“You want to wait until Hanlon earns that distinction?”
“Can’t we just try to find him first? I mean, what if he’s not gunning for Freezer? What if he’s just wandering around thinking about it? We’d be creating a publicity nightmare. At least if we find him first, we’ve got a chance to de-escalate this.”
Marenko put down his cell phone and thought about it. Then he walked over to his duty holster, buckled it around his waist and checked his gun. “All right. We’ll do it your way,” he said finally. “We’ll try to find him and stop him before he does something crazy. But you’ve got to understand, if the shit’s already hit the fan, we don’t have a choice. Innocent people could get hurt. We can’t take the law into our own hands—not even for Doug Hanlon.”
“Then let’s find him before he gets that far.”
It was two blocks to Michael McLaughlin’s row house. Georgia and Marenko half-walked, half-ran the entire way. It was the longest two blocks of Georgia’s life. They passed small grocers with their cellar hatches open on the sidewalk and newspaper vendors unbundling the morning’s papers. Yellow cabs were just beginning to trickle back to the streets in force. At this hour, New York seemed almost like a small town as it flexed its sleep-addled muscles, waiting for the adrenaline to kick in. Georgia’s adrenaline, however, was pumping full-force. She comforted herself with the fact that McLaughlin was not an early riser.
“Freezer’s house is built like a fortress,” Georgia offered up between gasps of air. “Doug will never break in.”
“He may have cornered Freezer before he got a chance to get inside.”
As they neared McLaughlin’s building, they slowed their gait. Nothing looked out of place. His shades, always pulled down in front, looked unruffled. There was no sign of an obvious break-in. They walked across the street to the park. A few dog walkers milled about bundled up against the cold, but there was no sign of Doug. Just east of the Hudson River, along the West Side Drive, cars were inching forward on their commute into the city, but the street itself was quiet. Even the horses in the stables didn’t stir, which surprised Georgia a little. Although it was cold—probably too cold to take them out, somebody should have been bustling around their stalls, cleaning them out at this hour.
“What do we do now?” she asked Marenko. They were both breathing heavily from the run, their breath misting in the morning air.
“We wake the bastard up, that’s what,” said Marenko. “We make sure he’s breathing, then try to find Hanlon.”
They crossed the street and rang his door buzzer. There was no answer. Marenko banged loudly on the door.
“Open up, McLaughlin. Believe me, you’re gonna want to talk to us.” Still no answer. Marenko walked down to the garage while Georgia moved to the other side of the building, next to the stables. She heard a quiet grunting and neighing inside. The horses were moving about. And yet, the big door in the center of the stable—once the garage door for the rigs—was closed. She was about to bang on the steel entrance door beside it when a small, grizzled man with a terrified expression ran out.
“He’s got a gun!” he shouted breathlessly. “He’s going to shoot.”
“Who?” asked Georgia. “Who’s got a gun?” But she already knew. In that sickening instant, she knew.
“A young man with blond hair. In a sweat suit. He’s going to shoot the man from next door.”
45
Georgia pulled out her radio and called for backup. She didn’t wait for Marenko to join her. She unholstered her weapon, then aimed her foot at the steel door and gave it a swift kick. It swung open and she inched inside. Her nostrils stung with the smell of hay and horse manure.
“Doug?” she called out into the gloom. “It’s Georgia Skeehan. Can you hear me?”
The only light trickled in from ancillary paths—through windows on the second floor, down the brick air shaft where the hoses used to be dried, in undefined shadows from the kitchen in back. It mixed with the dust and pollen off the hay until it had the weight of mist.
“Doug,” she tried again. “Your dad sent me to find you. He’s worried about you. He wants you to stop this and come home. I can take you home.” ·
“I’m not going home,” he shouted from inside one of the stalls. Georgia couldn’t tell which one. She heard a couple of horses pacing behind their partitions.
Marenko was behind her now, easing his way silently into the doorway, gun in hand.
“Doug—” Georgia began, but Hanlon cut her off. His voice was tight and high, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“I’ve had enough of your bullshit. You lied to me. And you’re lying to me now. You think I don’t know what’s going to happen? I’m going to die. And McLaughlin’s gonna die right along with me.”
“Let me come out into the open and talk to you,” Georgia offered.
Marenko touched her on the arm and shook his head, but Georgia ignored him. “I trust you, Doug. You’re your father’s son. I know you wouldn’t do anything to bring him pain.”
She took several deliberate steps across the concrete floor. Marenko followed silently on her heels.
“Is McLaughlin all right?” she called out. She couldn’t see either of them. Over the dividers, she could only glimpse the dark manes of the horses. Their eyes looked black and glassy in the diffuse light. She felt their nervous tension vibrate through her skin like a tuning fork. She stepped closer to the stalls. Marenko stayed just to her right, trying to scout the stalls for signs of them.
“Do you think this is what Tony Fuentes would have wanted?” asked Georgia. “For you to waste your life on scum like McLaughlin?”
“I kill him, he’ll never kill another firefighter ever again.” Hanlon’s words rose up from the second to last stall on the right. Georgia walked slowly in that direction. She could feel the hay crunch beneath her feet and smell the sweat off the horses.
“That’s not what people will remember,” said Georgia. “All anyone will remember is that you took the law into your own hands.”
“Fuck the law,” yelled Hanlon. “Is the law going to put him in jail for the rest of his life? Is the law going to make sure he never hurts anyone ever again?”
Doug’s words were punctuated by the squeal of sirens in the street. Inside the old brick firehouse with its 14-foot, pressed-tin ceilings, the sound had an eerie quality, like drowning cats. They told Doug what he already seemed to know. He was not walking out of this.
“I know what you’re feeling,” said Georgia. “That’s why I’m here. Michael McLaughlin set a fire that killed my father nineteen years ago. I want to kill the sonofabitch as much as you do. But I can’t. I’ll always be a firefighter—just like you. I can’t take a life—even a life as miserable as McLaughlin’s.”
“Then put your gun in front of the stall where I can see it.”
Marenko reached out to stop Georgia, but her mind was made up. If she didn’t try to calm Doug down, there was very little chance he’d walk out of here. She felt she owed it to Seamus to try. So she held her breath and gingerly stepped in front of the stall. She placed her weapon at her feet.
The stall was dark. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Doug Hanlon was crouched in a far corner of the empty stall with his left arm in a chokehold around McLaughlin. His right hand held a-revolver—an old NYPD service weapon—pointed at McLaughlin’s temple. At six-feet-three, Hanlon could match McLaughlin in size and weight. And twenty years McLaughlin’s junior, he could probably outmuscle the former Westie if he had to. McLaughlin seemed to have calculated the same odds because he made no move to free himself. Yet he didn’t appear afraid. Georgia suspected he’d had a gun put to his head many times before. He hadn’t weakened then and he wasn’t about to now.
Hanlon showed no such calm. Georgia had expected the young firefighter to relax a little when she gave up her gun, but he still seemed agitated.
“Get your partner out of here,” he screamed. “Get him out now or I’ll start
shooting.”
Georgia gave Hanlon a startled look. Marenko had made no noise trailing her into the stable. How could Hanlon have known? She had her answer when she looked up at a corner of the tin ceiling.
“You’ve got to leave, Mac,” Georgia said as calmly as she could. “Doug can see you from a security mirror.”
“I’m not leaving you in here alone,” said Marenko.
“If he doesn’t leave, I’ll start shooting,” Hanlon screamed. “I swear I will.”
“Go, Mac. I’ll be all right.” She could see him in the security mirror, hesitating. “Please.”
Marenko realized he had no choice. He retreated to the street. McLaughlin actually seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. “I see I’m not the only one this young punk got the drop on,” he said calmly.
“Shut up,” said Georgia. “I’m not interested in your bullshit. It’s Doug I care about.”
She thought her words might move Hanlon. But he had a cold, blank stare as he regarded Georgia. He made no move to harm her, but he didn’t look like he cared much whether she lived or died, either. Though it was cool in the stables, he was sweating heavily. But he had a sure grip on the gun. She’d forgotten he’d been in the military. He was no stranger to weapons. He was capable of firing, and firing under pressure if he had to. Outside, she could hear police cars setting up. None of them was going to be able to walk out of here like nothing happened.
“You said you always wanted to be like your father,” said Georgia. “But this isn’t him. He wouldn’t kill a man like this. You pull that trigger, you’ll destroy him, too.”
“It’s too late,” said Hanlon.
“No, it’s not. There are people who can help you.”
Hanlon tightened his chokehold on McLaughlin. He wasn’t ready to give up.
“You want to kill me?” McLaughlin growled at Hanlon. “Kill me then. Get it over with.”
“No, Doug,” Georgia pleaded. “This isn’t the way.”
“Kill me,” said McLaughlin again. “Go ahead, kill me, you stupid dumb-ass firefighter. You think you know everything about me? You don’t know shit. And neither does the chick. Not about what I’ve done. Not about what I haven’t done. Kill me and you’ll see—dozens of people will die very soon.”
Hanlon shoved the gun harder into the side of McLaughlin’s skull. McLaughlin gritted his teeth, but his eyes stayed riveted on Georgia. He looked strangely calm. “Coyote,” McLaughlin muttered. “I spoke to Coyote. I know what the Green Warriors are planning.”
Hanlon looked confused. Georgia could read it in his eyes. The first signs of hesitation. The weakening of his resolve. McLaughlin, too, seemed to sense that chink in Hanlon’s armor. He’d found a foothold and had begun to climb. “The Green Warriors are going to strike soon. I know the details. You kill me, you’ll kill all those people.”
“What’s he talking about?” Hanlon demanded.
“Some very dangerous people,” Georgia explained. “A lot of lives could be in danger. I don’t want to take that risk. Do you?”
“He’s lying,” Hanlon insisted.
“I don’t know,” said Georgia. “But I know that if you kill him, we’ll never know.”
Hanlon swallowed. Georgia saw his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale. He looked drawn, like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.
“I give up, it’s like…it’s like running all over again,” Hanlon said softly.
“No. It’s not. It’s like saving dozens of innocent lives.”
Hanlon stumbled to his feet and dragged McLaughlin into a standing position. Now, Georgia had a new worry. She sensed that Doug was beginning to waver, but that meant McLaughlin could sense it, too. A minute’s hesitation could be all McLaughlin needed to turn the tables on both of them. She had to stay in control of the situation.
“Put the gun down, Doug,” said Georgia firmly. “Put it down now and we can walk out of here.”
“How do you know he’s telling the truth?” asked Hanlon.
Georgia looked at Michael McLaughlin’s calm, almost calculating expression. It hurt to look at him. He seemed so ordinary—so much like firemen she had known. The same broad build. The same lightly freckled face and strong chin. Her father had humped hoses and lifted beers with men like him.
“Several dozen people,” McLaughlin said icily, “balanced against the lives of two firefighters.”
“And my father,” said Georgia.
“And if you’re wrong?” McLaughlin asked her.
“I’m not wrong.”
“Then kill me yourself, lass. Take the gun away from this loser and kill me yourself. If I was facing the man who murdered my father, that’s what I’d do. Or are you too much of a coward?”
Georgia could see Hanlon’s finger on the trigger. She saw the hatred in his eyes. And the pain. He wanted everything to end. He believed it would if he pulled the trigger. For a brief moment, Georgia could feel herself believing it, too. Her father deserved retribution. And so did Russo and Fuentes.
“Kill me,” said McLaughlin again. He was playing head games with both of them now, gambling on who might crack first.
“Give me the gun,” Georgia begged Hanlon. “It’s just like being in a fire. You can’t give in to your impulses. The enemy isn’t outside you. It’s inside. It’s panic and desperation.”
Hanlon loosened his grip for an instant. In a flash, McLaughlin was out of the chokehold. He lunged for Hanlon’s gun, but instead of grabbing it he only succeeded in causing it to fall from the firefighter’s hands. Georgia dove for the weapon and her own. As she grabbed them, she heard a dull thud, followed by a release of air. When she got to her feet with both weapons, she saw that Hanlon had leveled a hard punch to McLaughlin’s gut which landed him directly into a pile of horse manure. He wasn’t badly hurt. It was nearly impossible to seriously injure an old Westie like McLaughlin. But the fall into manure had stunned him just long enough for the police to enter the stable.
Hanlon stood against the opposite partition, rubbing his sore knuckles, waiting for the inevitable. He was going to be taken away in handcuffs. He knew that. But that didn’t seem to be what was troubling him.
“I lost my nerve,” he said softly, keeping his eyes on his swelling right hand. “I should’ve shot him.”
Georgia shook her head. “No, Doug. You found it. Over time, you will realize that. Sometimes the hardest thing in the world to do is nothing.”
“Is what you said about your father true?” he mumbled.
“I think so,” said Georgia. “I’ll never really know.”
“Tell my family I’m sorry.”
“You’ll be able to tell them yourself,” said Georgia, trying to sound more upbeat than she felt.
Police officers flooded into the stable. Marenko was with them. When he found her, his face seemed to flood with relief.
“That was a pretty stupid thing to do,” he scolded her. “Are you okay?” She told him she was.
“Is Krause here?” asked Georgia.
“Outside. With Nelson and Reese. You want me to send him in?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to speak to him right away.” She put a hand on his arm. “Mac? Can you stay with Doug for me? I may not be able to and I want someone with him I trust—”
“I won’t leave his side.”
“Thanks.”
Marenko tracked down Krause while Georgia found McLaughlin in the firehouse bathroom, trying to scrape horse manure off his pleated silk pants.
“You finally look like the piece of shit you are,” said Georgia. “Where’s Coyote?”
McLaughin regarded her in the minor above the sink. His eyes were two cold little moss-covered rocks. “Ah, you’d like to know that, wouldn’t you?”
“Listen, asshole. There are four dozen more men at Ladder Seventeen and Engine Twelve who’d like nothing better than to blow your fucking brains out. You think this is over? Wake up, Freezer. You’re not a secret anymore. I
don’t have to keep my mouth shut about what you’ve done—to Russo and Fuentes, or to my father.”
“You think you know about that, do you?”
“You killed him,” she growled.
“I know how he died,” said McLaughlin. His eyes sparkled like broken glass. He was enjoying her torment. “He died choking for air. Twenty minutes in that basement. Imagine, twenty minutes straining for a breath.”
“You sonofabitch!” She went to slap him across the face, but he grabbed her hand before she could make contact.
“Ah-ah-ah, love. I wouldn’t do that for three reasons,” said McLaughlin. “First, because if you hit me, I’ll hit back before any of these cops can come to your aid. And I can make that shiner look like a love pat by comparison. Second”—he forced her hand down—“because you need me to tell you about Coyote.” McLaughlin squinted off into the middle distance. Georgia turned. Charles Krause was walking toward them now, with Scott Nelson by his side and Nathan Reese trailing behind.
“What’s the third?” Georgia muttered.
“The third is, you are dead wrong about what happened to your father.”
He held her gaze a moment. Georgia turned away, chilled by what she had seen—or rather, what she hadn’t seen. His gray-green eyes were a void—blank and of unknown depth, like a stagnant pond. She couldn’t read him. She had no idea whether he was telling the truth. And most chilling of all, she sensed he didn’t care. To Michael McLaughlin, evil was as appropriate as any other course of action. He took no pride in its doing or not doing. It was all the same to him. Georgia was thankful to have somewhere else to turn her attention.
“McLaughlin knows who Coyote is,” Georgia told Krause. “He said the Green Warriors are going to strike soon and dozens of civilians are at risk.”
Krause looked at McLaughlin. “Is that true, Mike?”
McLaughlin shrugged. He didn’t care.
Krause tried again. “If there’s a Green Warrior hit and people die, the FBI can no longer protect you as an informant—do you understand? You want to retire on that nice bank account you keep offshore? The assets are frozen, Mike. And we can keep them that way until hell pretty much becomes the same temperature.”
Fireplay Page 26