“So you want to go to your place or mine?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, mentally trying to review the degree of disarray of each of his rooms, “mine’s a lot closer.”
“I hope this doesn’t frighten you into reconsidering about New York,” he said, opening the front door. Luckily, he’d felt a burst of energy after he’d gotten home yesterday and pulled out the vacuum cleaner and stuffed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. But most of the chairs in the house were draped with shirts, pants, and jackets. Twin stacks of old newspapers and magazines sat near the recycling basket, and a TV tray was strategically positioned in front of the sofa bearing his unbalanced checkbook, some unopened mail, and a half-crushed can of beer.
“Things don’t normally look this neat,” he said with a smile. “But I was hoping you’d come over.”
She smiled back, as if appreciating his irony, and said, “This looks lived-in, but fine.”
“You want a drink?”
She shook her head, “No, but I would like to use the bathroom.”
As soon as the door was closed, Leal made a frantic dash around, gathering clothes, tossing them in the nearest closet, and closing the doors. He dropped the papers and magazines into the plastic box, and was just carrying the TV tray into the kitchen when she came out.
“Just straightening up a little,” he said as she looked at him.
She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him when the sound of a beeper went off. Its intrusion halted both of them, and he reached down to his belt, suddenly realizing it wasn’t there. He’d been so preoccupied with Sharon’s pending decision that he’d left it on his dresser. After retrieving it, he saw it was Brice’s cell phone with a 911 behind it.
Shit, thought Leal. I gotta answer this one.
After explaining to Sharon the significance of the 911, he dialed the number and heard Brice’s gruff voice.
“Leal? Where the hell are you? I beeped you about thirty minutes ago. Even tried your house a couple of times.”
“I went out to eat. What’s up?”
“You alone?”
“Yeah,” Leal said, not wishing to get into a discussion about whom he was with. “What’s up?”
“We got a line on Nuke. A good one from a reliable source. A buddy of mine in Will County. He’s hiding out in a construction site near unincorporated Joliet. I’m gonna need you out here ASAP.”
Leal sighed and looked at Sharon.
“How do I get there?” he asked. She smiled at him from across the room.
Brice gave him directions.
“I’ll have Murphy meet you at the junction of Route 6 and Farrell Road. There’s a diner there. He’ll be in the maroon unmarked.”
“I know the one.”
“Okay,” Brice said. “I’m in Joliet now, setting up the raid. Get out here as soon as you can. And that means yesterday. Use tac band only to call Murph. My source says the informant told him Nuke’s got all kinds of scanners.”
“All right,” Leal said. “I’ll go pick up Hart and be on my way.”
“Negative.”
“But, Lieu, I promised her—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Brice said, cutting him off. “I already got ahold of her and she told me she’d be on her way. And I need you out here now. So get started immediately. That’s an order.”
“Okay,” Leal said. Something in Brice’s tone suggested he was lying. Had he really called Hart, or was this another cop-out? After Brice disconnected Leal dialed Hart’s place anyway. The phone rang several times. No answer, not even her machine. Leal glanced at his watch. She’s probably at the gym, or something, he thought, remembering that she’d told him Rory was working her harder with the contest so close. His gaze drifted over to Sharon, who was partially eclipsed by the shadows.
After he hung up, Leal went over to her and they embraced.
“Sharon, I—”
She put her fingers to his lips, then kissed him softly.
“You don’t have to say it,” she said. “I already know how important this case is to you. And your career.”
He sighed.
“Thanks, babe. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Christ, he thought. It sounds like we’re already married. “You’re welcome to stay here, if you want. Or I can call you a cab, or you can drive my car home.”
“Your new Firebird?” she said. “Hey, that’s for me. Give me those keys.”
He grinned, winsomely wishing they’d perhaps ended their dinner a half hour earlier.
“Come by afterward and get it,” she said. “Shall I wait up?”
“I’ll probably be gone for the duration on this,” he said, handing her the keys.
“Then wake me up for breakfast then.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he said. “But I need you to do me a favor first.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Father Knows Best
The big twisted pink neon sign blinked alternating, ALWAYS OPEN/ 24 HOURS above the well-lit parking lot. As his headlights swung around, bouncing over the big wooden post that marked the entrance to the diner, Leal spotted Murphy’s unmarked squad car. He saw Murphy switch the spotlight on and off, signaling him.
As if he doesn’t stand out enough, Leal thought. He pulled up next to him and cranked the window down.
“What’s the story?”
Murphy’s face looked ashen in the pale lighting. He motioned with his head and said, “Get in my car. Brice don’t want too many vehicles rolling up on the place.”
Leal got out and locked his door, looking around. He’d taken the time to change into a pair of jeans and a dark T-shirt with a lightweight jacket covering his weapon. If this thing drew on into the night, he wanted to be comfortable. He also wanted to be able to move if he had to.
Leal went to the trunk of his car and opened it.
“What are you doing now?” Murphy yelled. “I told you I’m driving.”
Leal stared at him briefly, then retrieved his kevlar vest from the trunk and slammed the lid. “Just in case,” he said, holding it up. He got into the front seat with Murphy and tossed the vest over his shoulder. Murphy was wearing dark clothing, and being this close to him, Leal noticed the big man’s face was wet with sweat. He stunk, too. The kind of stink you can smell when somebody’s really scared, Leal thought.
“You ready?” Murphy asked, his hands in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
“Good to go. Fill me in. Where’s Brice?”
“He went on ahead with Will County. Maybe the whole thing’ll be over with by the time we get there.”
“How far is it?”
“Just up the road a bit,” Murphy said. He held his portable radio up to his mouth and said, “We’re en route.”
As Brice’s static-laden reply came over the tac band, a Will County squad car passed them going the other direction. The officer gave them a casual courtesy wave, but Murphy kept both his hands on the wheel.
“Ever read How to Win Friends and Influence People, Murphy?” Leal asked.
“Huh?”
“That Will County copper. How come you didn’t wave to the guy? Ain’t they supposed to be our backup out here?”
Murphy frowned. “Didn’t see him, I guess.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence. About a quarter mile down the highway, Murphy picked up the radio and advised Brice they were entering the access road.
“Douse your lights,” came the response on the radio.
Murphy swerved onto the shoulder and killed the headlights, then crept forward slowly. The right side wheels crunched over the gravel surface. He proceeded about twenty feet, then angled to the right some more, getting on a macadamized road that bisected a grove of trees. About a hundred yards ahead of them Leal could see a fairly well-lit structure perhaps six or seven stories high. Three vehicles were parked in front of it: a two-ton truck along the side of the building, Brice’s tan unmarked, and a dark blue pickup. Several figures stood between the truck
and the car. Murphy pulled around in front of them.
The building was probably little more than half-finished. Several Dumpsters, stacks of bricks, lumber, and cement blocks were scattered around in various places around the site. Many were covered with heavy plastic sheets. A long white construction trailer was parked near the road. As he got out of the car Leal smelled the unmistakable odor of tar and saw the machine sitting on the bed of the truck nearest the building. A long pipe, with a thick rope running parallel, went from the roof to the machine on the truck bed. Most of the bottom floors had glass windows installed in them, and the big floodlights installed around the base cast eerie shadows along the structure.
Murphy got out and quickly jogged over to Brice, who was wearing black pants and a charcoal gray jacket. Leal retrieved his vest and began to slip it on as he moved toward them.
“Where’s he at?” he whispered. The whole scene was unfolding so haphazardly that Leal was suddenly worried that Brice’s laxity was going to get someone hurt. “And where’s our Will County backup?”
“Relax,” Brice said. “You won’t need your vest.”
“He’s in custody?” Leal asked, and saw two figures moving toward them from the other side of the pickup. One was a heavyset punk, probably still in his teens in a blue jean jacket. He wore a navy blue handkerchief tied over his head, and beneath it a pair of wild-looking eyes stared at Leal. At least one of the eyes did, anyway. The other drifted off to the right. The second man was bigger, but dressed almost identically. His hair was somewhat more rampant, and a growth of beard covered his face. Massive arms sprung from a sleeveless black T-shirt that said in white block letters across the front: WILD LIFE. In the dusky peripheral lighting Leal saw the big man’s head tilt back as his lips split open in a sinister-looking leer.
“What the fuck?” Leal said, reaching for his weapon. But suddenly he saw Brice and Murphy pointing their guns at him. Brice cocked back the hammer of his chrome .357 Magnum and pointed it at Leal’s head.
“Put your hands on the car. Now!” He tore the vest off Leal’s shoulders and tossed it aside.
“Brice, what’s going on?” Leal said, but he already knew, deep down in his gut.
“On the fucking car!” Brice shouted, gesturing wildly with his left hand.
Leal placed his palms on the trunk of Murphy’s unmarked.
“Get his piece, Murph,” Brice said.
Murphy stuck his gun in his belt and began to pat Leal down. He found the Beretta in the pancake holster along Leal’s right hip.
“Brice, what the fuck are you doing?” Leal said. “Are you nuts?”
“Shut up,” Brice said, extending the barrel of the Magnum toward Leal’s temple. “Just shut the fuck up, Leal. Not another word, understand?”
Murphy found Leal’s cell phone and took that, too. He stepped back, shook his head slightly, and handed both of the items to Brice.
Brice snapped on the safety and stuck the Beretta into his belt. He lowered the Magnum and looked at Nuke.
“I thought I made it clear he wasn’t supposed to be in on this,” he said, nodding toward the wall-eyed punk.
“He goes where I go,” Nuke said. “Right, Moose?”
“Fucking right,” Moose said, smirking.
Leal watched the strange scene unfold, wondering what his chances were if he were to try and make a break. Slim to none, he thought, and Slim left town.
“Well, I don’t want him here,” Brice said, raising his voice. “Max, I want you to get in that truck right now and take off.”
“Fuck you,” Moose said, his lips peeling back in a sneer.
“Change of plans now, Lieutenant,” Nuke said, smiling. “Your little boy’s done growed up and become a man of his own.”
Brice turned toward Nuke now, and Leal cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward Murphy, who was looking to the side. Pushing backward off the car, Leal whirled and shoved Murphy into Brice, then twisted and began running toward the building. It offered the only decent cover in the wide-open area.
If I can get through it and hide in the woods behind it, Leal thought. But the first round whizzed past him, and the deadly sounding crack followed it. Another one ripped by, wide and to the left, he judged from the feel. He heard Brice yelling at Murphy not to use his own piece.
“I got a drop gun,” Brice’s voice said.
Those sorry motherfuckers, thought Leal. Then he heard the distinctive roar that could only have been the Magnum. Peripherally, he saw Nuke running at an angle, trying to cut him off. A glance over his shoulder told him that Moose was directly behind him and gaining fast.
“Max! Come back, Max,” he heard Brice yell.
Then Leal heard heavy footfalls and breathing up alongside him, and saw Nuke out of the corner of his eye. Leal slowed abruptly, throwing the bigger man off his stride as he tried to compensate, too. Nuke’s legs staggered for a moment, and Leal shot out a stiff-arm technique that hit Nuke’s shoulder and sent him rolling down in a heap. Leal ran straight into the partially open first-floor entrance, hearing Nuke yelling from behind him, “You made it personal now, cop. And I’m gonna make sure I enjoy it.”
Moose was right behind him, only seconds away.
The stairs were gray metal set into rough concrete walls. A hanging stream of orange extension cord was strung up on the walls, providing power to light bulbs secured inside small metal cages. Leal reached the second floor before Moose managed to grab him. Leal landed hard on the cement floor, stirring up a cloud of dust. This area was lit with the same type of metallically encased bulbs strung intermittently from the ceiling.
Leal rolled to his feet, then saw Moose lurching forward, arms outstretched, as though he was going to attempt a bear hug. His right eye was staring straight ahead, the left one gazing off at the stairwell.
Counting on this lack of retinal disparity, Leal feinted with his left, then smashed a right hand straight into Moose’s nose. The punch staggered him slightly. Another left feint followed by a second overhand right buckled his knees. Leal stepped back.
Moose, screaming wildly, plodded forward, twin streams of crimson pouring from his nostrils. He gave Leal a hefty push, and Leal went with it, putting some more space between them. His hands brushed the floor as he struggled for balance, and his fingers felt something: a section of three-quarter-inch galvanized pipe about a foot and a half long. Gripping it tightly in his hand, Leal swung the pipe against Moose’s left shin, then bounced it off his forearm as well. Moose staggered back, crying out in pain, holding his arms up as Leal whipped the pipe again and again, using it like a short baton. Finally, the pipe cracked the other man on the temple, sending his head rocketing backward. His body followed, doing a drunken roll forward, trying to do a little stutter step to catch himself, and then collapsing and falling pell-mell down the stairs, his head making a plunking sound as it hit each step.
Leal caught a glimpse of Nuke and Brice pushing in through the door and he darted up the staircase.
Brice stopped as he saw Moose lying twisted in the stairwell. He holstered the Magnum and knelt next to him, feeling for a pulse.
“Max,” he said. “Oh, Max.” He cradled the bloody head against his shoulder.
Nuke grinned as he stepped around them. Glancing down at Brice he said, “Father knows best, huh?” He licked his lips and continued up the stairs.
When Murphy saw Brice carrying someone out of the building, he figured it for Leal, so he didn’t move. This wasn’t turning out the way he’d figured at all. Helping Brice control a homicide investigation was one thing, but actually killing another copper in cold blood, even a copper like Leal, whom he didn’t like, was a whole different animal.
If I had any fucking sense, he thought, I’d get in that fucking car and get the hell outta here.
Brice approached, breathing hard from the effort of carrying the extra weight.
“Gimme a hand,” he said.
Murphy went forward and saw that the limp figure wasn�
��t Leal after all.
“Jesus, boss, what’s going on?”
“Open the fucking car door,” Brice said. Murphy went over and helped Brice lower the still-unconscious Moose into the backseat. Brice thumbed open his son’s eyes, looking at the pupils.
“I got to get him to a doctor,” he said. “He might have a concussion.”
“Boss, where’s Leal at?” Murphy asked. He heard the quiver in his own voice and swallowed hard.
Brice straightened up and took several deep breaths. The shoulder of his gray jacket was darkened with blood. He turned and looked up at the structure. “Murph, just stay here and guard Max till I get back, okay?” He pulled the .357 from his belt and began to walk back across the site toward the building.
“I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder.
Murphy looked at Brice’s stupid kid lying in the backseat in a fetal position, bleeding all over the interior, the blood dropping down onto the floor mat.
Christ, thought Murphy. How we ever gonna explain all this now?
As he ran up the stairway Leal used the pipe to smash some of the suspended bulbs. He could hear the clunking footsteps on the stairs behind him. There was nowhere to go but up. But up to what? Too late, he realized he’d trapped himself, running up to nowhere while they stalked him with guns.
Then he remembered something: the rope attached to the tar truck. They probably used it to haul the tar up to the roof. If he could reach it from one of the upper floors, he might be able to get back to the ground. And he was pretty sure he’d put Moose down for the count, at least temporarily. That left only the other three, Nuke, Brice, and Murphy. He figured it was Nuke coming up the stairs. Probably with Brice right behind him. That left Murphy on the ground. Yeah, he’d take those odds. If he could get them.
He was at the end of the stairway and ran into the room area. A single bulb hung suspended above his head, but he didn’t take the time to try and smash it. Instead he dashed for the wall. This section looked like it’d hardly been touched. Bundles of wires sprung from a rough cement floor that was littered with nails, aluminum piping, and sections of cut sheet metal. Large stacks of lumber and brick sat in various locations under thick sheets of blue plastic. The wind was whipping through the open windows, causing the plastic to rustle and snap.
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