actually smiling.
Tom fired a quick group of four shots. It was a fair distance, and there was a light wind, but at least one of the bullets found its mark.
Jack howled and rolled backwards out of sight, leaving his gun behind.
Tom sprinted to the spot and scanned all directions. Too many cars, too many places to hide. Tom wiped some blood out of his right eye with his sleeve and picked up Jack’s rifle by the barrel. Then he began walking through the parking lot, searching behind and under cars.
His cell phone vibrated. Tom answered.
“You okay?”
“I hit him, but he’s gone. Got his gun.”
“Bert’s missing.”
“Hell. Be right there.”
Tom jogged back around to the front of the building. Roy was by the Mustang, holding his ass.
“Tommy, you’re hit.”
“A graze. Did you see Bert?”
“Got here, he was gone. Paramedics on the way.”
Two black and whites, sirens wailing, pulled into the parking lot.
Tom let Roy deal with them. He holstered his gun and ran into the lobby. A crowd of gawkers had gathered, parting as the frantic, bleeding man rushed in. He weaved through them, looking for any sign of Bert. Had Kilpatrick been there as well? Had he grabbed Bert while Tom and Roy were being distracted by Jack? Tom felt sick. Bert was annoying, true, but he’d been his responsibility. If anything happened to him...
Tom found Bert next to the front desk, kneeling by a suitcase and going through the contents.
“I got my lures,” Bert said.
Tom wiped more blood out his eye and imagined the satisfaction he’d get if he pulled out his Glock and emptied a clip into Bert’s lures.
He restrained himself.
“Come on.”
Bert grabbed his cases and they made their way through the crowd, back into the parking lot. The number of squad cars had tripled, and Roy had organized a quick search party for Jack, uniforms fanning out through the rows of cars.
Tom felt the top of his head, which was now starting to throb. An inch lower and they would have been scooping up his last thoughts with evidence spoons.
He approached his Mustang, frown deepening. It would need two new tires, a new window, and a new headrest. Perhaps they could stick the rearview back on.
“What happened to your head?”
“I got shot, Einstein.”
“I don’t like it when you and your partner call me Einstein . It comes out sarcastic. Where’s the guy with the gun?”
“He got away. Who knew you were staying here, at this hotel?”
“No one. Just Jessup.”
“How did they know you’d come back for your lures?”
“I dunno. Lucky guess?”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“How could I tell anyone? I’ve been with you the entire time. We went from the hotel to the hospital, and from the hospital back here.”
Tom thought it over. It wouldn’t take long to set up a sniper in a vacant room, but how could Jack have known they were coming back for the lures? Was he just waiting around, hoping for the off chance?
Unless Bert told someone, or...
Tom patted his pocket. The Foxhound bug detector hadn’t been lost in the chase. He flipped it on and pointed the antenna at his car. It blinked and buzzed like a slot machine. Tom popped the hood and waved the antenna around, trying to get a fix. He found the bug taped to the side of the battery. The microphone snaked through the heat duct and led to the dashboard, and a line ran through his own car antenna.
No wonder his radio didn’t work.
He slammed the hood closed. They’d violated his car. His personal space. And by using his own car battery and antenna, the thing probably had a range of miles.
Tom went over to Roy, who was being led into an ambulance by some paramedics. One of them, a large white guy with a beard, began to undo Roy’s belt.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“I have to take off your pants.”
“Damn. Aren’t there any cute girl paramedics on duty?”
“No.”
“Don’t need to be so anxious. You’re too anxious.”
The medic looked at Tom.
Tom fired a quick group of four shots. It was a fair distance, and there was a light wind, but at least one of the bullets found its mark.
Jack howled and rolled backwards out of sight, leaving his gun behind.
Tom sprinted to the spot and scanned all directions. Too many cars, too many places to hide. Tom wiped some blood out of his right eye with his sleeve and picked up Jack’s rifle by the barrel. Then he began walking through the parking lot, searching behind and under cars.
His cell phone vibrated. Tom answered.
“You okay?”
“I hit him, but he’s gone. Got his gun.”
“Bert’s missing.”
“Hell. Be right there.”
Tom jogged back around to the front of the building. Roy was by the Mustang, holding his ass.
“Tommy, you’re hit.”
“A graze. Did you see Bert?”
“Got here, he was gone. Paramedics on the way.”
Two black and whites, sirens wailing, pulled into the parking lot.
Tom let Roy deal with them. He holstered his gun and ran into the lobby. A crowd of gawkers had gathered, parting as the frantic, bleeding man rushed in. He weaved through them, looking for any sign of Bert. Had Kilpatrick been there as well? Had he grabbed Bert while Tom and Roy were being distracted by Jack? Tom felt sick. Bert was annoying, true, but he’d been his responsibility. If anything happened to him...
Tom found Bert next to the front desk, kneeling by a suitcase and going through the contents.
“I got my lures,” Bert said.
Tom wiped more blood out his eye and imagined the satisfaction he’d get if he pulled out his Glock and emptied a clip into Bert’s lures.
He restrained himself.
“Come on.”
Bert grabbed his cases and they made their way through the crowd, back into the parking lot. The number of squad cars had tripled, and Roy had organized a quick search party for Jack, uniforms fanning out through the rows of cars.
Tom felt the top of his head, which was now starting to throb. An inch lower and they would have been scooping up his last thoughts with evidence spoons.
He approached his Mustang, frown deepening. It would need two new tires, a new window, and a new headrest. Perhaps they could stick the rearview back on.
“What happened to your head?”
“I got shot, Einstein.”
“I don’t like it when you and your partner call me Einstein . It comes out sarcastic. Where’s the guy with the gun?”
“He got away. Who knew you were staying here, at this hotel?”
“No one. Just Jessup.”
“How did they know you’d come back for your lures?”
“I dunno. Lucky guess?”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“How could I tell anyone? I’ve been with you the entire time. We went from the hotel to the hospital, and from the hospital back here.”
Tom thought it over. It wouldn’t take long to set up a sniper in a vacant room, but how could Jack have known they were coming back for the lures? Was he just waiting around, hoping for the off chance?
Unless Bert told someone, or...
Tom patted his pocket. The Foxhound bug detector hadn’t been lost in the chase. He flipped it on and pointed the antenna at his car. It blinked and buzzed like a slot machine. Tom popped the hood and waved the antenna around, trying to get a fix. He found the bug taped to the side of the battery. The microphone snaked through the heat duct and led to the dashboard, and a line ran through his own car antenna.
No wonder his radio didn’t work.
He slammed the hood closed. They’d violated his car. His personal space. And by using his own car battery and antenna, the thing probably had a range of miles.
Tom went over to Roy, who was being led into an ambulance by some paramedics. One of them, a large white guy with a beard, began to undo Roy’s belt.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“I have to take off your pants.”
“Damn. Aren’t there any cute girl paramedics on duty?”
“No.”
“Don’t need to be so anxious. You’re too anxious.”
The medic looked at Tom.
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