Random Victim (22 page)

He leaned against the wall of a nearby garage so he could keep an eye on things. There was no movement that he could see in
the apartment. No lights, either. But it was still pretty early. He glanced at his watch. Quarter after four. Christ, where
the hell was Ryan? On his way, hopefully.

Leal took out his cell phone to call and check, but the LoBatt light was on. Shit, thought Leal. It figures. Nothing was going
right. He put the phone back in his jacket pocket and blew out a slow breath.

He’s got to be on his way, Leal thought. He’d let Ollie take a break next. She probably had to take a leak, too, and couldn’t
go standing in the alley like he could. The first rule of being a good sergeant was taking care of your people.

The slight chill in the air made him snap the buttons of his windbreaker. The hot, humid weather that had held on all summer
long and for most of September had suddenly vanished, and an autumnlike coolness was descending. Like March, only in reverse.
Getting colder now instead of warmer. Then the real cold would start. But this one would have to be wrapped up long before
that. Their informal deadline, the November election, was only a few weeks away. By that time he’d most likely know how this
thing with Sharon would turn out, too.

Murphy was gone for a good forty-five minutes. When he returned Leal was waiting to chew his ass out royally.

“Sorry, Sarge,” Murphy said, wiping his thick mustache with a Burger King napkin. “But, Christ, I didn’t think this was gonna
take so long. I didn’t eat much at lunch, remember?’

Leal nodded.

“Well, now that you’re fed, get ready to stay in position until Ryan gets here with the warrant.”

“Any idea how much longer it’ll be?”

Leal shook his head. “As long as it takes.” He eyed the heavyset patrolman. “You got your vest?”

“Yeah, it’s in the trunk.”

“Well get it on, then,” Leal said. “I want you to be ready in case anything goes down. We might have to hit that door in a
hurry. And give me your cell phone. Mine’s dead.”

“Okay, boss,” Murphy said. His big mustache drooped over his upper lip. “Hmm, looks like mine’s dead, too.”

Hart reluctantly agreed to go grab something to eat, leaving Leal sitting on the curbside. She said she’d go pick up food
for both of them and be back as soon as possible. He told her to call or page Ryan, too, and find out his ETA. She gave him
a smile and a nod as she sped off. Leal leaned against the telephone pole and watched a group of Hispanic youths, boys and
girls, walking down the street with a boom box. They spoke in a mixture of Spanish and English, and he could tell by their
accents that they were Puerto Ricans. One guy glanced at him as they went by and Leal noted the twin teardrops tattooed on
his left cheek.

Gangbanger asshole, Leal thought. But at least he didn’t feel too out of place—What was it that idiot director had called
him when they were filming that stupid campaign commercial? That swarthy-looking Latino type. He grinned and made a mental
note to try and get a tape of it from the sheriff’s campaign manager.

Hart was gone for fifteen minutes. The parking space that they’d had before got taken by a yuppie-looking guy who parked his
Ford Mustang and made a show of hitting his alarm as he walked away. Luckily Hart pulled into another spot farther up the
block that gave them an even better view. Leal strolled down and slipped in the passenger seat. She handed him a bag and a
medium drink cup.

“What’d you get?” he asked.

“Chicken sandwiches and iced tea.” She had the remnants of a half-eaten one on a piece of paper on her lap.

“You must be starving to eat this kind of crap.”

“Too hungry not to get something,” she said. “After all, I am a big girl. Just don’t tell Rory I broke my diet.”

“You get ahold of Ryan?” Leal asked, taking a bite of the sandwich.

She shook her head as she chewed.

“He didn’t answer. I paged him to your cell phone.”

“Shit, my battery’s out.”

“Oh no,” she said. “Sorry.”

“No sweat. I should’ve told you. But he must be on his way by now. Let’s get our vests on and get ready.”

The streetlights were glowing at eight and it seemed about as dark as it was going to get. Leal was repeating his umpteenth
curse of that asshole Ryan when they heard the thunderous roar of a powerful motorcycle engine.

“Sounds like a Harley,” Leal said, trying to slip down in the seat.

They saw a slim figure with straggly blond hair blowing away from his face shoot by them. The motorcyclist slowed directly
in front of the apartment building, angled the Harley in a semicircle, and then managed to sandwich it between two parked
cars. He looked around warily, then bounced up over the curb, across the parkway and sidewalk, and toward the three-flat.

“That’s got to be him,” Leal said, bringing the radio to his lips as the cycle disappeared between the buildings. “Murphy?”

No response. They waited a few more minutes.

“Frank, looks like a light just came on in the third-floor apartment,” Hart said.

“Murphy,” Leal repeated into the radio. He glanced up at the third floor. A translucent glare of lights could be seen through
the front picture window. “I’d better see what the son of a bitch is doing back there.”

Leal got out and walked slowly around the end of the block. When he was sure that he was out of the line of sight of Snake’s
apartment, he ran back to where Murphy was parked.

The unmarked was there, idling. Murphy’s head was leaning against the headrest in repose. His pendulous jowls quivered as
he snapped awake when Leal slammed the flat of his hand against Murphy’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?” he said.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” said Leal.

Murphy breathed rapidly through his mouth several times before stammering out a profuse apology, culminating with, “I didn’t
get much sleep last night, Sarge.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck how much sleep you didn’t get,” Leal said. “The asshole just got home. And answer me on the fucking
radio next time I call you.” He pointed his finger in Murphy’s face. “Got it?”

Instead of walking back around the way he’d come, Leal went straight east down the alley so he could pass by the rear garage
of Snake’s place. He gave a quick sideways glance as he passed. No lights on in the rear of the apartment that he could see.
Continuing, he circled the block. There were enough recesses and thick telephone poles in the alley to provide good cover
if he had to go there on foot. He reviewed his mental notes of the area as he crossed over to the opposite side of the street,
making his way back to Hart.

“That asshole was sleeping,” he said slipping in.

“Sleeping? What the hell’s wrong with that man?”

“I don’t know, but I read him the riot act. I’ll write his ass up later. Right now I just wish that damn Ryan would get here.”

Another hour passed, with nothing much happening. The lights in the front of the house were still on. Leal tried to call Ryan
on the regular radio several more times, but couldn’t raise him. He didn’t even know if he was in range of any repeating stations.
The activity in the neighborhood had increased slightly as teenagers came home from dates and people drifted back from the
bars. Then it dropped off. Several more groups of kids wandered by, some on Rollerblades, others in groups, but they seemed
to scatter when a Joliet patrol car drove down the block.

Still no Ryan, and no warrant.

Murphy checked in, asking if he could go call to see what the holdup was.

“Negative,” Leal said into the radio. “That fat-ass son of a bitch…”

“At least we know he’s awake.”

Leal sighed and looked at Hart, her profile intent on the building, her arms stretched forward, hands clenching the steering
wheel. Suddenly she turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows.

“What?” she said.

He looked at her questioningly.

“You were staring at me,” she said. “I was just wondering why.”

“Oh, you’re the best scenery around here.”

She smiled. “You’re just lucky I’m not big into sexual harassment filings, or you’d be in trouble for saying something like
that.”

“Yeah, that’s me, all right. Always putting my foot in my mouth. You need to take another break?”

“No, I’m okay. Plus, I don’t want to miss anything. This is my first search warrant. Besides, Ryan’ll be here any minute now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Woman’s intuition.”

“The vest bothering you?”

“I’m okay.” She looked quickly back at the building. “Frank, I thought I saw movement at the window.”

Leal scanned the apartment but saw nothing. He raised the radio to his lips and spoke into it. “Murphy, anything moving back
there?” Leal called him again, but there was no reply. “Goddamn him. If he’s sleeping again, I’ll have his fucking badge.”

“You want me to go check?” Hart asked.

“No, I’ll go.” Leal forced himself to pull up on the door handle slowly, instead of ripping it open like he wanted to do.
He got out and trotted around to the alley, expecting to find Murphy dozing again. He was doubly shocked when he didn’t see
the car at all.

“Ollie,” Leal said into the radio. “Murphy’s gone. He must have changed locations or something. I’m going to set up back here.”

“Okay, Frank.”

The twin streetlights at either end of the alley provided enough ambient lighting to make him moderately visible to anyone
looking down from the apartments. Continuing onward down the alley, Leal stopped by a telephone pole and pretended like he
was urinating. While he was doing so, he glanced around, hoping to appear as the late returnee from the bars, pausing to water
the weeds after drinking one too many beers.

More lights burning up on the third floor, especially toward the back. A shaggy-haired silhouette appeared in the window,
and Leal flattened against the wall. When the shadow disappeared, Leal moved over to the adjacent garage, stopping behind
another telephone pole. He strained his ears and heard some sort of muffled sounds. But what were they? He whispered into
the radio.

“Ollie, something might be going down soon. Get ready.”

Leal took out his weapon and listened again. Someone was huffing and puffing coming down the wooden stairs in back. Was it
Snake? Christ, thought Leal. He may be just going out for shits and giggles to score some dope. He glanced at the shadowy
figure again. Or he may have the fucking evidence with him. Without knowing the status of the damn warrant, I could be stepping
on my dick big time.

Crouching in the alley Leal heard the scuffling sound of footsteps coming down the sidewalk toward him. The garage between
him and whoever it was gave him cover, but it also made it impossible to see.

“Ollie,” Leal whispered into the radio. “Move up in front and cover the motorcycle. He might be trying to book outta here.”

Hart clicked a reply.

Leal heard the squealing of hinges on the side door of the garage. No lights came on inside. A car door opened. He listened
intently, leaning sideways against the telephone pole to keep out of sight. A starter ground and an engine came to life. The
overhead door of the garage swung upward.

It’s now or never, Leal thought. If he does have evidence, then it’ll be totally lost if he leaves now. Twisting on his Minimag
flashlight, Leal ran forward. Goddamn that fucking Murphy. If he’d been there they could have blocked the asshole in.

Leal was suddenly illuminated by the twin headlights of a van. The vehicle began to pull out of the garage, the driver’s door
still cracked open. It was Willard, all right. He’s getting out to shut the overhead door, Leal thought, running now, reaching
for the driver’s door, and wrenching it all the way open. “Ollie, get back here!” he yelled into his radio. Then to Willard,
“Police, don’t move.”

The van lurched forward. The flashlight fell from Leal’s hand as he made a frantic grab through the open window at the driver.
His fingers managed to snare a handful of shirt, but the van began to accelerate. Leal had a sudden fear of being crushed
against the telephone pole. He twisted and pulled the shirt, trying to pull Willard out of the car. Leal’s side slammed hard
against the door, closing it.

“Lemme go, motherfucker!” Snake grunted. He clawed at Leal’s face and arm.

Leal felt his feet leave the ground and knew he was dead if the van got moving or bumped against something. He pulled the
shirt again, feeling the slender body lift up from the seat. Snake’s head banged against the door frame. It was enough to
cause a lull in the acceleration. Gaining purchase with his feet momentarily, Leal shoved the Beretta at Snake’s face, the
butt of the weapon glancing off his head. The van slowed, impelled only by the automatic transmission. Leal pulled him almost
completely out the window. The van rolled forward and Snake cried out, then gurgled, as Leal’s fingers curled around the skinny
neck. Suddenly the vehicle smacked into the adjacent telephone pole, coming to such an abrupt stop that Leal was thrown to
the ground. He got up immediately, reaching forward and grabbing at Snake, who was frantically scrambling to get back in the
driver’s seat.

“Police, hold it, motherfucker!” Leal shouted again, managing this time to reach through and grab for the keys with his left
hand. Their fingers fought for a moment, then Leal grasped the gearshift lever and pulled it back and up, shoving the van
into park. His hand caught Snake’s neck and he brought the Berretta up to the other man’s left eye, letting the extended barrel
loom in front of him.

“Give it up or die,” Leal said.

Hart suddenly was on the passenger side, pointing her gun at Snake also.

“Police, don’t move,” she said.

Snake’s eyes worked over toward her, and he tensed for a moment before going limp.

“Move again and I’ll blow your fucking head off, ass-hole,” Leal said.

Hart came around and they pulled Snake’s arms up and tugged him through the window. He didn’t resist and fell to the alley
with a resounding plop. When his body hit, he made a few attempts to squirm away, but Leal brought his knee and the full weight
of his body down on Snake’s lower back. They twisted his arms behind him, and Hart ratcheted her cuffs over the thin wrists
and he was secured.