Michael Connelly - The Poet

"Yes, I remember."

The car was silent for a few minutes after that. I spent most of that time staring out my window. When I sensed the tension had dissipated a bit I looked over at Rachel and raised my eyebrows. She raised her hand to reach to my face but then thought better of it and put it down.

"You shaved."

"Yeah."

Backus turned around and looked at me, then returned to his normal position.

"I thought something was different," he said.

"How come?" Rachel asked.

I hiked my shoulders.

"I don't know."

A voice crackled over the radio.

"Customer."

Carter picked up the mike and said, "What've we got?"

"White male, twenties, blond hair, carrying a box. No vehicle observed. He's either going in Data or next door for a haircut. He could use one."

There was a hair salon directly west of Data Imaging Answers. On the east side was an out-of-business hardware store. The observation agents had been calling out the potential customers all day; most of them ended up going into the salon rather than DIA.

"He's going in."

I leaned over the seat to look at the monitor and saw the man enter the store with the box. The video frame was a black-and-white image that encompassed the whole showroom. The figure was too grainy and small to be identified as Gladden or not. I held my breath as I had each time a customer had entered. The man walked directly to the desk where Thorson sat. I saw Thorson move his right hand to his midsection, ready to go inside his coat for his weapon if needed.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, I have these great monthly planners here." He started reaching into the box. Thorson started standing. "I'm selling them to a lot of your neighbors here."

Thorson grabbed the man's arm to stop him from reaching, then tilted the box down so he could see inside it.

"I'm not interested," he said after inspecting the contents.

The salesman, slightly taken aback by Thorson grabbing him, recovered and completed the sales pitch.

"Are you sure? Just ten bucks. Something like this'll run you thirty, thirty-five dollars in the office supply store. It's genuine Naugahyde and it's-"

"Not interested. Thank you."

The salesman turned to Coombs sitting behind the other desk.

"How 'bout you, sir? Let me show you the deluxe mo-"

"We're not interested," Thorson barked. "Now if you would please leave the store, we're busy here. There's no soliciting here."

"Yeah, I can see. Well, have a nice day to you, too."

The man left the store.

"People," Thorson said.

He shook his head as he sat down and didn't say anything more. Then he yawned. Watching it made me yawn, then Rachel caught it from me.

"The excitement is getting to Gordo," Backus commented.

Me, too. I needed a caffeine fix. If I had been in the newsroom, I would have had at least six cups by this time of day. But because of the stakeout, there had been only one run for food and coffee and that had been three hours earlier.

I opened the door.

"I'm going for coffee. You guys want any?"

"You're gonna miss it, Jack," Backus kidded.

"Yeah, right. Now I know why so many cops get hemorrhoids. Sitting and waiting for nothing."

I got out, my knees cracking as I straightened my body. Carter and Backus said they'd pass on the coffee. Rachel said she would love some. I was hoping she wouldn't say she'd go with me and she didn't.

"How do you like it?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

"Black," she said, smiling at my act.

"Okay. Be right back."

Carrying four containers of black coffee in a small cardboard box, I stepped through the door of the Data Imaging Answers store to see Thorson's shocked face. Before he could say anything the phone on his desk started ringing. He picked it up and said, "I know."

He held the phone out for me.

"For you, sport."

It was Backus.

"Jack, get the hell out of there right now!"

"I will. I just wanted to drop off some coffee to these guys. You saw Gordo, he's falling asleep, it's so boring in here."

"Very funny, Jack, but get out. Our agreement was that you would do things my way and I would protect the story. Now, please, do as-you've got a customer. Tell Thorson. It's a woman."

I held the phone against my chest and looked at Thorson.

"Customer on the way. But it's a woman."

I held the receiver back up.

"Okay, I'm out of here," I said to Backus.

I hung the phone up and took one of the coffee containers out of the box and put it on Thorson's desk. I heard the door open behind me, the sound of traffic going by on Pico getting momentarily louder and then buffered again by the closed glass. Without turning around to look at the customer I went over to the desk where Coombs was sitting.

"Coffee?"

"Thank you very much."

I put another cup down and reached into the box for packets of sugar and powdered cream and a stirring straw. When I turned around I saw the woman standing in front of Thorson's desk, digging through a big black purse. She had fluffy blond hair in a Dolly Parton cascade. An obvious wig. She wore a white blouse over a short skirt and black stockings. She was tall, even without the high heels. I noticed that when she had opened the door to the shop a strong odor of perfume entered with her.

"Ah," she said, finding what she was looking for. "I'm here to pick this up for my boss."

She placed a folded yellow sheet on the desk in front of Thorson. He looked over at Coombs, an attempt to signal that Coombs should take over this transaction.

"Take it easy, Gordo," I said.

As I started for the door I looked over at Thorson, expecting him to reply to my repeated use of the nickname Backus had used for him. I saw Thorson looking at the now unfolded sheet she had given him and his eyes fixed on something. I saw his eyes glance at the west wall of the store. I knew he was looking at the camera. At Backus. He then looked up at the woman. I was behind her at this point and could only see Thorson's eyes just over her shoulder. He was rising and I saw his mouth coming open in a silent O. His right arm was coming up and he was reaching inside his jacket. Then I saw her right arm coming up from the bag. When it cleared her torso I saw the knife grasped in her hand.

She brought the knife down well before Thorson had his arm out of his jacket. I heard his strangled cry as the knife plunged into his throat. He started falling back, a spray of arterial blood going up, hitting her in the shoulder as she leaned all the way over the desk reaching for something.

She straightened up and spun around, Thorson's gun in hand.

"Nobody fuckin' move!"

The woman's voice was gone, replaced by the near hysterical and taut voice of the cornered male animal. He aimed the gun at Coombs and then swung it around at me.

"Get away from that door. Get in here!"

I dropped the box with the two coffee containers, raised my hands and moved away from the door, further into the showroom. The man in the dress then wheeled again on Coombs, who shrieked.

"No! Please, they're watching, no!"

"Who's watching? Who?"

"They're watching on the camera!"

"Who?"

"The FBI, Gladden," I said in as calm a tone as I could muster, which probably wasn't too far removed from the same shriek that Coombs had emitted.

"Can they hear?"

"Yes, they can hear."

"FBI!" Gladden yelled. "FBI, you got one dead already. You come in here and you'll get two more."

He then turned to the display table and aimed Thorson's gun at the video camera with the red light on. He fired three times until he hit it and it flew backward off the table, breaking apart.

"Get over here," he yelled at me. "Where are the keys?"