Michael Prescott: In Dark Places

Now they would have to ask him to detail what he'd found.

They didn't. "What's the envelope for?" Metz asked.

He had seen the empty manila envelope, which Wolper had left on the floor.

"The items were in there," Wolper said. Instantly he regretted it.

"If you were putting them back the way you found them," Baker said, "why didn't you put them back in the envelope?"

"And if the items were incriminating," Metz added, "why would you conceal them?"

Cop solidarity wasn't going to work. These two wouldn't play ball.

There was another option. The throwdown gun was snugged behind his jacket.

It would be tricky. He would need to wait for the two men to lower their guard. They were both wearing vests. He would need to snap off two head shots fast enough to drop them before they could return fire. The shots would be heard throughout the neighborhood. He would have to run for it. A lot could go wrong in that scenario. Still, it might be his only chance.

He had to distract them. "I think we're losing sight of the big picture," he said. "I admit I wasn't exercising good judgment. The stuff I found amp; well, it rattled me. I've known Al Brand a long time. I never expected him to be involved in anything like this."

Come on, you bastards. Take the fucking bait.

"What is it you say you found, exactly?" Baker asked.

Finally.

"Look for yourselves," Wolper said. "I've gotta say it doesn't look good."

He stepped away from the tool cabinet, inviting the two Hollywood cops to check it out.

Hesitantly they advanced. The bottom drawer was still open. Baker shone his flashlight inside, lighting up the stacks of cash and the narcotics. "Holy shit, look what we've got here."

Wolper eased his right hand behind his back and grasped the gun. Two shots in quick successionthat was all he would have time for. Kill shots, both of them. Anything less than perfect shooting, and he was dead.

He waited for Metz to glance down at the open drawer amp;

Headlights.

A car pulling into the driveway. Light bar on the roof twinkling. Another patrol unit. Two more uniforms.

He could never outgun four officers. Slowly Wolper let go of the gun, leaving it tucked in his waistband.

Baker and Metz were looking at him. "Your back bothering you, Lieutenant?" Metz asked.

"Muscle spasm. I get it sometimes."

The two guns were trained on him again. "I think we'd better pat you down, sir."

For a crazy moment Wolper thought about running. But there was nowhere to run. The two new arrivals were already getting out of their vehicle.

"I showed you my badge," he said. "I outrank the two of you, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yes, sir, we're aware of that."

"Then let's not have any more bullshit about patting me down like I'm a goddamned criminal."

He turned, intending to walk out of the carport and get to his car and go. Go where? He had no idea. Just go.

Metz laid a hand on his shoulder. "Against the wall, sir."

Wolper wanted to resist, wanted to brazen it out, but already Baker and Metz were escorting him to the side wall of the carport, where he assumed the position like all of the thousand perps he'd busted. Baker found his off-duty weapon, holstered by his side, and Metz's probing hands discovered the throwdown.

"What's this, sir?"

The other two cops had reached the carport and were watching him without expression.

"Backup gun," Wolper said.

"No serial number," Metz reported. "This firearm is illegal."

"Tell us again why you came here," Baker said.

Wolper turned away from the wall to confront their hard faces. In that moment he felt the collapse of his future and all his hopes.

"I want a lawyer," he said quietly.

Baker nodded. "Yes, sir. I think you do."

"Justin," Robin whispered, "I don't understand."

Gray shook his head with a slow smile. "Then you're a lot dumber than I thought."

"Why would you save me, save both of us, if amp;?"

"If I'm still the baddest of the original badass bad boys? Think about it, Doc. Exercise that college-educated brain."

Her gaze flicked to Meg, huddled by her side on the landing.

Gray nodded. "You win the prize," he said cheerfully. "See, I wanted to find your darling daughter. Couldn't do it alone. But if we worked together, we had a shot. You helped lead me to Brand, and now you've brought me here."

Meg looked up at Robin. "You brought him?"

"I thought amp; he could be trusted," Robin said, her voice hollow.

She had thought so, yes. And she had wanted to think so. Wolper had been right about that. She had wanted to believe.

Meg straightened, defying Gray with her glare. "Why do you want me?"

"Shit, I been wanting you ever since you done sassed me outside your mom's office. I don't like sass in a sweet young thing. I mean to teach you not to disrespect Justin Hanover Gray."

"Go to hell," Meg whispered.

Robin pulled her close. "Quiet, Meg."

"Yeah," Gray said. "Pipe down; mind your mommy. You need to save your voice anyhow. You got a lot of screaming to do."

There had to be a way out of this. A way to escapeor summon help.

She thought of the phone in her purse. Carefully she slipped one hand inside.

"Was it amp; Was this your plan all along?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Fuck, no. I never planned to do no harm to you and yours. Figured I'd be too busy making the great escape. Things just happened, is all. I got set up, and that got me pissed royal, so I went on safari for the guys that done it."

She found the phone, but she couldn't dial it blind. Her fingers fumbled at the keypad until she found the large re-dial button. She pressed it.

"Somewhere along the line," Gray was saying, "it hit me how I could take care of two items of business at once. Teach those scumbag cops a lesson and get reacquainted with your daughter. Wasn't no grand plan. Just kind of came together for me."

She was fairly sure the call would go throughbut who would she reach? She couldn't remember the last number she'd dialed.

"Got something on your mind, Doc?" Gray was staring at her.

"I just want to know what amp; what you intend to do with us."

"Like it's a big mystery? Gonna kill the both of you." He said it with a shrug. "But not till after I have myself some serious fun. A little mommy-daughter action is a whole new wrinkle for me. You know, I never did the nasty with them girls I snatched. Was always too looped to get it up. Ain't looped now."

Maybe hitting redial had been a bad idea. She still couldn't remember the last number she'd dialed. Was it Mrs.

Grandy? Or was it her own number at the condo, when she spoke to the SID technician?

No, that wasn't it. She'd used the phone once morein the arcade. When she called Brand.

Perfect, just perfect. She'd placed a call to a dead man.

She had to try a different number. Hit O for the operator, maybe. She touched the clasp of her purse again.

"What're you reaching for, Doc?"

Gray had seen her this time.

"Nothing," she said.

"Gimme the handbag. Right now." He reached for the purse, and without pausing to think or to calculate the risks, she whipped it by the strap, smacking him hard in the face. He stumbled, and for a moment she was sure he would topple down the cellar stairs, but somehow he kept his footing and tore the purse out of her grasp. He pitched it away into the darkness beyond the flashlight's glow.

He was breathing hard. "Jesus, you're a pain in the ass."

The gun targeted her chest. She knew he was debating whether or not to fire.

"I'm sorry, Justin."

"No, you ain't. You're not sorry for nothing you did to me."

"I was always trying to help you. I wanted to make you better."