“Dammit!” Kilgallon grabbed the Beretta and stood up. “I said cut out the ‘Richie boy’ shit.”
Frankel stood, too, which left only me sitting. Kilgallon backed up, moving away from the table, toward Theodosian.
But Theodosian stepped backward a little, too. “Take it easy, Richard,” he said. “Use your head. Don’t do anything foolish.”
“Bullshit.” Kilgallon was way beyond taking it easy. “This cocksucker’s been fuckin’ with me all night. But that’s over.”
I spread my arms wide, palms up. “Okay,” I said, “what now … Richie boy?”
“Now,” he said, “we get you out of our way.” He raised the Beretta, pointed it at my face, and squeezed the trigger.
Maybe I heard a click. And maybe not, because Theodosian yelled something and Kilgallon spun around toward him with the gun still raised. And when he did, Theodosian shot him, once. The Beretta fell to the floor. Kilgallon seemed to stand a little taller, for just an instant, and then he went down, too.
“Him and Frankel, they were both in on it,” Theodosian said. He crouched down beside Kilgallon. “Selling coke to Lonnie Bright.”
By that time Frankel was on the run, headed for the kitchen doors. No sign of a limp now. “Bastard’s probably got a gun!” Theodosian yelled. “I had his phone tapped. That’s how I knew to come here!”
By then Frankel was pushing through the swinging doors into the kitchen, and I grabbed Kilgallon’s leather coat from the chair back and went after him.
Inside the kitchen I hit the wall switch and the lights went on, but Frankel wasn’t in sight. I moved forward, slipping my arms into Kilgallon’s coat as I did. To my right was an exit to the outside, but a little box on the wall, with its tiny red light blinking, said going that way might bring every squad car on the North Shore screaming up. Frankel wouldn’t have gone that way, and I couldn’t afford to, either.
The only other door in sight was on the other side of a wide stainless-steel counter that was stacked with pots and pans, and divided the room in two. It was a wooden door, painted white like the walls, a door that might lead to a storage room … or maybe into the lumber yard. Running around the end of the counter seemed to take forever, but when I got there the door was unlocked.
* * *
I CLOSED THE DOOR behind me and found myself in what felt like a very large building, and smelled like wet wood and mildew and cat droppings—like an old barn. It was very dark, with the faintest of light showing here and there through cracks in the walls, mostly up near the roof, and around the edges of a set of huge, barnlike doors, off maybe fifteen feet to my right. They were wide and tall enough to drive a moving van through. They were closed, and probably had been for twenty years or more.
I heard Theodosian’s voice from the kitchen behind me. “Hold on, Foley!” he yelled. “I’m calling it in. Don’t take any chances. Help is on the way!”
I turned left, away from the outside doors, and moved deeper into the darkness. Whatever sounds my shoes made on the concrete floor were lost in the pounding of rain on the metal roof far above. I looked up. There were two skylights, but they were nothing but rectangles of gray, patched onto the inky blackness.
My eyes adjusted enough so I could tell I was headed down the length of a large building … the lumber shed. That had to be why the door into here had no alarm, because the shed and the other buildings must all have been inside the wired fence. This building seemed mostly emptied out and abandoned, but with wood scraps and piles of debris scattered around. Passing through, I could tell that the walls along both sides were partitioned into stalls, probably for storing different sizes and kinds of wood and building materials. Moving closer to the right side, I saw that some of the stalls were divided by horizontal shelving; some were just empty little three-sided rooms.
At the end of the building, I made out a second set of outside doors. I ran up and gave them a half-hearted shove, and they didn’t budge. Facing back the way I’d come, I stood in the dark and listened, but heard only my own breathing and the incessant drumming of the rain.
I ducked behind a partition wall, got down close to the floor and poked my head around the edge. The shed had to be a good fifty yards long, by maybe twenty wide. The storage cubicles along the sides flanked an open space down the middle that was way more than wide enough to drive a truck in one end, load or unload it, and drive it out the other. I could tell now that there was a second floor, too, or really two second floors; balconies running the length of the building along both side walls, but not connected across the center. It was too dark to see, but the upper levels were probably broken up into sections, too. Safety railings ran along their outer edges, and there must have been room to walk from one storage stall to another up there. The only ladders I could see were down here at my end, primitive wooden ladders nailed to the wall and going straight up from the floor to the balcony, with hardly any pitch to them at all.
The kitchen door was on the side opposite me and lost in the darkness down at the other end, but I was sure Theodosian hadn’t come through into the shed yet. And I was equally sure of the presence of Arthur Frankel. I felt him here in this big, empty woodshed with me, somewhere, even though I couldn’t hear him.
And if help was on the way I couldn’t hear that, either. My sense about anyone coming who’d want to help me was that I shouldn’t hold my breath. I’d given up on Breaker Hanafan, the bastard.
So I waited, watching down the length of the building, and finally the kitchen door opened, just a little. Light came out and I instinctively pulled back. But I was far away and in deep shadow and I knew I couldn’t be seen, so I looked out again. The door opened wider, but the light spilling out still didn’t reach anywhere near as far down as I was.
I watched Theodosian lean out through the doorway, look both ways, then pull back again. “Frankel?” he called. “I know you’re in there.”
Frankel didn’t answer.
“Foley? You just sit tight and stay out of trouble, okay?”
I didn’t answer, either.
“Look here, Frankel. The worst—” He stopped. “Well … it’s Arthur, right? Can I call you Arthur?” Theodosian’s voice was clear over the sound of the rain, and sounded calm, almost soothing. “You were in on the Lonnie Bright deal, sure, but the worst you’re facing is a conspiracy to traffic in cocaine.” He paused, then stepped into the shed and closed the door at once, shutting out the light from the kitchen. “Hell, Arthur, the deal wasn’t even done. What’s that, then, attempt to conspire? Conspiracy to attempt? Whatever it is, the statute of limitations probably ran already. Give it up, man. Get a decent lawyer and you’ll walk.” He paused. “Whaddaya say, Arthur?”
There was a moment of silence, and then—to my disappointment—Frankel answered. “You said my phone was tapped.” He sounded about midway between me and Theodosian, on the other side of the open space, but up on the second level. “I didn’t call Richard from my phone, though. I called—”
“Not yours,” Theodosian interrupted. “I said Kilgallon’s phone. Richard’s phone. Or if I didn’t, I meant to.”
“You shot Richard,” Frankel called. “Why’d you do that?” At least he was asking the right questions.
“Jesus Christ, Arthur, he tried to kill Foley; then he turned on me with the gun. So he’s hurtin’ a little right now, but he’ll survive. It’s his … shoulder. Anyway, he’s got bigger problems to face. Way more than you. He flat-out murdered Lonnie Bright.”
“No one told me there’d be any killing,” Frankel said. The tremor in his voice was unmistakable. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe—”
“Frankel, wait!” I called. I was standing now, but still hidden behind my wall. “You don’t really know if Kilgallon’s alive or dead.”
“Jesus, Foley, I said he was alive, didn’t I?” Theodosian sounded disappointed in me. “Whose side are you on, anyway? Just stay put. I think Arthur’s decided to use his head.”
“You sa
id help was on the way, too,” I said. “But where is it? I don’t hear anyone. No sirens.”
“I been wonderin’ that myself,” he answered. “But Christ, it’s not like the city. They probably got one or two squad cars in this town and a volunteer fire department.”
“Frankel,” I yelled, “listen to me. If this guy was on official police business, do you think he’d have come alone? And how’d he arrive at the restaurant? We’d have seen a car drive up. Where—”
“I told you, Foley,” Theodosian cut in. “I been working with the state on special assignment, with your friend Frick-the-Prick.” There was a change in the sound of his voice and I realized he’d moved farther down the shed—coming my way. “It’s just Frick and me and he’s taking time off, fishing or something. What was I gonna do, call in a battalion? All I knew was there was a meeting; I didn’t even know you’d be here.” There was a pause, and he was coming closer; I could feel it. “I didn’t wanna draw outside attention, so I parked down the street and walked.”
“Really,” I said, knowing his answers made no sense. “If you walked, how come your pants and shoes weren’t wet?”
“Are you kidding? They’re soaked.”
But he was lying, and I didn’t say anything.
Nobody said anything. I stood there, feeling the weight of Kilgallon’s guns in the pockets of his coat, then took out the Sig-Sauer. I’d have preferred my Beretta. But making my unloaded weapon available to whichever one most wanted me dead had seemed a good idea, at the time. Besides, what people say about the Sig proved true. It felt good in my hand; balanced, comfortable, efficient even without firing it. It was loaded, too. I’d checked that back in the kitchen.
“Frankel,” I finally called out, “listen to me. Don’t trust him. He’s dirty. There’s no phone tap. Kilgallon told him about our meeting and he was hiding in the restaurant all along.”
“Forget him, Arthur,” Theodosian said. “He’s crazy.”
“Not crazy,” I said. “He and Kilgallon obviously planned to kill me—and you, too. Because we know what happened that night. Remember what Kilgallon said? ‘We,’ he said. ‘We get you out of our way.’ But he lost his head and things didn’t go the way Theodosian wanted them to.”
“That’s crazy talk, Arthur,” Theodosian said. “Paranoid. The talk of a man who murdered a supreme court judge.” He paused, then added, “You can either believe him, Arthur, or you can let me do my job. I’ll arrest you and you get a lawyer and you’ll do okay.” But he wasn’t coming any nearer to me now, and I suddenly realized he must have stopped very close to Frankel. “What about it, Arthur?” he said.
“Frankel!” I yelled. “Don’t say anything!”
But he didn’t listen to me. Maybe no one would have. “I … I just don’t know,” he said. “But answer Foley’s question. Did you—”
A chug-chugging sound cut short his sentence; the terrible, frightening sound of an automatic being fired through a silencer. And the simultaneous sound of splintering wood. Then a brief silence, followed at once by more chug-chugging, and I looked around my wall and saw the flashes from Theodosian’s automatic as, carefully and methodically, he fired up through the wooden floor … at where he knew Frankel must be.
The muzzle flashes, like the sound, were minimized by the silencer on his weapon. As far as I could tell from the sounds, the bullets all pierced right through the old, dry wood. He stopped once to reload, but in just seconds was firing again. And then, finally, Frankel screamed. The shooting stopped, but the screams went on, and through it all the rain pounded down on the metal roof like the hooves of a thousand horses. Then the screams died into moans, and then, finally, there was one more muffled gunshot.
And after that only the trampling rain, and some thunder I hadn’t heard earlier.
I hid behind my wall and leaned my back against the wood and breathed deeply, in and out, to gain control. When I looked out again, I couldn’t place Theodosian in the darkness. “Hey!” I called.
“Yeah?” I could tell then that he’d climbed up to the second level. He must have been right beside Frankel’s body.
“I guess you’re gonna tell me he’s like Kilgallon, huh? ‘He’s hurtin’ a little right now, but he’ll survive,’ right?”
“He’s as dead as Kilgallon is—or as Kilgallon will be once he’s finished bleeding to death, unless you come with me right away and we get him some help. Kilgallon tried to kill me, you saw that. Just like Frankel tried to. Sonovabitch fired at me, from above.”
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.” There was a gunshot then, and another; these two from what I guessed was a small-caliber weapon, one without a silencer. “You didn’t hear it?” Theodosian called. “He shot at me twice … with a cheap little .22. It’s right here, in his hand.” He paused, then added, “Malachy?” He got the name right this time.
“Yeah?”
“Those big doors at each end of this barn? They’re locked, with padlocks. From outside. I checked that out this afternoon.”
“So much for the phone tap bullshit,” I said, “and the parking and walking in the rain.”
“The point is, I’ll be arresting you now, and taking you in.”
“But that’s not the plan. The plan is to kill me.”
“Only if I’m wrong, and if you are a desperate killer. I mean, like, if you resisted arrest I’d have to do whatever I have to do. But let me do my job, Malachy.” His voice had the same calm, reassuring tone he’d used with Frankel. “You’ll prove you haven’t done anything wrong, and you’ll be fine.” I couldn’t see him, but by his voice I knew he was climbing down a ladder. “Why would I shoot an unarmed man?”
I realized then that he actually thought there was a chance I’d believe him. He’d gone all the way over and was that crazy. He intended to gun me down, for sure, and if he came after me I’d have to shoot him, maybe kill him. And what then? Explain how he, the cop, was the madman; while I, the murder suspect, was sane? And that I’d shot him in self-defense? That explanation, and my outstanding résumé, would get me life without parole—and maybe a lethal injection, once Illinois got over its scruples and went back to executing people, even if about half the time they weren’t guilty.
“Unarmed?” I called out. “Not to worry. Did you see that leather coat I took with me from the dining room? It was Kilgallon’s coat. His gun was in the pocket.”
“You’re lying.” He was on ground level now.
“I guess I could be. Maybe I really have two guns, or three.” I didn’t have to work very hard to sound desperate … or crazy. “Why don’t you come down here and find out?”
CHAPTER
48
“YOU’RE LYING.” Theodosian said it a second time, but the suggestion that I had Kilgallon’s gun seemed to have stopped him from moving any farther down the shed my way.
Crouched near the floor again, I leaned out from behind my wall. I couldn’t spot him, but I aimed the Sig toward the upper level—where I was sure he wasn’t—closed my eyes against the muzzle flash, and squeezed the trigger. Unlike his silenced weapon, the sound of mine exploded through the building. Even so, it was nearly lost in the roar of the rain crashing down on the roof. And there were long rolls of thunder now, too; and wind that shook and rattled the walls when it gusted, and threatened to lift the roof right off.
“Does that change your opinion?” I called. I was back behind my wall.
He didn’t shoot back, and he didn’t answer. More significantly, even though he had me trapped with no way out, he didn’t turn around right then and go for help. So if I’d needed more proof—which I didn’t—that he wasn’t about to let me live to tell what I knew, that was it.
He might have been creeping my way through the darkness right then, for all I knew. Except I couldn’t make out any movement, so maybe he was waiting me out, thinking I’d break before he did. But break for where? The big outside doors at my end were locked, for sure, and I had no reason to think those at the
other end weren’t. Besides, he was positioned between me and them. He was between me and the door back into the kitchen, too; and if there was some other way out, I’d never find it in the dark.
He had another advantage. He’d have seen the flash from the Sig and knew exactly where I was, and that I’d gone as far as I could go. I was in the last storage stall near the outside doors. The ladder up to the second level on my side was just a few feet away, but I’d have to step out into the open to get to it. I pulled the ski cap down over my face and took a deep breath. Then I leaned around the wall and fired once for cover, stepped out and fired twice, and went up the ladder as fast as I could.
I hadn’t closed my eyes and the flashes from the Sig blinded me, so I had to feel my way to the top. I lay on the wooden floor, ten or twelve feet up, getting my breath back. I’d heard no slugs ripping into the walls around me and I hadn’t been hit, so he must not have heard me over the wind and the pounding rain, or seen me climbing up. I slid sideways, stuck my head out over the edge of the floor, and looked down. I couldn’t see him.
I pulled back and made my way along the floor. Inch by inch, no sound, flat on my belly. I wondered how long it would take me to get to the other end of the shed at that rate, and whether I’d find a ladder when I got there. Every few feet I eased over to the edge to look down. Finally, maybe about halfway to the other end, I was able to make him out.
He’d found a good place to wait in the dark and watch. Down below and across the open space from me, he was probably a little less than halfway down the building from where he obviously thought I still was. He stood—as still as death—behind the wall of a storage stall, a wall that had a board broken out at about eye level.
Moving more slowly than I thought I could, I eased up into a standing position and backed away from the guardrail along the edge of the balcony. I stood in silence and stared down at him. Even if he heard me he’d have to turn around, and I could drop him before he got a shot off. He didn’t move, though.
I could end it right now. I raised the Sig-Sauer and pointed it down at him. No way I could shoot him in the back. I knew that. But I didn’t have to kill him. I could fire down into his legs and put him on the floor.
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