, and Steve takes a shot, at the tires, because with the windows tinted you don’t know how many people are in the car, it’s just too risky. He doesn’t hit the car, but the driver’s losing control and hits a telephone pole a hundred yards up or so. The door opens and this white kid bails, starts running away from us, and Steve’s after him on foot and I go back for the car, turning it around and radioing in at the same time, looking for backup, and I catch a glimpse of Steve turning down this alleyway, elbow bent, gun drawn.”

Lawrence licked his lips, like his mouth had gone dry. “What we didn’t know, till later, was that this kid had just come from a deal gone bad, well, not from his point of view until we showed up. He’d gone to make a buy, and rather than hand over the money, shot his supplier. Gets his coke, keeps his cash. I try to head the kid off, so I drive around the block, and he’s coming out the other end of the alley when I get there. Steve comes right out after him.

“I end up cornering him up against the wall with the car. The car’s not actually touching him, I’m back a good thirty feet, but I’ve got the lights on him, and he’s got nowhere to go, and Steve moves into the frame. We’re both yelling at the kid, that we’re cops, to drop his gun.

“I’m getting out of the car, and with the headlights on, we’ve both got a good look at this kid, and we can see he’s got a gun held down at his side. And I still don’t have mine drawn, I just got out of the car, and the kid decides he’s going to shoot it out with us, I guess, and he raises his weapon to take a shot at me, and I figure, okay, this could be it, but Steve’s already got him in his sights. And then the kid fires.”

“At you.”

“Yeah. He gets off a shot, which hits the window frame of the car door. A chance in a million he doesn’t hit me. What I did next happened so fast, but it’s like slow motion when I replay it in my head. I draw my gun and take aim and drop him, one shot right in the chest.”

“He died.”

“He died.”

“And you’re wondering why it was you that had to bring him down. Because your partner must have had him in his sights, and didn’t fire.”

“It did kind of occur to me.”

“What did Trimble have to say for himself?”

“Comes over, says he was just about to shoot, but I beat him to it.” Lawrence shook his head, about an eighth of an inch in either direction.

“You didn’t buy it,” I said.

“He froze. The fucker froze. And I nearly bought it. And I had to kill that kid.”

“Who was he?”

“His name was Antoine Mercer, and he was seventeen, and he was a gofer, if you can believe it, for Lenny Indigo back then. And after that, I started thinking that maybe I didn’t like being in a job where you had to depend on others to watch your back. Figured I was better off looking out for myself.”

“What was the fallout?”

“Ah well, there was the usual lynching in the press. Cop kills kid. Your paper played a leading role.”

I felt my cheeks go hot.

“But that died down. Steve and I were still partnered together, but I couldn’t work with the guy. Couldn’t trust him to be there for me. And I started wondering whether I could trust any of them. Decided the only one I could trust to cover my ass was myself, and that’s when I decided to go it alone.”

“You quit.”

“I quit. I was good at being a cop, for the most part. Liked solving things, figuring stuff out, doing what’s right. But I figured I was better working alone.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

A shrug. “Well, you asked, and I don’t know. I don’t talk about it all that often. You seem a bit of an asshole, but you’re a likeable asshole, so what the hell? It’s a long night out here without something to talk about. Speaking of which, black Annihilator up ahead, doing more reconnaissance.”

The SUV, with its lofty military stance and blacked-out windows, looked every bit the predator as it rolled down the street, its headlights, set high amidst a massive network of metal crisscrosses that looked more like a set of shark’s teeth than a grill, shining toward us. Again, in front of Brentwood’s, it slowed.

“They like what they see. They’re getting ready, I guarantee it.”

And then, from the other direction, that same city police car, doing another sweep. No lights or siren, just heading down the street, doing a regular patrol. As the cop car came into range, the driver of the SUV gave the oversized vehicle some gas, pulling away from the men’s shop.

“He got spooked,” Lawrence said as the SUV rolled past us. “He might come around again, but I doubt it. Not tonight.”

He turned his ignition key.

“What are we doing?” I asked. I had an open coffee in my hand.

Lawrence was already cranking the wheel, swinging across the street.

“We’re leaving our stakeout?” I said. “What if it’s not them, and somebody else hits the store while we’re gone?”

“Oh, that’s them,” Lawrence said, straightening out and hitting the gas so he could keep the Annihilator in sight. “As long as we know where he is, I don’t think we’ll miss seeing the store get hit.”

I felt an adrenaline rush. My heart was starting to pound. We were in a chase. Suddenly my feature was getting a whole lot more interesting.

“Where’s the lid for my coffee?” I said, glancing down at the console and down around my feet. “Fuck it,” I said, and tossed it out the open window. Who needed caffeine to stay awake now?

The driver of the Annihilator must not have suspected anyone was following him, because he wasn’t booting it up Garvin Avenue. Lawrence Jones hung several car lengths back as we traveled along behind the big, hulking vehicle. The SUV’s brake lights came on and it slowed, turning right onto Belvenia.

“He didn’t signal,” I said. “Can’t you get him for that? Then we don’t even have to worry about Brentwood’s.”

Lawrence ignored me. He swung the wheel hard to the right as we turned the corner. The SUV drove up Belvenia, then took a left, again without signaling.

“He’s going on to Wilson,” Lawrence said. “I’m hoping maybe he’s decided to call it a night, will head home, we can get some idea where he’s come from, who he is. You got your notepad there?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you make out that plate at all?”

I squinted. It was impossible. “No.”

The Annihilator hung another right, then a left two blocks on. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear,” Lawrence said softly. There was an almost cheerful lilt to his voice, but I had a feeling it was masking some concern.

“What?”

“I think he’s onto us. He’s just driving around randomly, watching to see whether we go where he goes. What we need is another car, two guys with phones, trade off following him so he doesn’t get so suspicious. Fuck.”

“Maybe he hasn’t made us. Maybe he’s just killing time, waiting to go back to Brentwood’s.”

As the Annihilator passed under some bright streetlights, Lawrence peered intently at the vehicle. “Trying to see past that tinting, get some idea how many people might be in there.”

“Those windows are pretty dark,” I said. “You can’t see- Hold on, he’s pulling over to the curb.”

The Annihilator slowed and eased over to the right.

“I’m just gonna have to drive on by,” Lawrence said. “Don’t look over or do anything suspicious.”

“What if I mooned them?”

Lawrence guided the old Buick past the black SUV, which was now fully up against the curb, lights extinguished. It would have been nice to slow down and see how many people got out, but it was clear Lawrence didn’t want us drawing attention to ourselves that way.