Devlin shook his head. “No. Never heard of them before.”
“Sure of that?”
“I am.”
“Unlikely they’ll admit her,” Malloy said. “They’ll probably send her home in a little while. I’ll make sure she gets there. New Hope police will be at her house again tonight. In the meantime, we’ll see what we get out of those two clowns we picked up.”
“Find out who’s paying their lawyer, that’s your answer right there.”
“I doubt it’ll be that simple. If I’d hired them, and they screwed up like that, I’d leave their asses in jail.”
“Can I see her?”
“For just a few minutes, yeah. My partner’s in there, as well as another reporter from her paper. I think one of her editors is on his way too. What she needs now mostly is to rest, decompress. Getting shot at, running for your life, can be pretty traumatic. But you know all about that, don’t you?”
The curtain was pulled back in the treatment room. Tracy Quinn was sitting up in bed, wearing a hospital gown and slowly eating a cup of chocolate ice cream with a plastic spoon. There was a butterfly bandage above her right eye, and her hair was matted and wet. He felt a swell of anger.
Malloy came in behind him. Mendoza stood to one side, along with a young, light-skinned black woman.
Quinn sat up straighter, said, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Devlin said. “Last time we were here, it was the other way around.”
“Now I know how you felt.”
She pointed her spoon at the other woman. “Alysha Bennett. Raymond Devlin.”
Bennett glared at him. He nodded to her.
“I felt like I needed to call,” Quinn said. “Warn you. I didn’t know where they might be headed next.”
“Nowhere, after the way you handled them.”
She looked down at the ice cream, and he saw the tears come. No one spoke. Bennett put an arm around her shoulders, squeezed briefly, then let go. She turned to Devlin.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
Malloy moved out of their way. Devlin followed her out into the corridor, and away from the treatment room.
She turned to face him, and he saw the anger there.
“No more bullshit,” she said. “And no more of this ‘off the record’ noise. My girl in there almost got killed behind this mess. I’m still not sure just who or what you are, but you need to step up. You’re part of this. She trusted you.”
“I’ve told her everything I know.”
“I’m writing a story about what happened tonight. And we’ll be writing another one every day, until all this is out in the open.”
“Good.”
“So you need to talk to me.”
He looked at his watch. It was a little after ten.
“Am I keeping you?” she said.
“Tracy has my number. I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“When?” she said, but he was already moving down the hall toward the red exit sign. He pushed open the fire door and went out into the rain.
“I don’t like this,” Tariq said.
They cruised slowly past the house, Lukas at the wheel of the Lexus. The address was a darkened ranch house on a block of identical homes. They’d left the Crown Vic in Virginia. It was too hot now, after what had happened at the motel. Too much of a chance Devlin or someone else had gotten the plate number.
“We’re running out of options,” Lukas said. “If you have a better idea, say it.”
The transponder signal from Devlin’s truck had gone dead that morning. It might have been a malfunction, but more likely Devlin had found it, destroyed it. Another advantage lost.
He U-turned down the street, came back. It was a neighborhood of well-cared-for homes, garages, wide lawns and driveways. A wet fog had drifted in, cast auras around the streetlights.
Lukas pulled to the curb, shut off the lights and engine. The house was a half block ahead, on the opposite side of the street.
It had been a four-and-a-half-hour drive, and now it was after midnight. Lukas had decided this was the way to do it, quick and bold. Find the ex-wife, get her to tell them where Devlin was, maybe take her with them if they had to. There was always the chance they’d find Devlin here, his truck in the driveway. But that would mean luck was with them, and he knew they couldn’t count on that anymore.
“Nice neighborhood,” Tariq said. “A long way from Sadr City. I used to dream about America. I always imagined it looked like this.”
Lukas took gloves from his coat pocket, pulled them on.
“If we take her, then what?” Tariq said.
“Stash her someplace, get in touch with Devlin. Make him come to us.”
“Then we’ll have to kill them both, won’t we?”
Lukas could see a light fixture mounted above the garage door, next to a basketball hoop. Motion detector. There would be others on the house as well.
“More civilians,” Tariq said.
“Fortunes of war.”
“I’m just wondering if it’s worth the risk.”
“As long as he’s walking around, Devlin’s a threat to all of us. No way around that. We take care of him, we get our money, and then we can do whatever we want. You can go back to Sadr City, spread your wealth around.”
“Maybe I will.”
Lukas pointed at the attached garage. “The window on the side. We’ll see if it’s wired. If not, we’ll go in through there, try the door that leads into the house. You work the locks, and we’re in.”
“And if the window’s alarmed?”
“We find another way. A basement door, maybe. There’s always something. People are never as careful as they think they are.”
Tariq looked at the house, didn’t speak.
“If you’re not up for this,” Lukas said, “you can wait here.”
“No. Let’s get it done.”
Lukas reached beneath his seat, took out the Sig tucked into the springs there. It was loaded with 9-millimeter subsonics. Along with the suppressor, they would cut the noise of a gunshot in half.
Tariq was pulling on his gloves. They hadn’t brought masks, would have to go in without them, take their chances.
Tariq took the Shield automatic from his waistband. “You should have asked for more money.”
“Next time,” Lukas said.
Together, they got out of the Lexus, and crossed the street to the dark and silent house.
Tracy looked up from her MacBook, said, “It’s getting crowded in here.”
She was at the kitchen table, Alysha across from her, talking to Rick Carr on her cell. Dwight Malloy sat at the table with them, drinking instant coffee he’d made himself. Four uniformed officers, two from New Hope and two from Philadelphia, milled around the living room, talking, their belt radios squawking every few minutes.
At the hospital, they’d wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she’d refused. Dwight had driven her home, a ride filled with awkward silences and empty small talk. She’d showered and changed when she got there, but still felt cold. There were deep bruises on her shoulder and side from the seat belt harness, and her whole body was stiff and sore.
Alysha’s story was on her screen. Rick had sent it to Tracy for a final read before posting it online. It felt odd seeing herself quoted as a source.
“I should have you down at Race Street making a statement right now,” Dwight said. “Only reason I don’t is so you can meet your deadline. I hope you appreciate that.”
“I do.”
She hit the Send icon, watched the story vanish from her screen, sat back, and let out her breath.
Alysha ended her call. “You hanging in there?”
“I’m all right. Just tired.”
“This type of thing sneaks up on you,” Dwight said. “You think you’re fine, but you’re running on nervous energy. Then suddenly you’re out of gas.”
“Story should be live soon,” Alysha said. “Rick’s going to stick ar
ound for a while. We can update if we want, just need to call him.”
“Long day for him,” Tracy said.
“You too. He says you stay home tomorrow. They’ll call you if they need you. I’ll pick up the follow, and stay in touch. Irv’s going to give me a couple more bodies to help chase some things down. Full-court press on this one, Ms. Quinn. And it’s all your fault.”
To Dwight, Tracy said, “What will happen to those two men?”
“Are you asking as a victim or a reporter?”
“Both.”
“They’ll be arraigned tomorrow, out here. They’re from out of state, so bail doesn’t seem likely. No sign of a lawyer yet, either.”
“What about my car?”
“Police wrecker winched it out. It’s at Hammond Brothers in New Hope. But I suspect your insurance company’s going to total it when they see it.”
“Good.”
“You’re taking all this very calmly,” he said. “With a sense of humor, even. That’s good to see. But Trace, trust me, from personal experience. When something like this catches up with you, it hits—and hits hard. And it stays with you for a good long time.”
Later, when she was alone in the house, she tried Devlin’s phone again. It went straight to voice mail. It was the third time she’d called him since she’d gotten home. She felt a growing sense of alarm. Where had he gone? What was he planning on doing?
She tried to sleep, woke after half an hour, the sound of gunshots in her head. Dwight had been right, she knew. She’d interviewed people who’d gone through this type of trauma, survived violent attacks. It never left you. It tainted everything that came after it.
Rain lashed at the windows. She looked out at the cruiser in the yard, checked the front door locks again, made sure all the windows were latched.
She tried Devlin’s line again. There was no answer.
Thirty-Four
Devlin came out of the trees, looked down at Farrow’s house. He’d parked the Ranchero a half mile away, made his way up a wooded hill behind the development, estimating distances while he climbed. It had taken him less than three hours to drive down here, with little traffic on 95. The sky was clear. He’d left the rain behind.
The house was dark, except for a lighted window in the side door that led to the basement room. Farrow’s Bronco was in the driveway, parked nose out. The Tahoe was in front of the house.
How many men inside? At least two from the Tahoe, maybe more if Farrow had decided to beef up the detail since his last visit.
He started down the hill. When he reached the driveway, he stayed close to the Bronco, saw the red light blinking on the dash. There were shadows here, between the garage and the house, enough to hide in. Three steps led up to the side door. He could hear voices behind it.
Farrow looked at the cellphone on the bar top, waiting for it to ring.
Drew Holifield and the man named Dillon were shooting pool quietly, the only sound the click of the balls, the scratching of cues being chalked. A third man, Ryan, the youngest of them, sat on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, tapping his foot on the floor, nervous.
The toilet flushed, and Cody came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a paper towel. To Farrow, he said, “Still nothing?”
“Did you hear the phone ring?”
“Sorry, boss. Just asking.”
Farrow took a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black from the bar rack, poured two fingers into a cut-glass tumbler. He realized now he’d made a mistake, entrusted important work to men he didn’t know. He’d moved too fast, without enough preparation.
He’d paid the two men five grand each, with five more to come, and given them a burner phone to call him when it was done. Now he had to resist the urge to try the number. There was always the chance the police had caught them and taken the phone.
The snub-nosed S&W .38 with mother-of-pearl grips was where he’d left it, on the shelf behind the bar. He opened the cylinder, checked the loads, then closed it again. The men heard it, looked at him. He tucked the gun into his belt. It made him feel better.
He drank, looked at his Rolex. It was almost two. He was conscious of the emptiness of the house above him. He’d sent his own wife to her sister’s in Phoenix that afternoon. There was too much danger now, from too many sides.
Dillon chalked his stick, said, “Joe and Theo are good men. They won’t fuck this up.”
“Then why haven’t I heard from them?” Farrow said.
“You will. Something must have come up. Whatever it is, they’re pros, they can handle it. They won’t let you down.”
“They’d better not.” He took a pack of Marlboros from the bar top, shook one out. Dillon turned back to the table, leaned over to make a shot.
Outside, a car alarm began to blare.
Devlin stepped away from the Bronco, its headlights flashing, the alarm sounding. The sole of his boot had left a dirty footprint on the driver’s door. He moved back into the shadows.
The side door opened and a man came out, looked down at the Bronco. He was young, twenties, maybe, hair cut so close that scalp showed. There was a Glock holstered on his right hip.
When he came down the stairs, Devlin let him go past, then stepped behind him, kicked the back of his knee, and locked an arm around his throat to hold him up. He pulled the gun from the kid’s holster, touched the muzzle to his temple. “Inside.”
He pushed the kid forward, hooked one hand in the back of his collar. They started up the steps, and then Cody was in the doorway, holding a gun.
Devlin aimed the Glock at him over the kid’s shoulder. “Back up.”
Cody didn’t move. Devlin could hear the kid breathing fast.
“Three seconds,” Devlin said.
Behind him, the alarm stopped.
“Two seconds.”
Cody backed into the room. Devlin guided the kid up the steps and through the doorway. Farrow stood behind the bar to his left. On the other side of the room, two men were at the pool table, sticks in their hands. One of them was the guard Farrow had called Holly. The other was older, his dark hair slicked back.
Devlin moved inside, keeping the kid in front, kicked the door shut behind him. Cody took a step back. Devlin kept the Glock centered on his chest.
“Put your weapon down,” Devlin said. “There on the couch.”
He didn’t move. Devlin watched him. He’d disarmed him once before, knew there might be a grudge there that could override his common sense.
“Do it, Cody,” Farrow said.
Cody lowered the gun, set it on the arm of the couch.
“Move back,” Devlin said. “Farther.”
To the other men, he said, “Guns on the table.”
This was the dangerous part, he knew. Five men, and at least two of them still armed. Unlikely he could tag them both if they drew at the same time.
Farrow was watching him, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Holly still held the pool cue in his left hand, its butt on the floor. The other one set his stick on the table, had the presence of mind to free his hands. He wore no jacket, had an automatic holstered on his left hip, butt forward for a cross draw with his right hand. He was the one to watch.
“It’s okay, Dillon,” Farrow said. “Do what he says.”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. Devlin aimed the Glock at his chest.
“Go on,” Farrow said. “You too, Holly. I don’t think Raymond’s planning on shooting anyone in here tonight.” He looked at Devlin. “Am I right, Sergeant?”
Dillon reached across and drew his gun from its holster, set it on the table, but within reach. Holly put his beside it. He still held the pool cue.
Devlin let go of the kid, shoved him hard. Cody stepped back, and the kid fell in front of him, then got to his feet “I’m sorry, Mr. Farrow,” he said, out of breath. “I didn’t see him out there. I—”
“Shut up,” Farrow said. He set his cigarette in a glass ashtray on the bar top.
Devlin too
k Cody’s gun from the couch arm, put it in his jacket pocket. To the kid, he said, “What’s your name?”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan, I want you to collect those weapons, and put them on the bar over here. Do it slowly, and without walking in front of me.” Trying to show more confidence than he felt.
Ryan looked at Farrow, who said, “Go ahead.”
Cody raised his hands, uneasy. He knew if any shooting started, he’d be in the cross fire.
Ryan went to the pool table, picked up the two guns. Devlin kept the Glock on him. He came back, set them on the bar.
“Now reach under Cody’s jacket, and take out that pair of handcuffs there.”
The kid looked at him, then Cody, uncertain what to do. Cody lifted the tail of his jacket, exposing the empty holster, the snap case with handcuffs, and the stun gun.
“Get that too,” Devlin said.
The kid unsnapped the case, took out the cuffs, then the stun gun.
“On the bar,” Devlin said. “Then take the handcuffs and put them on those two gentlemen over there. Left hand to left hand.”
“Fuck that,” Holly said.
Devlin pointed the gun at him.
“We really need all this drama, Raymond?” Farrow said.
“No drama. As long as they do what I say.”
They all looked at Farrow. He nodded. “Sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Holly set his pool cue on the table. Devlin heard the clink of balls knocked aside. The kid ratcheted a cuff around his wrist. Dillon held his left arm up over the table. He’s going along to bide his time, Devlin thought, waiting until he sees an opening.
“If I guess right, Holly has another set on his belt as well,” Devlin said. “Go ahead and take those out.”
The kid reached under Holly’s jacket, came out with the second pair.
“Now you and Cody, same thing,” Devlin said. “Left to left.”
The kid did as he was told.
“Now step away,” Devlin said. He twisted to point the Glock at Farrow. “Come out from there.”
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