''I'm running,'' Lucas said.
''Only need a tenth of a second,'' Anderson said. ''You know a guy named Buster
Brown? Like in the shoes?''
Lucas tried to focus on the name. ''Buster? Yeah, I do.''
''He's trying to get you. Says it's urgent. Life-and-death about LaChaise.'' He handed Lucas a Post-it with a number on it. ''He says he'll be there.''
''Ah… All right.'' Lucas turned back to his desk, snatched up the phone, and began punching in numbers. ''We've got some heavy stuff coming down,'' he said to Anderson. ''Go get Lester, tell him to meet me at the chief's office.
Right now… and hey, you got any gum? My mouth tastes like it's had a bird in it.''
''No, but Lester's got some toothpaste in his desk drawer.''
''I'll be up,'' Lucas said. The phone was answered on the first ring: ''Hey,
Buster? Lucas…''
REGINALD BROWN WAS A SCANNER FREAK, A TERMINAL diabetic, blind, a double amputee. He could be a pain in the ass, but sometimes he came up with nuggets of information: he knew most of the drug dealers in town by voice, from their cellular phone calls.
''Boy, do I have something for you. I think,'' Buster said.
''What happened?'' Lucas asked.
''I heard some guys talking about you: just now, just a minute ago. I think it was this LaChaise guy. I got half the call on tape.''
Lucas said, ''Play it for me.''
''Sure: Listen to this.''
''… need to know where this Weather is, and be good to know where Capslock's old lady is, her room number. And we need to know where Davenport is working, and Capslock, Sherrill, Sloan, Franklin and Kupicek. You know the list.''
Long pause.
''That don't sound right; you better be tellin' the truth, or your name'll be on the list, motherfucker… Hey, listen to what I'm telling you. .. No, not you. Did you find out anything about Elmore?''
Another pause.
''That's what we thought. We'll look those boys up when we're done here…
Now listen, we need that shit and we need it right now. We'll call back in… two hours. Two hours, got it?''
Pause.
''I don't know. And you let us worry about getting back to you. You might be pulling some bullshit. And if you are, you better think twice.. .''
Pause.
''Yeah, yeah. Two hours.''
Lucas told him to play it again.
''I knew the names,'' Buster said, when it was done.
''A cellular call.''
''Yeah, my end of it, anyway. Couldn't tell about the other end.''
''Okay. Did you hear anything before what was on the tape?''
''Well, yeah. Something about how your girlfriend wasn't on the insurance.''
''What?''
''That's what they said…''
''I'm sending a squad over,'' Lucas said. ''They'll bringyou down here. I need to talk to you, face-to-face. Bring the tape with you. There'll be a payday in it.''
''You bet, chief,'' Buster said.
He hung up, thought a moment.
Had to be a cop. Or a civilian employee. If they'd gotten their information from insurance forms, they had to have access to inside computers. And the insurance did make sense: it would explain how they had located the spouses, which had been hard to figure.
He picked up the phone and called Roux.
''I understand you're on the way down here. Something good?'' she asked.
''Not exactly. You might want to bring in the mayor.''
He called Dispatch: ''What happened?''
''We've got two squads at Snyder's. Nobody there. They remember her, though.
They just missed them.''
''Anybody get their vehicle?''
''No. We just got there, the guys are checking around…''
MARTIN AND SANDY GOT BACK IN THE CONTINENTAL and Martin said, ''What'd Dick have to say?''
''He hasn't seen anything on the TV. He said he's going to take a nap.''
''Getting shot can take it out of you,'' Martin said, as he eased the car into the street.
THE MAYOR LEANED ON THE WINDOWSILL, HANDS IN the pockets of his sport jacket, fists clenched, head down. Lester lounged in a side chair, looking almost as though he were sleeping. Roux turned back and forth in her swivel chair, her eyes on Lucas.
''Does anybody else know?'' the mayor asked.
''Just Anderson. I told him the whole story, and asked him to check the computers, see if he could tell if anybody wasmessing with the insurance records. And he's running this Bill Martin name, to see if it pans out.''
''We gotta keep this one thing quiet, this insurance thing,'' the mayor said, shaking his finger at Roux and Lucas. ''We gotta find this guy, if he exists, and nail him, before anybody else knows.''
''Man, I can hardly believe it,'' Roux said. ''Maybe it's bullshit.''
''It's got a bad feel,'' Lucas said. ''We've got one source who thought she saw a cop. Then Darling calls, and she says cop.''
Roux held up a finger and punched a number into her phone. She said, ''This is
Roux. Anything?'' She listened for a moment, then said, ''Damnit. If anything happens, get back.''
She hung up and said, ''Still nothing at the Snyders. We're sending some guys down to print the phone, make sure it was Darling. I can't imagine that…''
She was cut off by a knock at the door, and a half-second later, Anderson stuck his head in: ''Lucas said if I got anything…''
''Yeah, come on in,'' Lucas said. ''What'd you get?''
''Two things. You want the good news, or the bad news?''
''Good news,'' the mayor said. ''We haven't had much.''
''We ran Bill Martin, conventional spelling, against Dick LaChaise, the Seed,
Wisconsin and Michigan. We got a bunch of hits-he's pretty well known with the gang. He's a gun dealer, by the way. We're sending all the prints we took out of the house to the FBI, and they'll run them. We should know in ten minutes if we've got a match.''
''Excellent,'' Lucas said. To the mayor: ''That'd be the third guy.''
''And it'd prove that you were talking to Sandy Darling,'' Anderson pointed out.
''Not just some bullshit artist.''
''The bad news,'' Lucas said.
Anderson had a half-dozen sheets of paper in his hands, and he shuffled them nervously. ''When did your source see the cop with LaChaise? In the laundromat?''
''Must've been… yesterday? In the early morning.''
''Oh, God.'' He shuffled the paper some more, his mouth working. ''Yesterday, somebody accessed the insurance files on everybody in your task force.''
''Who was it?'' asked Roux.
''We don't know,'' Anderson said. ''They were accessed and printed out through
Personnel, at six o'clock in the morning. There's nobody in Personnel at six o'clock.''
''From what O'Donald said, the guy she saw was a street cop-not somebody from
Personnel,'' said Lucas.
''So we got a cop with a source in Personnel,'' Roux said. Lucas shook his head:
''Something like this, you might get one bad guy, but not two. Unless… any of the women in Personnel married to a street cop?''
Anderson shrugged. ''I can find out.''
''Do that,'' Roux said grimly.
''But, uh…'' Anderson seemed reluctant.
''What?'' asked Lucas.
''Personnel has been raided a few times. You know that. Guys want to look at their files, want to look at test scores or salaries. There'd be more than a few guys around here who could get inside, and who probably know enough about computers to pull up the insurance records.''
''But when you think about how many, I bet it wouldn't be that many,'' Lucas said. ''So make a list. We'll show mugs to O'Donald.''
''If there's a cop in on this, we're gonna get hurt,'' Roux groaned.
''But why would a cop line up with LaChaise? LaChaise is a goner,'' the mayor said.
''Blackmail,
'' said Lucas. He looked at Anderson. ''When you figure out the computer stuff, let's talk about who's got the shaky rep. Somebody LaChaise might get to.''
''If it's a cop, he's dead,'' Roux said to the mayor. The mayor pushed away from the windowsill. ''I don't want to hear that,'' he said.
''I don't even want to think about it-but somebody would put him down, given the chance. I guarantee it.''
THE CHIEF OF SURGERY TOOK WEATHER ASIDE AND asked, ''Are you going to be okay?''
''Sure. I mean, heck, my own secretary can't track me down. I don't think some hillbilly gunman's gonna get me.'' She flashed a grin at him. ''Don't worry about it, Loren. If I thought it'd be a problem, I wouldn't be here.''
FOURTEEN
LUCAS FOUND WEATHER AND ANOTHER WOMAN IN A thirteenth-floor laboratory, looking at skin grafts on a white rat. Weather was surprised when he poked his head in the door: ''We need to talk,'' he said gruffly.
The other woman looked at Weather as though Weather should be insulted. But
Weather nodded: ''Sure…'' And when they got out in the hall, she asked,
''How mad are you? You look kind of white around the eyes.''
''Don't joke about it,'' he said, his voice suddenly rasping. ''We have a tape of a phone call and they were talking about you.''
''About me?''
''Yeah. They want to get you, because you're with me. I'm out there busting my balls running these assholes down, and now I've got to spend a half hour looking for you because you've run off someplace…''
''Hey,'' she said sharply. ''I did not run off. I went to a hospital, where I work.''
''And told everybody you really didn't want to talk to me, so when we get this phone call, I wind up having to ditch the investigation to find you.''
''I didn't ask you to do that,'' she said.
He stopped talking for a second, then said, ''Listen, just what the fuck do you think is gonna happen if one of these people shows up here with a machine gun?
You think they're gonna ask for you, and take a number? Or you think maybe they'll shoot a couple of your friends to make the point, then ask where you're at. You're not just risking your life. You're risking theirs. There are already six people dead from this thing.''
''Eight,'' she said. ''Don't forget the two women at the credit union.''
MARTIN DROVE DOWN I-35W TO BURNSVILLE, THEN, BY memory, took them through a rat's-nest of suburban streets, and finally to a blue rambler, where a snow-packed driveway led to a double garage. Martin parked in the street. ''Hope he's home,'' Martin said, leaning across Sandy to look out the side window. ''He is, most days.''
''Want me to wait?'' she asked. She'd run, once Martin was out of sight.
''Better come along,'' Martin said.
''I was so scared in the store, that somebody would recognize me,'' Sandy said.
''I don't think Dave'll recognize you,'' Martin said. ''He doesn't watch much
TV. And he's a little shy.''
Martin rang the doorbell, waited, rang it again and the door opened. Dave-Martin hadn't mentioned his last name-was an older man with thick glasses, wearing a
Patagonia pullover. He pushed open the storm door, saw Sandy behind Martin and blushed.
''How y' doing, Dave?''
''Bill, come on in.'' Dave pushed the door wider. ''You on a trip?''
''Yeah, I am-heading out to the Dakotas.''
''You heard about the trouble we're having?'' Dave glanced sideways at Sandy and blushed again.
''On the radio,'' Martin said.
Dave said, ''And they want to take the guns away from the good people. I can't believe these guys in government.'' He shook his head.
Dave took them to the lower level, where a row of Remington gun safes lined one wall. He didn't have any ARs, AKs, ranch rifles or anything else that Martin was interested in, but he did have a rack of beautiful bolt-action hunting rifles-''Hunting's coming back in with the yuppies, I've been selling used
Weatherbys like hotcakes. You see any Weatherby Mark V's in three hundred Mag or less, in good shape, think about me.''
''I'll do that,'' Martin said. He was looking at another rack, short little rifles, and said, ''What're all the Rugers for?''
Dave shrugged. ''Just regular demand… jump-hunting deer. Can't hardly find them anymore.''
''How much you get?''
''Upwards of four-fifty, for a good one,'' Dave said.
''Jeez, they only cost half of that, new.''
''Well, they haven't made them for ten years. If Ruger doesn't come out with them again, I'll make a mint…''
They talked more guns for a while, Sandy standing silently behind them, and
Martin finally bought two used. 45s for seven hundred dollars.
''Wish I could help you more,'' Dave said, as they left.
To Sandy, Martin said, ''Two more stops.''
At the first stop, a sporting goods store, he bought four green-and-yellow boxes of. 45 ammo, a Browning Mantis bow, two dozen Easton aluminum arrows, two dozen
Thunderheadbroadheads, an arrow rest, a fiber-optic sight, a release and a foam target like the one they'd left in the Frogtown house. They waited while the guy at the store cut the arrows to thirty and one-quarter inches, and seated inserts in the tips, so Martin could screw in the Thunderheads.
Martin looked at a Beretta over-and-under twenty-gauge while they waited, then sighed, put it back, and said, ''Not today.''
At the second stop, he bought six more boxes of. 45 ammunition.
''Do you know where all the gun stores are?'' Sandy asked.
''Most of them,'' he said. ''Most of them from… well, from the Appalachians to the Rockies… and Salt Lake and Vegas and Reno. I don't know the coasts.
Well, some in Florida, if that's a coast.''
And a moment later, she asked, ''Have you thought about getting out of this?''
Martin looked at her. ''Have you?''
She shook her head: ''No. I'm stuck with Dick, I guess. I just think we oughta move on. Mexico. I really don't want to die.''
''Huh.'' Martin didn't relate well, but for the first time since she'd known him, he started to talk. ''I'm like Butters,'' he said. ''Running out of time.
All the people like us are: they're coming to get us, there's no way we can win.
We just make a stand, and go.''
''Who's they?''
He shrugged. ''The government-all of the government, the cops, the game wardens, the FBI, the ATF, all of them. And the media, the banks, liberals, whatever you want to call them. The Jews… They're all in it together. City people. They don't all want to do us harm-they just do.''
''The blacks?''
''Ah, the blacks are more like… poker chips,'' Martinsaid. ''The government's just playing a game with the blacks. I mean, they might use the blacks to get us, but the blacks themselves won't get anything out of it. Never have, never will.''
''That's pretty bleak,'' Sandy said.
''Yeah. Well, you know, the people who run things, they want power. And they get power by writing laws and making you depend on them. They can do anything they want to old people, because old people gotta have Social Security and Medicare and all that. And if you try to be independent, they get you with laws. Like
Dick. No way he was ever gonna be able to run that bike shop. He screwed up one time with his taxes, and they came after him forever. Never let him go. Makes a man crazy.''
''You think Dick is crazy?''
He grinned and said, ''We're all crazy. You can't help it. I was thinking about it the other day-you know how you used to burn leaves in the fall? In all the small towns? And how good it smelled, the burning leaves in the air. Can't burn leaves anymore, because they won't let you. No reason for it, in the small towns anyway. You ain't polluting nothing… They just make the law to train you. I mean, it starts with the small stuff, and it goes all the way up to the big stuff, like lettin' the Mexicans in, so people like us can't get good jobs no more…''
''I used to love the smell of burning leaves in the autumn,'' Martin said, looking out the window at the snow.
SANDY GOT INTERESTED IN THE DISGUISES.
She got LaChaise to sit on a stool in the bathroom, ran her fingers through his thick, stiff hair. ''Can't just layer over your natural color, 'cause it's too dark,'' she said, half to herself. She got the bleach and LaChaise said, ''You sure about this?''
''I see it done all the time, up at Pearl's,'' she said, and she started working the bleach in. When she was done with his hair she said, ''The bleach might be too harsh for your face… maybe you oughta shave.''
''Try it,'' he said. She worked it in; the fumes were bad, but LaChaise, eyes closed, sat it out.
When she was finished, bleach had turned LaChaise's normally dark hair and beard to a thin, watery yellow, the color of corn silk. The delicate color contrasted oddly with the harsh contours of his face. ''Holy shit, I look like some kind of fag,'' he said, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. ''Maybe I oughta leave it like this.''
''Too weird,'' Martin said. ''You want people to look away from you, not stare at you.''
They did the color next, and when he looked again, La-Chaise was impressed. With the gray beard, he looked as though he might be seventy. ''Get your back humped, nobody'll give you a second look,'' Martin said.
LaChaise looked at Sandy: ''You done really good,'' he said.
Sandy had been enjoying herself: now it went away, and under her breath, as she turned way, she said, ''Fuck you.''
LaChaise said to Martin, ''Your turn.''
ANDERSON HAD PHOTOS OF BILL MARTIN. ''WE'LL PUT them out at the afternoon press conference,'' he said. ''We've got a line on his truck and license tag, and we're putting that on the street right now.''
''All right-have you seen Stadic?''
''Yeah, he was through here. We sent him home. I think he's kind of messed up.''
''He's never shot anyone before,'' Lucas said. He yawnedand said, ''He saved my bacon this morning… Jesus, I got to get some sleep.''
''Go get it,'' Anderson said. ''There's nothing going on… what happened with Weather and Jennifer?'' ''Jen should be okay-they've got armed security at the station, and the kids are gone. But I want to find a couple of cops who'll stick by Weather on an off-duty basis. I'll pay them. She's getting bitchy, she won't stay put.''
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