Robert Crais - The Last Detective

Pike twisted around, searching for movement; someone had controlled the truck's lights, and that would be Fallon, somewhere nearby with a line of sight on the scene; now that Schilling and Ibo had the money, Fallon would also run, and might give himself away.

Then a heavy shot boomed to the north, and Pike spun toward the sound. Not a handgun shot, but something loud and heavy. Light flashed in one of the parked cars, followed fast by a second boom.

Pike saw shadows in the car. A man and a boy.

Pike shouted at Cole as the car pulled away, then ran hard down the hill for his Jeep, his shoulder sending sharp lightning through his arm as he ran.

Pike thought, I'm scared.

BEN

Mike wasn't like Eric or Mazi. Mike didn't bullshit or play the radio and leer at the hot chicks they passed on San Vicente Boulevard. Mike spoke only to give commands. He looked at Ben only to make sure Ben got the point. That was it.

They turned into a parking lot at the airport, then sat with the engine running. Mike never turned off the engine. Like he was scared that it wouldn't start when he needed it. After a while, Mike had lifted the binoculars to watch something across the field. Ben couldn't tell what was happening because it was so far away.

The shotgun rested with the muzzle on the floor and the stock leaning against Mike's knee. It wasn't a regular shotgun like the 20-gauge Ithaca that Ben's grandpa had given him for Christmas; this shotgun was really short, with a black stock, but Ben saw a little button in the trigger guard that he knew was the safety. His own shotgun had the same kind of safety. The safety was off. Ben thought, I'll bet he's got one in the box and good to go just like Eric.

Ben glanced up at Mike again, but Mike was still focused across the field.

Mike scared him. Eric and Mazi were scared of Mike, too. If it had been Eric sitting here concentrating on something across the field, Ben thought he would go for the gun. All he had to do was grab the trigger and the gun would go off. But that was Eric and this was Mike. Mike reminded him of a sleeping cobra, all coiled up and good to go. You might think it was sleeping but you never knew.

Mike lowered the binoculars just long enough to find what looked like a small walkie-talkie from the dashboard, then raised the binoculars again. He keyed the walkie-talkie, and lights flickered across the runway. Mike spoke on his cell phone, and then put the phone to Ben's ear.

"It's your dad. Say something."

Ben grabbed the phone.

"Daddy?"

His father sobbed, and just like that Ben cried like a baby, gushing tears and hiccuping.

"I wanna go home."

Mike took back the phone. Ben grabbed for it, but Mike held him at arm's length. Ben clawed and bit and punched, but Mike's arm was an iron rod. Mike squeezed Ben's shoulder so hard that his shoulder felt crushed.

Mike said, "You going to stop?"

Ben shrank away from Mike as far as possible, embarrassed and ashamed. He cried even harder.

Mike dropped the phone, then peered through the binoculars again. He keyed the walkie-talkie once more, and now the far lights flashed and stayed on.

Overlapping erratic pops came from the far side of the airport then, and Mike straightened, focused so completely on whatever was happening that Ben thought: Now!

Ben lunged across the seat. His fingers wrapped around the trigger guard just as Mike grabbed his arm, but Ben had it by then. The shotgun went off like a bomb, and kicked hard into the steering wheel. Ben jerked the trigger again as fast as he could, and the shotgun thundered again, blowing a second hole in the floorboard.

Mike pulled Ben's hand off the gun as easy as tearing paper, and shoved Ben back into his seat. Ben threw his arms over his head, certain that Mike would beat him or kill him, but Mike put the shotgun back in its place, and started maneuvering out of the parking lot.

Once they were going, Mike glanced over at him.

"You're a tough little bastard."

Ben thought, too bad I missed.

time missing: 53 hours, 32 minutes

Fallon's car moved in the north parking lot, speeding toward the exit. He would have to drive past the soccer field and the Museum of Flying, then between the office buildings before he came out onto Ocean Boulevard. Once he reached Ocean, he would be gone.

My hands shook so badly that they felt like clubs, but I punched Pike's number on speed dial.

"C'mon, Joe – answer. C'mon. "

Fallon's car turned past the soccer field and picked up speed. White midsize coupe, looked like two doors. He would be on his way to meet Schilling and Ibo. The limo was big and obvious, and now it was missing a headlight. They would abandon it soon.

Pike suddenly answered.

"I'm moving."

"Eastbound at the end of the soccer field, white two-door coupe. He's at the museum. He'll come out on Ocean. I lost him."

I broke and ran for my car. I ran as hard as I could, phone in one hand, gun in the other, past the hangars and the houses. Pike would be racing north toward Ocean Boulevard, and then he would turn east. He would either spot Fallon's car coming out of the airport or he wouldn't.

A woman was walking a small orange dog in the middle of the street. She saw me running toward her with the gun. She didn't try to get away or go to a house; instead, she hopped from foot to foot, screaming aiee , aiee, aiee, and the dog spun in circles. Here was this woman out for a walk, and I thought that if she tried to stop me I would shoot her and her little dog, too. That wasn't me. That wasn't anything like me. Welcome to madness.

I hit the car running and jammed away from the curb so hard that the car fishtailed and the tachometer needle was swallowed in red.

"Joe?"

"East on Ocean."

" Where is he? "

"Stop screaming. He's eastbound on Ocean, wait, turning south on Centinela. I have him. Six cars ahead."

Centinela was behind me. I jerked the hand brake to lock the back end and spun the car, smoking the tires out of a one-eighty. Horns all around me blew, but they sounded far away.

I still screamed into the phone.

"Myers is dead. They shot Richard, too. They shot him, and he fell back into the limo. I don't know whether they killed him or not."

"Just take it easy. We're still southbound. Fallon doesn't know we're still in the game."

Fallon drove with a low profile so he wouldn't get stopped by a passing cop, but all I cared about was catching him. I hit eighty on the side streets, turned parallel to Centinela, then jammed it to a hundred.

"Where is he? Gimme cross streets!"

My car bounced off a dip in the street, but I went even faster. Pike called out the cross streets they were passing. I passed the same cross streets running parallel. I caught up to them one street at a time, and then I pulled ahead. I turned toward Centinela with all four tires sliding and blew a valve coming out of the turn. Smoke poured out behind me, and my engine clattered.

Pike said, "We're picking up speed."

I was close to Centinela and getting closer, three blocks away and then two. I snapped off my lights and jerked to the curb just as Fallon's car rolled through the intersection and turned toward the freeway. Ben sat in the passenger seat. He stared out the window.

"I'm on him, Joe. I see him."

Pike said, "Fall in behind after I make the turn."

Fallon didn't go far, but he wouldn't. He had thought it through well. They would change cars, and then they would get rid of Ben, and Richard if he was still alive. No kidnapping ends any other way.

Pike said, "He's slowing."

Fallon's car slipped under the freeway, then turned.

Pike didn't follow. His lights went off and he pulled to the curb at the corner, watching. I did the same. After a bit, Pike's Jeep crept forward and turned. We eased past building-supply outlets and a veterinarian's clinic to a row of small houses. A dog howled in the clinic. It sounded in pain.