Sudden Prey (27 page)

Sandy was out of the booth. ''Dick . . .'' she wailed.

LaChaise looked at the old man and said, ''Fuck you.'' The cowboy was crawling on his stomach, a kind of military low-crawl, leaving a snail's track of purple blood, and La-Chaise walked around and kicked him in the side of the head and the cowboy stopped crawling.

''Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill him,'' the old man yelled, and a few other men yelled, ''Yeah . . .''

The bartender picked up the phone and Martin was suddenly there with his pistol: ''Don't touch that dial.''

LaChaise was walking around the cowboy, and the old man yelled, ''Give him a break, for Christ's sake,'' and LaChaise pointed at him and said, ''If you don't shut up, I'm gonna kick your ass.''

And moving behind the cowboy, he kicked him in the crotch. Sandy caught his shirtsleeve: ''Dick, c'mon, no more, Dick, please, please, let's go, he's hurt . . .''

''Get the fuck away from me,'' LaChaise growled.

Martin, his gun now hanging by his side, said, ''She's right, man. We better get going.''

The cowboy was not moving. He lay with one hand under his chest, the other thrown to the side. LaChaise said, ''Allright,'' and picked up one booted foot and stomped on the outstretched hand, the bones audibly crunching in the silent room. ''Let's go.''

On the way past the bar, he took a ten out of his pocket: ''Four Buds to go: just crack the top.''

And Martin said, ''Don't nobody come running out to look at our tags, y' hear? I'd have to go and shoot you. So you just stay here inside and talk on the telephone, and don't get shot.''

As they were going out the door, LaChaise with the four bottles of Bud, the old man shouted, ''Crazy fuckers!''

SANDY HUDDLED IN THE BACK AS THEY TOOK I-494 west, then north up I-35W into town, LaChaise laughing aloud, Martin serious but pleased: ''The hair was what done it,'' he said over and over. ''He thought you was an old fuck, and he just sort of lobbed at you . . .''

They felt good, Sandy realized. This was what they liked.

''You know what we shoulda done with the truck? We shoulda driven it over to this Davenport's place, his house, and drove it right through the front of the place. Up the porch and right through the front, and left it there.''

''Might be a lot of cops hanging around,'' Martin said, now a bit more sober. ''And they could pick us up on the way . . .''

''Well, shit . . . we oughta do something.''

Sandy said, ''You oughta take the car and start driving. If you're careful, you could be in Mexico the day after tomorrow.''

LaChaise said, ''You know what? I bet if we tore up that apartment, I bet we'd find some more cash. I bet he's got a stash around somewhere. I can't believe a dealer wouldn't.''

''Maybe in the car . . .'' Martin said, and they started talking about money. Sandy sank back into her seat: at least they weren't talking about Davenport anymore.

A minute later, LaChaise said, ''I think I got a leak in my side.'' Sandy sat up. ''What?''

''It was itching, so I just reached in there to move the bandage, and got a little blood.''

''Probably pulled a stitch in the fight,'' Martin said.

''So let's get back and take a look,'' LaChaise said. The ebullience left him, and, deflated, he stared morosely out the window. ''Fuckin' place,'' he said.

Chapter
Fifteen.

THEY'D SWEPT UP EVERYBODY THEY COULD FIND, RUNNING the dopers, dealers, bikers and gun freaks until you could hardly find one on the streets.

''If they're holed up, I'd bet they've got a television,'' Lucas told his group. He was sitting behind his desk, his feet on the top drawer, the others scattered around the small office. ''That's the first thing this kind of idiot gets: a TV. We could use it to talk to Sandra Darling.''

''What do we say?'' Del asked. ''We can't just come out and tell her to run. They'd kill her.''

''We make it a plea for information, stress how anyone cooperating with LaChaise is going away for a long time. We say, 'Just call 911, nobody'll know.' She'll know we're talking to her.''

''Maybe get the shrinks into it,'' Sloan said. He was sitting on a backwards chair, his chin on his folded arms. ''You gotta believe she's with them, at least semivoluntarily. Or started out that way. She was at the funeral home when LaChaise escaped . . .''

''And I don't think they would've taken her along if they thought they'd have to watch her every minute,'' Sherrill said, nodding at Sloan. She was slumped in a swivel chair. Her dead husband's parents were handling the funeral details, and she was torn between the hunt and the relatives.

Lucas sighed: ''Listen, goddamnit. We need to push off in a different direction.''

''What direction?'' Franklin asked. ''You show me the direction, I'll push.''

Lucas dropped his feet out of the drawer. ''We gotta find the cop. If we can shake him out, we'll have them.''

''So . . .'' Sherrill said.

''So we start pushing people out again--but this time, we want to know who on the force is dealing.''

The others looked at each other, then Del said, '' Dangerous.''

Lucas nodded. ''Yeah, but it's gonna get done, sooner or later. And right now, it's an angle nobody's working.''

''So let's go,'' Franklin said.

''Everybody keep your goddamn heads up--and wear your vests. This is bad shit.''

LUCAS TOLD LESTER, WHO SAID, ''INTERNAL AFFAIRS are looking through a few things, but they're not on the street. You guys be careful.''

Lucas nodded. ''Del and I are gonna talk to Daymon Harp again, shake him pretty hard. He's been around for a while.''

''You want somebody from drugs?''

Lucas shrugged. ''We can handle it; and you're a little short right now.''

''You could have Stadic,'' Lester said. ''He's not carrying a gun until the board says okay.''

''All right. He oughta know about Harp, anyway.''

Lester said, ''Take him. He's just been playing doorman up at the hotel . . .''

WHEN STADIC SAW LUCAS AND DEL WALKING TOWARD the front of the hotel, he caught the way their eyes picked him up and held him: and he thought, They got me . He took a step backwards, but realized he didn't have anyplace to run.

Lucas came up and asked, ''How's it going?''

''Quiet,'' Stadic said. ''The way I like it.'' To Lucas he said, ''Your old lady came through again.''

''Yeah, yeah . . .''

''Do you know a dealer named Daymon Harp?'' Del asked.

Stadic thought, Here it comes . He said, ''Yeah, I see him around. We took him down three or four years ago, he did two. Then we took him again last year, but we missed--he wasn't carrying, no money, no dope. Bad information.''

Lucas nodded: ''Good. We need somebody who knows him and his people. We're gonna go over and push him.''

Stadic's eyebrows went up: ''You want me to come?''

''That'd be good,'' Lucas said.

''Give me fifteen seconds to get out of this fuckin' doorman's suit,'' Stadic said. ''You guys are answering my prayers.''

They rode down in a plain gray city car, the heater running as hard as it could, and not quite keeping up. They passed a fender bender on Nicollet, slid through a stop sign at the next street. ''Fuckin' Minnesota,'' Del said. ''I'm moving to fuckin' Florida.''

''I was reading a book by a guy down in Miami,'' Stadic said. ''He says Florida's fuckin' fucked.''

''The fuckhead's probably just trying to keep me out,'' Del grumbled.

''Both of you shut the fuck up,'' Lucas said. ''You're giving me a fuckin' headache.''

Del changed the conversation's direction: ''You hear what's been happening over in St. Paul with the unmarked cars?''

''No.''

''All their cars got these yellow bumper stickers, they said, 'Buckle Up, It's the Law.' ''

''Yeah, I seen those,'' Stadic said.

''So the wiseasses over there have been peeling off the top of the stickers. Cut them in half with a razor, peel them right off. Now it says . . .''

''It's the Law,'' Lucas said, laughing.

''Not that anybody would drive a piece of shit like this except a cop,'' Del said. ''What color you think this car is?''

After a minute, Lucas said, ''Fuck gray,'' and they all laughed.

ALL OF SANDY'S STITCHES WERE INTACT, BUT LACHAISE'S wound showed some pink at the edges, and was leaking at one corner. ''I'll rebandage it, but the best thing would be, if you just sat still for a while,'' Sandy told him.

As she worked, Martin nailed a piece of plywood over the hole in the hallway wall, next to the door. ''Gonna get some goddamn junkies coming in, if we don't nail it up,'' he said.

When he was done, he stepped back inside, pulled the cardboard boxes up to the doorjamb, and closed the door.

A moment later, he was at the window; he saw the car pull up across from the laundromat.

''Cops,'' he said.

Sandy stood up, hand to her mouth. LaChaise rolled to his feet, started toward the window, but Martin waved him back: ''Don't touch the curtain. They might look up.''

LaChaise slowed, stepped carefully up to a narrow slot in the curtains, and saw the three men getting out of the car. All he could see was hats and coats, but the plain gray car wasthe key. They were cops, all right. They started across the street, talking, and the thin one laughed.

''They're laughing. They may be coming, but they don't know we're here,'' LaChaise said. He stepped quickly across the floor and killed the TV. ''Down the back stairs. We can go out through the garage.''

''No,'' Martin said, shaking his head. ''We can't see out the back until we open the garage. If there're cops out there, they'd have us cold.'' He glanced at the window: ''Man, I don't think they know we're here, but I don't think we can risk running, either.''

''So let's set up and take them,'' LaChaise said. ''Back to the stairs. Then we got a chance to run, anyway.''

They padded quietly down the long central hallway, pushing Sandy in front of them. Sandy went to the bottom of the stairs, in the garage, while LaChaise and Martin stopped just below the level of the top steps. Martin crouched, and La-Chaise stood on the step below him, LaChaise with his 'dog and Martin with a .45 in each hand.

''If they know we're here, an entry team'll try the garage door,'' LaChaise whispered. The garage door opener was plugged into an overhead outlet. LaChaise pointed at it with the gun barrel and said to Sandy, ''Pull the plug.''

Sandy pulled the plug.

''Let 'em get in a few feet. We want all of them in,'' Martin said. ''If they don't know we're here, we have to take them all . . .''

DEL WENT AROUND BACK, TO WATCH THE GARAGE door. Lucas led Stadic up the stairs.

''Bunch of boxes at the top,'' Lucas said. ''Supposed to be some sort of a barrier to keep the door from being rushed.''

Stadic said, ''I've seen that in a couple places. Whatever works.''

At the top, they moved the cardboard boxes out of the way. On the right side of the door, a piece of plywood was crudely nailed onto the wall.

''Wonder what that is?'' Lucas asked, looking at the board.

''Probably an extra barrier to keep people from busting through the wall,'' Stadic said. ''The guy ain't taking any chances.''

Lucas banged on the door. ''Harp, open up.''

Nothing.

''Awful quiet,'' Stadic said.

Lucas banged again. ''Huh. Wonder if he booked.''

''The way things are going . . .''

Lucas banged a third time. They waited for a few more seconds, Lucas looked at the lock, said, ''No way,'' and they started back down the stairs.

INSIDE, SANDY WAS CROUCHED NEXT TO HARP'S CAR, her hands over her ears. After the third set of knocks, they heard what sounded like feet on the stairs. ''I think they're going,'' Martin whispered.

''I can't fuckin' believe this,'' LaChaise whispered back. ''I gotta go look.''

Martin caught his arm. ''Best not to. Sometimes, people feel it, when something moves.''

LaChaise nodded, and they sat on the steps and listened.

ON THE STREET, LUCAS AND STADIC WALKED AROUND the corner and yelled down at Del. Del had been leaning against the brick wall by the garage door, and he pushed away from the wall and slouched back toward them. ''Nothing?''

Lucas shook his head and they crossed the street to the car.

Stadic got in the back, and saw Sell-More Green walking down the street toward them. Sell-More worked for Harp, but he didn't know Stadic. Stadic made a quick calculation, andas Lucas cranked the car, patted Lucas on the shoulder and said, ''Whoa,'' and pointed.

Lucas and Del looked where Stadic was pointing. A thin black man in an old parka and black sneaks was scuffling along, oblivious of them. ''That's Sell-More Green,'' Stadic said. ''He's one of Harp's dealers. Or he used to be.''

Lucas said, ''So let's ask him where Harp is.''