bone when he hit the street. He’d gained one knee when I got a fistful of hood and hair and yanked him back down to the ground.
The kid reacted to the pain by squirming, but I put my own knee into the middle of his back and pushed his face into the asphalt with one hand while using the other on my radio.
“This is Freeman. My runner is in custody,” I said, then had to catch my breath and look around. “Uh, corner of South and Thirteenth.”
Hector had smartened up and quit struggling when the headlights of a car caught us from the north and stopped. I squinted into the brightness and heard the car door slam.
“Goddamn, Freeman. What kinda squirrelly animal you got there?”
When the uniform and the face stepped up I recognized Patrolman O’Shea. He was too handsome to be a real cop, and every time I saw him he had a bemused look on his Irish face.
“You on the perimeter, O’Shea?”
“Yeah. Heard on the tack that you had something going, Freeman.”
I clipped my radio and took my handcuffs off my belt. O’Shea leaned in.
“Hey, it’s good ole Hector down there. How you doin’, boy?” he said, and then I felt and heard the patrolman kick the kid hard underneath me.
“Nasty-looking angle on that leg bone, Hector,” O’Shea said. “Guess you won’t be running too much in the yard over at Greaterford.”
Hector sucked at his teeth in pain and whispered something about someone’s madre. O’Shea cocked his boot.
“Hey, I got him, O’Shea,” I said. “I got him under control here.”
The words had barely cleared my mouth when the crack of gunfire sounded in the distance down South Street. O’Shea and I both looked up and stared out into the pools of shadow and light. Within seconds I caught a glimpse of spinning blue lights and heard the swell of sirens. I’d paid little attention to the movement of the kid below me and was just fumbling with the radio when I sensed O’Shea step forward and bark: “You little bastard!”
Hector cried out and I looked back to see a polished boot crushing the kid’s hand into a small .38 caliber pistol he’d pulled from somewhere. I dug my knee harder into his back and heard the bones in his hand crack like a crab shell as O’Shea put all of his weight into it. He then reached down and I could smell the Dentyne on his breath as he wrestled the cheap gun from under the kid’s hand and chucked it into the nearby gutter. He stood up with that smile and looked down at me.
“Now you’re in control, Freeman,” he said. “Now you’re in control.”
CHAPTER 5
W hen I woke up in the chaise, a pair of small blue eyes was staring into my face, topped by a mop of blond hair. I blinked and focused and when I raised my hand to wipe away whatever look I was holding on my face, the boy from the shower turned and ran.
I took a couple of minutes to orient myself, caught some bits of the dream still behind my eyes and then checked my watch. I’d been asleep two hours. I needed to get on to Billy’s. I shaved and showered, dressed in khakis and a white un-ironed oxford shirt and slipped on my Docksides. The cab of my pickup truck still held the heat of the day so I kicked the A.C. up and pulled out, heading north on A1A. Though the trip to Billy’s apartment building would be faster on I-95, I tried to avoid that craziness of high-speed tailgaters and opted for an occasional glimpse of ocean between the mansions and condos, even at the expense of hitting dozens of traffic lights.
When I got to the twelve-story Atlantic Towers, I pulled directly into the front visitor’s lot. Twenty-four spaces, all of them filled. As I inched down the row, the burp in the pattern of parked Acuras, Lexuses and high-end SUVs was a sedan that had backed into a spot. The driver was sitting behind the wheel. I stopped my truck and looked at the man, wondering if he was getting ready to leave. He pulled down his sunshade and waved me on. I could tell only that he was white, from the
The kid reacted to the pain by squirming, but I put my own knee into the middle of his back and pushed his face into the asphalt with one hand while using the other on my radio.
“This is Freeman. My runner is in custody,” I said, then had to catch my breath and look around. “Uh, corner of South and Thirteenth.”
Hector had smartened up and quit struggling when the headlights of a car caught us from the north and stopped. I squinted into the brightness and heard the car door slam.
“Goddamn, Freeman. What kinda squirrelly animal you got there?”
When the uniform and the face stepped up I recognized Patrolman O’Shea. He was too handsome to be a real cop, and every time I saw him he had a bemused look on his Irish face.
“You on the perimeter, O’Shea?”
“Yeah. Heard on the tack that you had something going, Freeman.”
I clipped my radio and took my handcuffs off my belt. O’Shea leaned in.
“Hey, it’s good ole Hector down there. How you doin’, boy?” he said, and then I felt and heard the patrolman kick the kid hard underneath me.
“Nasty-looking angle on that leg bone, Hector,” O’Shea said. “Guess you won’t be running too much in the yard over at Greaterford.”
Hector sucked at his teeth in pain and whispered something about someone’s madre. O’Shea cocked his boot.
“Hey, I got him, O’Shea,” I said. “I got him under control here.”
The words had barely cleared my mouth when the crack of gunfire sounded in the distance down South Street. O’Shea and I both looked up and stared out into the pools of shadow and light. Within seconds I caught a glimpse of spinning blue lights and heard the swell of sirens. I’d paid little attention to the movement of the kid below me and was just fumbling with the radio when I sensed O’Shea step forward and bark: “You little bastard!”
Hector cried out and I looked back to see a polished boot crushing the kid’s hand into a small .38 caliber pistol he’d pulled from somewhere. I dug my knee harder into his back and heard the bones in his hand crack like a crab shell as O’Shea put all of his weight into it. He then reached down and I could smell the Dentyne on his breath as he wrestled the cheap gun from under the kid’s hand and chucked it into the nearby gutter. He stood up with that smile and looked down at me.
“Now you’re in control, Freeman,” he said. “Now you’re in control.”
CHAPTER 5
W hen I woke up in the chaise, a pair of small blue eyes was staring into my face, topped by a mop of blond hair. I blinked and focused and when I raised my hand to wipe away whatever look I was holding on my face, the boy from the shower turned and ran.
I took a couple of minutes to orient myself, caught some bits of the dream still behind my eyes and then checked my watch. I’d been asleep two hours. I needed to get on to Billy’s. I shaved and showered, dressed in khakis and a white un-ironed oxford shirt and slipped on my Docksides. The cab of my pickup truck still held the heat of the day so I kicked the A.C. up and pulled out, heading north on A1A. Though the trip to Billy’s apartment building would be faster on I-95, I tried to avoid that craziness of high-speed tailgaters and opted for an occasional glimpse of ocean between the mansions and condos, even at the expense of hitting dozens of traffic lights.
When I got to the twelve-story Atlantic Towers, I pulled directly into the front visitor’s lot. Twenty-four spaces, all of them filled. As I inched down the row, the burp in the pattern of parked Acuras, Lexuses and high-end SUVs was a sedan that had backed into a spot. The driver was sitting behind the wheel. I stopped my truck and looked at the man, wondering if he was getting ready to leave. He pulled down his sunshade and waved me on. I could tell only that he was white, from the
Similar Books
