“The quicker you show us the house,” he said, “the sooner you get your stuff.”
It was a brick three-flat situated in the middle of the block in one of the city’s older, decaying sections. Connie told them Snake’s apartment was the one on top. The building had a small entranceway recessed into the northeast side. The trim and gutters had been painted a dull green, with chips of paint peeling and flaking off, showing the gray patches underneath like a torn checkerboard. The house on the left was also a three-flat, with a long canopied gangway that ran to the rear yards. A chain-link fence separated the two. On the right side there were two more apartment buildings of identical design. Leal circled the block and cut down an alley that ran parallel to the street.
The rear of the buildings had three-tiered, enclosed wooden porches ascending from the ground to the roof. A large three-car garage, almost as wide as the apartment building itself, blocked the view of the rear yard. Three overhead garage doors and a metal gate faced the alley. Leal drove around to the front again, checking the area. He stopped halfway down the block and told Murphy to get out and check it.
Murphy breathed laboriously as he got out of the car and shuffled toward the middle building.
“This is where I’m really gonna miss Joe,” Leal said. “Now we got to deal with Jabba the Hutt with a badge.”
He saw Hart smile in the rearview mirror.
“So what was that Maria called you back at the clinic?” she asked. “Cisco?”
Leal sighed. “Yeah, like the Cisco Kid, right?”
“Actually,” she said, “I was thinking of that old Willie Nelson song.”
He grinned. “Either way, you know who that makes you, right?”
“All right, I won’t call you Cisco if you don’t call me Pancho then. Okay?”
“It’s a deal,” he said. “For now.” He saw Murphy leisurely ambling back toward them. “Good thing we’re not in a hurry.”
“Stanley Willard’s name is next to buzzer three,” Murphy said, settling back into the car.
“See?” Connie said. “Now can I have my medicine?”
Leal removed the vial from the dashboard, shook it several times, and handed it back to her. He watched as she drank it in one long gulp then settled back into the seat.
After dropping Connie off and thanking Detective Brown for his help, Leal called Ryan back to get any progress on the search warrant.
“I’m writing the complaint as we speak,” Ryan said. “Keep your pants on, will ya, Frankie?”
Leal glanced at his watch: twelve thirty-five.
“Okay, we’re going to set up on the house and wait,” he said. “Call me back when you get the warrant.”
“Is the stroke even there?” Ryan asked.
“I didn’t want to ring the bell. He’s supposed to drive a blue Ford van, and that’s in the garage. But he has a Harley, too, and that’s not here.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “I beeped Brice twice so far and he ain’t called yet.”
Leal wasn’t worried about Brice. He told Ryan to keep working on the warrant and hung up. Afterward, he called Sharon and told her he’d be tied up till late.
“Oh, damn,” she said. “It figures that you’d be on nights when I’m on days. I was kind of hoping you’d come over so I could fix you dinner.”
“How about a rain check?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
He detected some hesitancy in her tone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Well, I got a call from Mr. Feinstein in New York this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I mentioned to Steve what happened, and apparently it got back to the big boss.” She was speaking rapidly. “So, anyway, he apologized to me and said that he was going to reprimand that guy Fenner for his—How did he put it? ‘Unconscionable behavior.’ ”
Leal licked his lips. “Good. Did he talk to you about the job, too?”
“Yeah,” she answered slowly. “He asked me to reconsider and offered to up the salary considerably.”
Leal was silent for a moment.
“Sounds like he still wants you,” he said. “What did you say?”
“Frank, I—” Her voice trailed off. “I told him I’d have to think about it. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned this over the phone. It’s just that I was really hoping that you could stop by tonight so we could talk.”
It’s all over but the crying, he thought.
“It depends how this thing goes down,” Leal said. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, be careful.”
Leal pressed the “end” button on his portable and slipped it back in his pocket, gritting his teeth and trying to force the conversation out of his mind. He knew he didn’t need any extra baggage right now, but it still grated on him.
Yeah, all over but the crying.
Leal told Murphy to park near the mouth of the alley and watch the rear of the place, and directed Hart to pull down the street from the front. She deftly pulled in behind a parked car, and they both slouched in the seat. Since they were only a few hundred yards away from each other, Leal told Murphy to go to tac band on his portable.
They waited in silence, watching people come and go. The afternoon slipped away, boredom replacing their initial enthusiasm.
“Hey, Sarge,” Murphy’s voice said over the tactical frequency. “How much longer?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Leal said to Hart. He keyed the mike. “Unknown, Murph.”
“Well, Sarge, could I be excused for a little bit?”
“Negative.”
Leal squinted at the radio as it squawked again.
“Awww, Sarge, I gotta relieve myself,” Murphy said.
Just be glad I reminded you not to have too much to drink when we stopped for lunch before, Leal thought. You’d probably have pissed your pants by now.
“Just stand by,” Leal said.
“Sarge, come on. I gotta go bad. How about sending your partner back here to relieve me.”
“No way,” Hart said. “Just the sight of him makes me sick.”
“Negative,” Leal said into the radio.
Murphy muttered something indistinct that could have possibly been a curse word. Leal’s lips tightened into a thin line and he gripped the door handle and wrenched it upward.
“That settles it,” he said. “I’m going back there to have a talk with that fat fucker.”
“Frank, take it easy,” Hart said. “Remember, we still need him to cover the back.”
Leal blew out a slow breath and massaged his temple. Nothing on this fucking case was going smoothly. Every time he managed to take a few steps forward, somebody threw a roadblock in his path. But this lead was too hot. With a little luck, they could break this one wide-open. He brought the radio to his lips and told Murphy that he was clear to take a quick break. “Get something to eat, too, but make it as fast as possible. You ten-four?”
“That’s affirmative, Sarge. Thanks.”
Leal told Hart he’d be back and got out of the squad. He walked down the block, working out the kinks that inevitably occurred from sitting in the cramped position for so long. It felt good to move a little. As he neared the alley he saw the unmarked whiz by. Leal turned and went past the spot where Murphy had been parked. It was littered with cigar butts and candy wrappers. A small gray tendril drifted upward from the most recently discarded butt. Leal smashed it under his sole and cursed Murphy for leaving such a distinguishable trail. From all accounts this idiot Snake wasn’t a rocket scientist, but Murphy’s detritus was enough to send out smoke signals. The smell from the nearby garbage cans was putrid. How the man could even have an appetite after sitting back here was amazing to Leal.
He leaned against the wall of a nearby garage so he could keep an eye on things. There was no movement that he could see in the apartment. No lights, either. But it was still pretty early. He glanced at his watch. Quarter after four. Christ, where the h
ell was Ryan? On his way, hopefully.
Leal took out his cell phone to call and check, but the LoBatt light was on. Shit, thought Leal. It figures. Nothing was going right. He put the phone back in his jacket pocket and blew out a slow breath.
He’s got to be on his way, Leal thought. He’d let Ollie take a break next. She probably had to take a leak, too, and couldn’t go standing in the alley like he could. The first rule of being a good sergeant was taking care of your people.
The slight chill in the air made him snap the buttons of his windbreaker. The hot, humid weather that had held on all summer long and for most of September had suddenly vanished, and an autumnlike coolness was descending. Like March, only in reverse. Getting colder now instead of warmer. Then the real cold would start. But this one would have to be wrapped up long before that. Their informal deadline, the November election, was only a few weeks away. By that time he’d most likely know how this thing with Sharon would turn out, too.
Murphy was gone for a good forty-five minutes. When he returned Leal was waiting to chew his ass out royally.
“Sorry, Sarge,” Murphy said, wiping his thick mustache with a Burger King napkin. “But, Christ, I didn’t think this was gonna take so long. I didn’t eat much at lunch, remember?’
Leal nodded.
“Well, now that you’re fed, get ready to stay in position until Ryan gets here with the warrant.”
“Any idea how much longer it’ll be?”
Leal shook his head. “As long as it takes.” He eyed the heavyset patrolman. “You got your vest?”
“Yeah, it’s in the trunk.”
“Well get it on, then,” Leal said. “I want you to be ready in case anything goes down. We might have to hit that door in a hurry. And give me your cell phone. Mine’s dead.”
“Okay, boss,” Murphy said. His big mustache drooped over his upper lip. “Hmm, looks like mine’s dead, too.”
Hart reluctantly agreed to go grab something to eat, leaving Leal sitting on the curbside. She said she’d go pick up food for both of them and be back as soon as possible. He told her to call or page Ryan, too, and find out his ETA. She gave him a smile and a nod as she sped off. Leal leaned against the telephone pole and watched a group of Hispanic youths, boys and girls, walking down the street with a boom box. They spoke in a mixture of Spanish and English, and he could tell by their accents that they were Puerto Ricans. One guy glanced at him as they went by and Leal noted the twin teardrops tattooed on his left cheek.
Gangbanger asshole, Leal thought. But at least he didn’t feel too out of place—What was it that idiot director had called him when they were filming that stupid campaign commercial? That swarthy-looking Latino type. He grinned and made a mental note to try and get a tape of it from the sheriff’s campaign manager.
Hart was gone for fifteen minutes. The parking space that they’d had before got taken by a yuppie-looking guy who parked his Ford Mustang and made a show of hitting his alarm as he walked away. Luckily Hart pulled into another spot farther up the block that gave them an even better view. Leal strolled down and slipped in the passenger seat. She handed him a bag and a medium drink cup.
“What’d you get?” he asked.
“Chicken sandwiches and iced tea.” She had the remnants of a half-eaten one on a piece of paper on her lap.
“You must be starving to eat this kind of crap.”
“Too hungry not to get something,” she said. “After all, I am a big girl. Just don’t tell Rory I broke my diet.”
“You get ahold of Ryan?” Leal asked, taking a bite of the sandwich.
She shook her head as she chewed.
“He didn’t answer. I paged him to your cell phone.”
“Shit, my battery’s out.”
“Oh no,” she said. “Sorry.”
“No sweat. I should’ve told you. But he must be on his way by now. Let’s get our vests on and get ready.”
The streetlights were glowing at eight and it seemed about as dark as it was going to get. Leal was repeating his umpteenth curse of that asshole Ryan when they heard the thunderous roar of a powerful motorcycle engine.
“Sounds like a Harley,” Leal said, trying to slip down in the seat.
They saw a slim figure with straggly blond hair blowing away from his face shoot by them. The motorcyclist slowed directly in front of the apartment building, angled the Harley in a semicircle, and then managed to sandwich it between two parked cars. He looked around warily, then bounced up over the curb, across the parkway and sidewalk, and toward the three-flat.
“That’s got to be him,” Leal said, bringing the radio to his lips as the cycle disappeared between the buildings. “Murphy?”
No response. They waited a few more minutes.
“Frank, looks like a light just came on in the third-floor apartment,” Hart said.
“Murphy,” Leal repeated into the radio. He glanced up at the third floor. A translucent glare of lights could be seen through the front picture window. “I’d better see what the son of a bitch is doing back there.”
Leal got out and walked slowly around the end of the block. When he was sure that he was out of the line of sight of Snake’s apartment, he ran back to where Murphy was parked.
The unmarked was there, idling. Murphy’s head was leaning against the headrest in repose. His pendulous jowls quivered as he snapped awake when Leal slammed the flat of his hand against Murphy’s shoulder.
“What the fuck?” he said.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” said Leal.
Murphy breathed rapidly through his mouth several times before stammering out a profuse apology, culminating with, “I didn’t get much sleep last night, Sarge.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck how much sleep you didn’t get,” Leal said. “The asshole just got home. And answer me on the fucking radio next time I call you.” He pointed his finger in Murphy’s face. “Got it?”
Instead of walking back around the way he’d come, Leal went straight east down the alley so he could pass by the rear garage of Snake’s place. He gave a quick sideways glance as he passed. No lights on in the rear of the apartment that he could see. Continuing, he circled the block. There were enough recesses and thick telephone poles in the alley to provide good cover if he had to go there on foot. He reviewed his mental notes of the area as he crossed over to the opposite side of the street, making his way back to Hart.
“That asshole was sleeping,” he said slipping in.
“Sleeping? What the hell’s wrong with that man?”
“I don’t know, but I read him the riot act. I’ll write his ass up later. Right now I just wish that damn Ryan would get here.”
Another hour passed, with nothing much happening. The lights in the front of the house were still on. Leal tried to call Ryan on the regular radio several more times, but couldn’t raise him. He didn’t even know if he was in range of any repeating stations. The activity in the neighborhood had increased slightly as teenagers came home from dates and people drifted back from the bars. Then it dropped off. Several more groups of kids wandered by, some on Rollerblades, others in groups, but they seemed to scatter when a Joliet patrol car drove down the block.
Still no Ryan, and no warrant.
Murphy checked in, asking if he could go call to see what the holdup was.
“Negative,” Leal said into the radio. “That fat-ass son of a bitch…”
“At least we know he’s awake.”
Leal sighed and looked at Hart, her profile intent on the building, her arms stretched forward, hands clenching the steering wheel. Suddenly she turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows.
“What?” she said.
He looked at her questioningly.
“You were staring at me,” she said. “I was just wondering why.”
“Oh, you’re the best scenery around here.”
She smiled. “You’re just lucky I’m not big into sexual harassment filings, or you’d be in trouble for saying something like
that.”
“Yeah, that’s me, all right. Always putting my foot in my mouth. You need to take another break?”
“No, I’m okay. Plus, I don’t want to miss anything. This is my first search warrant. Besides, Ryan’ll be here any minute now.”
“How do you know that?”
“Woman’s intuition.”
“The vest bothering you?”
“I’m okay.” She looked quickly back at the building. “Frank, I thought I saw movement at the window.”
Leal scanned the apartment but saw nothing. He raised the radio to his lips and spoke into it. “Murphy, anything moving back there?” Leal called him again, but there was no reply. “Goddamn him. If he’s sleeping again, I’ll have his fucking badge.”
“You want me to go check?” Hart asked.
“No, I’ll go.” Leal forced himself to pull up on the door handle slowly, instead of ripping it open like he wanted to do. He got out and trotted around to the alley, expecting to find Murphy dozing again. He was doubly shocked when he didn’t see the car at all.
“Ollie,” Leal said into the radio. “Murphy’s gone. He must have changed locations or something. I’m going to set up back here.”
“Okay, Frank.”
The twin streetlights at either end of the alley provided enough ambient lighting to make him moderately visible to anyone looking down from the apartments. Continuing onward down the alley, Leal stopped by a telephone pole and pretended like he was urinating. While he was doing so, he glanced around, hoping to appear as the late returnee from the bars, pausing to water the weeds after drinking one too many beers.
More lights burning up on the third floor, especially toward the back. A shaggy-haired silhouette appeared in the window, and Leal flattened against the wall. When the shadow disappeared, Leal moved over to the adjacent garage, stopping behind another telephone pole. He strained his ears and heard some sort of muffled sounds. But what were they? He whispered into the radio.
“Ollie, something might be going down soon. Get ready.”
Leal took out his weapon and listened again. Someone was huffing and puffing coming down the wooden stairs in back. Was it Snake? Christ, thought Leal. He may be just going out for shits and giggles to score some dope. He glanced at the shadowy figure again. Or he may have the fucking evidence with him. Without knowing the status of the damn warrant, I could be stepping on my dick big time.
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