"Don't know. We couldn't go in last night." The Blade was suddenly angry. "You what!" The wicked eyes were fierce and glowing.
"Our man is doing it tonight if all goes well." "What kinda place has she got?" "Small office in a tall building downtown. It should be easy." Scherff pressed the earphone closer to his head. Two of his pals did likewise. The only sound in the room was a slight clicking noise from the recorder.
"Are these guys any good?" "Nance is pretty smooth and cool under pressure. His partner, Cal Sisson, is a loose cannon. Afraid of his shadow." "I want the phones fixed tonight." "It'll be done." Barry lit an unfiltered Camel and blew smoke at the ceiling. "Are they protecting the lawyer?" He asked this as his eyes narrowed. Gronke looked away.
"I don't think so." "Where does she live? What kinda place?" "She's got a cute little apartment behind her mother's house," "She live alone?" "I think so." "She'd be easy, wouldn't she? Break in, take her out, steal a few things. Just another house burglary gone sour. What do you think?" Gronke shook his head and studied a young blonde at the bar.
"What do you think?" Barry repeated.
"Yeah, it'd be easy." "Then let's do it. Are you listening to me, Paul?" Paul was listening, but avoiding the evil eyes. "I'm not in the mood to kill anyone," he said, still staring at the blonde.
"That's fine. I'll get Pirini to do it."
SEVERAL YEARS EARLIER, A DETAINEE, AS THEY RE CALLED IN the Juvenile Detention Center, a twelve-year-old, died in the room next to Mark's from an epileptic seizure. A ton of bad press and a nasty lawsuit followed, and though Doreen had not been on duty when it happened, she had nonetheless been shaken by it. An investigation followed. Two people were terminated. And a new set of regulations came down.
Doreen's shift ended at five, and the last thing she did was check on Mark. She'd stopped by on the hour throughout the afternoon, and watched with growing concern as his condition worsened. He was withdrawing before her very eyes, saying less with each visit, just lying there in bed staring at the ceiling. At five, she brought a county paramedic with her. Mark was given a quick physical, and pronounced alive and well. Vital signs were strong. When she left, she rubbed his temples like a sweet little grandmother and promised to return bright and early tomorrow, Friday. And she sent more pizza.
Mark told her he thought he could make it until then. He'd try to survive the night. Evidently she left instructions, because the next floor supervisor, a shor^ plump little woman named Telda, immediately knocked on his door and introduced herself. For the next four hours, Telda knocked repeatedly and entered the room, staring wildly at his eyes as if he were crazy and something was about to snap.
Mark watched television, no cable, until the news started at ten, then brushed his teeth and turned off the lights. The bed was quite comfortable, and he thought of his mother trying to sleep on that rickety cot the nurses had rolled into Ricky's room.
The pizza was from Domino's, not some leathery slab of cheese someone threw in a microwave, but a real pizza Doreen had probably paid for. The bed was warm, the pizza was real, and the door was locked. He felt safe, not only from the other inmates and the gangs and violence certain to be close by, but especially from the man with the switchblade who knew his name and had the picture. The man who'd burned the trailer. He'd thought about this guy every moment of every hour since he dashed from the elevator early yesterday morning. He'd thought about him on Momma Love's porch last night, and sitting in the courtroom that afternoon listening to Hardy and McThune. He'd worried about him hanging around the hospital where Dianne was unaware.
SITTING IN A PARKED CAR ON THIRD STREET IN DOWNTOWN Memphis at midnight was not Cal Sisson's idea of safe fun, but the doors were locked and there was a gun under the seat. His felony convictions forbade him from owning or possessing a firearm, but this was Jack Nance's car. It was parked behind a delivery van near Madison, a couple of blocks from the Sterick Building. There was nothing suspicious about the car. Traffic was light Two uniformed cops on foot strolled along the sidewalk and stopped fewer than five feet from Cal. They stared at him. He glanced in the mirror, and saw another pair. Four cops! One of them sat on the trunk, and the car shook. Had the parking meter run out on him? No, he'd paid for an hour and been here less than ten minutes. Nance said it was a thirty-minute job.
Two more cops joined the two on the sidewalk, and Cal started sweating. The gun worried him, but a good lawyer could convince his probation officer that the gun was not his. He was merely driving for Nance.
An unmarked police car parked behind him, and two cops in plain clothes joined the others. Eight cops!
One in jeans and a sweatshirt bent at the waist and stuck his badge to Cal's window. There was a radio on the seat next to his leg, and thirty seconds ago he should have punched the blue button and warned Nance. But now it was too late. The cops had materialized from nowhere.
He slowly rolled down his window. The cop leaned forward and their faces were inches apart. "Evening, Cal. I'm Lieutenant Byrd, Memphis PD." The fact that he called him Cal made him shudder. He tried to remain calm. "What can I do for you, Officer?" "Where's Jack?" Cal's heart stopped and sweat popped through his skin. "Jack who?" Jack who. Byrd glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his partner. The uniformed cops had surrounded the car. "Jack Nance. Your good friend. Where is he?" "1 haven't seen him." "Well, what a coincidence. I haven't seen him either. At least not for the past fifteen minutes. In fact, the last time I saw Jack was at the corner of Union and Second, less than a half an hour ago, and he was getting out of this car here. And you drove away, and, surprise, here you are." Cal was breathing, but it was difficult. "I don't know what you're talking about." Byrd unlocked the door and opened it. "Get out, Cal," he demanded, and Cal complied. Byrd slammed the door and shoved him against it. Four of the cops surrounded him. The other three were looking in the direction of the Sterick Building. Byrd was in his face.
"Listen to me, Cal. Accomplice to breaking and entering carries seven years. You have three prior convictions, so you'll be charged as a habitual offender, and guess how much time you're looking at." His teeth were chattering and his body was shaking. He shook his head no, as if he didn't understand and wanted Byrd to tell him.
"Thirty years, no parole." He closed his eyes and slumped. His breathing was heavy.
"Now," Byrd continued, very cool, very cruel. "We're not worried about Jack Nance. When he finishes with Ms. Love's phones, we've got some boys waiting for him outside the building. He'll be arrested, booked, and in due course sent away. But we don't figure he'll talk much. You follow?" Cal nodded quickly.
"But, Cal, we figure you might want to cut a deal. Help us a little, know what I mean?" He was still nodding, only faster.
"We figure you'll tell us what we need to know, and in return, we'll let you walk." [ Cal stared at him desperately. His mouth was open, his chest pounding away.
Byrd pointed to the sidewalk on the other side of Madison. "You see that sidewalk, Cal?" Cal took a long, hopeful look at the empty sidewalk. "Yeah," he said eagerly.
"Well, it's all yours. Tell me what I want to hear, and you -walk. Okay? I'm offering you thirty years of freedom, Cal. Don't be stupid." "Okay." "When does Gronke return from New Orleans?" "In the morning, around ten." "Where's he staying?" "Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza." "Room number?" "It's 782." "Where are Bono and Pirini?" "I don't know." "Please, Cal, we're not idiots. Where are they?"-"They're in 783 and 784." "Who else from New Orleans is here?" "That's it. That's all I know." "Can we expect more people from New Orleans?" "I swear I don't know." "Do they have any plans to hit the boy, his family, or his lawyer?" "It's been discussed, but no definite plans. I wouldn't be a part of it, you know." "I know, Cal. Any plans to bug more phones?" "No. I don't think so. Just the lawyer." "What about the lawyer's house?" "No, not to my knowledge." "No other bugs or wires or phone taps?" "Not to my knowledge." "No plans to kill anybody?" "No." "If you're lying, I'll come get you, Cal, and it's thirty years." "I swear it." Suddenly, Byrd slapped him on left side of his face, then grabbed his collar and squeezed it together. Cal's mouth was open and his eyes showed absolute terror. "Who burned the trailer?" Byrd snarled at him as he pushed him harder against the car.