Hammerman spoke to the DATF detectives in a tone too low for Jake to hear. Nodding and pointing around the bar, they answered his questions in the same manner. Hammerman stepped closer to Jake. “Detective Helman.”
“Hammerman.” Jake’s voice sounded hoarse, and he swallowed as Fred Flinstone joined Hammerman. Cognizant that he still had shakedown cash and cocaine in his pocket, he wondered if they heard his heart pounding in his chest.
“This is Inspector Klein,” Hammerman said, gesturing to his partner.
Jake nodded at Klein, who stared at him with his game face on.
Thump-thump-thump
…
“Do you need to see a doctor?” Hammerman said.
Jake felt sweat trickling down his temples. “No, I’m good.”
“Then how about walking us through this?”
“Sure.” Jake slid off the bar stool, the walls tilting around him. He teetered to one side and regained his balance, his chest tightening. The smell of copper rose from the bodies on the floor and he fought the urge to vomit. As he told his story, he pointed at the spots on the floor from which he and the robbers had exchanged gunfire. The Inspectors listened without taking notes or interrupting. When Jake had finished, Hammerman took a plastic bag from his coat pocket and held it out to him.
“You know the drill, Helman. We need your gun.”
With a trembling hand, Jake eased his Glock from its holster. The gun felt heavier empty than it had loaded. Ejecting its spent magazine, he showed Hammerman the gun’s vacant chamber, then deposited both pieces into the bag, which Hammerman sealed.
“Are you ready to give us your statement?”
“Sure,” Jake said without conviction.
Handing the evidence bag to Klein, Hammerman reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“Jake!”
All heads turned as Edgar hurried away from the Recorder with a concerned expression on his face. His gait slowed as he gazed at the bloody corpses on the floor, but he did not stop to gawk. Stepping before Jake, he gave his partner’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“You okay?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, but you look as white as a ghost.”
“At least with me it’s only a temporary condition.” Edgar fired a sideways glance at the Inspectors. “They confiscate your gun?”
“It’s procedure,” Hammerman said, handing his card to Jake. “Meet us at IAB at 1430 hours.”
Two-thirty, Jake thought, focusing on the card. He had less than two hours to pull himself together.
As Hammerman and Klein circled the corpses in opposite directions, Edgar surveyed the damage behind the bar. “You don’t play. It looks like the O.K. Corral in here.”
Jake took his notepad out of his pocket and tore out a page, which he handed to Edgar.
“What’s this?”
“The rundown on Shannon Reynolds’s hangouts. The roommate even wrote down some of the bartenders’ names.”
Edgar skimmed the list, then glanced at his watch. “The bars have been open for half an hour. I need to move on this.”
“Sorry I won’t be able to help.”
Edgar pocketed the list. “You’ll do anything to get out of a little legwork, won’t you?”
Jake grunted. “Does L.T. know I’m jammed up?”
Edgar nodded. “I was in his office when the call came in.”
Jake looked at Dread and Baldy. Their skin had turned purplish gray. He needed a cigarette.
After Edgar had departed, Jake ducked beneath the crime scene tape stretched across the entrance. The crisp air revived his senses, and in the afternoon sunlight he winced at the crowd of spectators gathered on the sidewalk: hard-bodied men and women, many of them wearing police uniforms.
The lunch crowd
, he thought, taking a deep breath. Only a few of the intense faces looked familiar. Their silent attention caused his stomach to knot up. Were they pissed that they had to drink somewhere else on their breaks? A patrolwoman with a ponytail brought her hands together, and the others joined her. The applause grew louder and Jake felt himself
“Hammerman.” Jake’s voice sounded hoarse, and he swallowed as Fred Flinstone joined Hammerman. Cognizant that he still had shakedown cash and cocaine in his pocket, he wondered if they heard his heart pounding in his chest.
“This is Inspector Klein,” Hammerman said, gesturing to his partner.
Jake nodded at Klein, who stared at him with his game face on.
Thump-thump-thump
…
“Do you need to see a doctor?” Hammerman said.
Jake felt sweat trickling down his temples. “No, I’m good.”
“Then how about walking us through this?”
“Sure.” Jake slid off the bar stool, the walls tilting around him. He teetered to one side and regained his balance, his chest tightening. The smell of copper rose from the bodies on the floor and he fought the urge to vomit. As he told his story, he pointed at the spots on the floor from which he and the robbers had exchanged gunfire. The Inspectors listened without taking notes or interrupting. When Jake had finished, Hammerman took a plastic bag from his coat pocket and held it out to him.
“You know the drill, Helman. We need your gun.”
With a trembling hand, Jake eased his Glock from its holster. The gun felt heavier empty than it had loaded. Ejecting its spent magazine, he showed Hammerman the gun’s vacant chamber, then deposited both pieces into the bag, which Hammerman sealed.
“Are you ready to give us your statement?”
“Sure,” Jake said without conviction.
Handing the evidence bag to Klein, Hammerman reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“Jake!”
All heads turned as Edgar hurried away from the Recorder with a concerned expression on his face. His gait slowed as he gazed at the bloody corpses on the floor, but he did not stop to gawk. Stepping before Jake, he gave his partner’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“You okay?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, but you look as white as a ghost.”
“At least with me it’s only a temporary condition.” Edgar fired a sideways glance at the Inspectors. “They confiscate your gun?”
“It’s procedure,” Hammerman said, handing his card to Jake. “Meet us at IAB at 1430 hours.”
Two-thirty, Jake thought, focusing on the card. He had less than two hours to pull himself together.
As Hammerman and Klein circled the corpses in opposite directions, Edgar surveyed the damage behind the bar. “You don’t play. It looks like the O.K. Corral in here.”
Jake took his notepad out of his pocket and tore out a page, which he handed to Edgar.
“What’s this?”
“The rundown on Shannon Reynolds’s hangouts. The roommate even wrote down some of the bartenders’ names.”
Edgar skimmed the list, then glanced at his watch. “The bars have been open for half an hour. I need to move on this.”
“Sorry I won’t be able to help.”
Edgar pocketed the list. “You’ll do anything to get out of a little legwork, won’t you?”
Jake grunted. “Does L.T. know I’m jammed up?”
Edgar nodded. “I was in his office when the call came in.”
Jake looked at Dread and Baldy. Their skin had turned purplish gray. He needed a cigarette.
After Edgar had departed, Jake ducked beneath the crime scene tape stretched across the entrance. The crisp air revived his senses, and in the afternoon sunlight he winced at the crowd of spectators gathered on the sidewalk: hard-bodied men and women, many of them wearing police uniforms.
The lunch crowd
, he thought, taking a deep breath. Only a few of the intense faces looked familiar. Their silent attention caused his stomach to knot up. Were they pissed that they had to drink somewhere else on their breaks? A patrolwoman with a ponytail brought her hands together, and the others joined her. The applause grew louder and Jake felt himself
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