Detroit Combat by Randy Wayne White Page A

the way it is.”
    Hawker finished his beer and prepared to leave. He looked at McCarthy. “Paul, it has been a lovely evening. But I think I’d better go now before I lose my temper and tell Detective Riddock what a naive little airhead she really is.”
    Hastily the woman put her purse on the table and unzipped it. Hawker couldn’t quite believe it when she pulled out a nickel-plated .38 police special. She pointed it at Hawker. “You’re not going anywhere, mister. I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Solomon Goldblatz.”
    Hawker smiled his disbelief. “Because of what we said here tonight? Come on, lady, it’s your word against the two of us.”
    Just as calmly, she reached into her purse and produced a tiny tape recorder. The reels were turning. Detective Sergeant Claramae Riddock smiled. “Say what you want about me, Mr. Hawker, but I am no airhead.” She switched off the recorder. “Properly introduced, I think I have enough here to put you and McCarthy behind bars for a long, long while.…”

NINE
    Hawker found himself paying the bill for a woman who fully intended to send him to prison. It made him feel even more ridiculous.
    She put the gun away when McCarthy solemnly promised the two of them would accompany her peacefully to the station house. One by one they filed through the restaurant door. McCarthy looked at the vigilante and rolled his eyes as if to apologize. Hawker smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, Paul, that was the best steak I’ve ever had in my life.”
    He chuckled grimly. “If Annie Oakley there gets you sentenced to the electric chair, we’ll know just what to bring you for your last meal.”
    â€œThat’s a happy thought,” said Hawker. “I feel better already.”
    â€œAnd maybe we can share a cell!”
    â€œGee, what fun.”
    â€œI’ve always wanted to learn how to play the harmonica.”
    â€œI just changed my mind. I think I’m going to ask for a private cell.”
    â€œHow about the accordion?”
    â€œI’ll ask for a cell in a different time zone.”
    Behind them, Claramae Riddock said with sarcasm that held no humor, “You two men are a real credit to law enforcement. Keep on joking. Is there anything important enough for you to be serious about?”
    â€œI have a theory,” said McCarthy, ignoring the question. “I think one of the unacknowledged side effects of birth control pills is habitual nastiness. How else can the behavior of the modern woman be explained?”
    â€œWatch it,” said Hawker wryly. “She has a gun and doesn’t know how to use it.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œThe warning shot could be fatal.”
    A northwest wind had blown the smog away, and the December sky was clear and black and misty with stars. In the parking lot, fresh snow creaked beneath their feet, and their breath vaporized in gray plumes as they talked in the cold night. It was late; only a few cars remained in the lot.
    When they got to his Corvette, Hawker faced the woman. “So what’s the plan, Detective? Do you want Paul and me to follow you in, or are you going to radio for reinforcements?”
    Riddock didn’t smile. “Paul can drive himself. I’ll ride with you.”
    â€œYou trust him but you don’t trust me? Keep it up, Detective, and you’re really going to hurt my feelings.”
    â€œPaul grew up in Detroit; he has family here. There’s not much chance he’ll bolt. And if he does, we know where to find him. You’re a different story, Hawker. I’ll have a uniform give me a ride back to my car.”
    â€œAnd, once we’re alone, what’s to stop me from knocking you on the head and dumping you in a ditch?”
    The woman reached into her purse and produced the .38. “Hawker, don’t think for one minute I won’t use this if you make me. Get it