John Lutz - Night kills

No time even for that.

He bolted toward the heavy door to the street, hit it hard with his shoulder, and spun as he lurched outside.

The cab pulled to the curb. Fedderman shoved a wad of bills at the driver as Quinn, on the right side in back, opened the door and started to climb out.

"Hell is that?" he heard Fedderman say.

Stooped over and with one foot still in the cab, one on the curb, Quinn looked up and saw a man burst from the doorway of Jill's apartment building. He must have hit the door hard on the inside because he was spinning as he broke outside. Quinn saw something in his right hand. Identified it immediately.

"That's Victor!" Fedderman shouted.

Quinn very calmly but loudly shouted, "Gun!" He gripped the butt of his old police positive special and pulled the revolver smoothly from its leather shoulder holster.

The cab's window behind him starred as a bullet smacked into it. Victor was standing with his feet spread wide facing Quinn. He was holding his weapon with both hands aiming carefully. Quinn noticed it hadn't made any noise and saw the bulky silencer on the barrel.

No time even to seek shelter!

Quinn lowered himself to a kneeling position to present a smaller target and fired a shot at Victor. Another shot barked nearby. He glanced back across the interior of the cab and saw Fedderman's ample stomach paunch and wrinkled tie mashed against the outside of the opposite side window. Fedderman was standing and firing across the cab's roof.

Another shot, and a bullet snapped past over Quinn's head.

Outgoing.

Victor had decided to make his stand. He made no attempt to escape. A bullet zinged off the cab's hood. The cabbie had had enough. Quinn heard the engine roar and felt rather than saw the cab pull away fast from the curb.

Exposed now, Fedderman moved up so he was standing directly behind Quinn. Both men fired over and over at Victor. Quinn's ears rang from the din and he could smell cordite, see brass casings from Fedderman's 9mm bouncing around like loose coins on the sidewalk.

Victor seemed almost to melt as he fell.

He lay motionless with one leg twisted beneath him.

Quinn and Fedderman separated and approached the still body from different angles. Fedderman, his white shirt cuff flapping above his gun hand, reached it first and kicked the silenced.22 away from where it lay next to Victor's dead hand.

He stooped low and touched the base of Victor's neck lightly, feeling for a pulse, and then looked up at Quinn. "Gone."

"Let's get upstairs," Quinn said, breathing hard. "See how Pearl is."

Quinn and Fedderman saw the door to Jill's apartment hanging open. There was no way to know what was going on inside, or how many people were involved. Victor had probably been alone, but there was no way to be sure.

They entered cautiously, guns drawn.

Jill was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, her face blank. She was obviously in shock. Pearl was slumped on the sofa. Her right eye was tightly closed and there was blood all over that side of her face and in spatter marks down her right arm.

She squinted at Quinn with her left eye.

"More blood than anything else," she said. "Bullet hit a picture on the wall. Blew it all to hell. Glass in my eye."

She seemed only mildly annoyed, rather than enraged or in any great pain. Must be in shock, like Jill, Quinn figured.

He turned to instruct Fedderman to call for EMS for both Pearl and Jill. Fedderman was already standing off to the side with his cell phone making the call.

"Don't need an ambulance," Pearl said. "You or Feds can drive me to the hospital. Or I can take a cab."

"Call Renz when you're done with that call," Quinn said to Fedderman. "Let him know what happened."

Then he sat down beside Pearl on the sofa and held her close.

As soon as Renz hung up after Fedderman's call, he phoned Cindy Sellers. She'd hear it and publish it first, even if the news hit TV before the next edition of City Beat.

Sellers was print media and should be used to getting scooped by TV or the Internet. But she'd get the jump on all the major New York papers. A deal was a deal. Besides, Renz would rather have Sellers as an ally than an enemy.

Her questions were brief and to the point. Renz's answers were the same. They both knew the rules. Renz kind of enjoyed the conversation. They were two ruthless and expert players who by chance and opportunity found themselves on the same side of the board.

When the conversation was over, Renz went to his office door and locked it. He was smiling.

Quinn had come through again. The Torso Murderer-the real one-lay dead on the sidewalk, and Renz's career was alive and well.

As planned.

He returned to his desk and fired up a celebratory cigar.

Pearl had done her job. Jill Clark was mentally shaken but otherwise unharmed. The paramedics tried to load Pearl onto a gurney to carry her to the ambulance. She was having none of it. The glass wasn't actually in her eye, so she demanded to be stitched up then and there. The paramedics said the best they could do on the spot were butterfly bandages to temporarily hold the deepest cuts together and stop the bleeding. Pearl told them that would do. Tough Pearl. Thought she was staying on the job, going with Quinn and Fedderman.

"Not a chance," Quinn told her when he realized she expected to stay in the hunt. "You've done enough, Pearl. If you won't go to a hospital, stay here and rest. Or go up to your own apartment. Jewel's."

"That place is a rat hole," Pearl said.

"For a rodent that's lucky to be alive."

"You calling me a rat, Quinn?"

Quinn said, "Stay, Pearl!" As if she were a dog he was disciplining and taking no more shit from. Well, better than a rodent.

Pearl didn't like it, but she knew when not to argue. Stubborn bastard! She slumped down on the sofa, slouching so she was sitting on her spine. Like a spoiled brat unfairly denied.

Quinn was unmoved. He turned to Fedderman.

"Let's go see if Palmer Stone's working late tonight," he said, not looking back at Pearl as he moved toward the door.

Fedderman slid a fresh clip into his 9mm, glanced at Pearl, grinned, and said, "Hard ass." He hurried to catch up with Quinn.

Pearl stayed behind and fumed.

Quin and Fedderman commandeered one of the unmarked city cars that had arrived at the scene. Quinn drove it fast but not recklessly, staring straight ahead, thinking about Pearl and what had happened to Victor Lamping, and what he, Quinn, would like to do to Palmer Stone.

He double-parked outside Stone's office building and flipped down the sun visor to display the NYPD placard. Quinn and Fedderman were the only ones in the elevator as it rose to the floor where E-Bliss.org's offices were located.

Quinn knew Renz had probably tipped Cindy Sellers by now. All secrets were known. The news of Victor's death might already be on TV and radio.

As they entered the suite of offices, Quinn signaled Fedderman, and both men drew their weapons and held them tight against their thighs.

The small anteroom was empty. It had a still and desolate air about it. After enough years, cops could sense unoccupied premises. After enough years, they learned not to entirely trust their instincts.

Weapons raised and at the ready now, Quinn led the way, and they pushed through to Stone's office.

The offices of E-Bliss.org were occupied-in a way. Palmer Stone was at his desk, appropriately dressed in a dark business suit with white shirt and red silk tie. He was slumped forward with both arms and his head on the desk, as if he were taking a nap. There was a dark-rimmed, perfectly round hole in his temple. The gun that had created it was in his right hand. The bullet hadn't exited his head, so the desk had only a small pool of blood on it. Near Stone's left hand was a precisely folded suicide note. Everything about the scene was neat and orderly, considering. The live Palmer Stone would have approved.