him.
Jack hustled up next to him.
The cop gulped in air. “Goddammit! I don’t know what the bell’s going
on, budd .” The cop again struggled to catch his
, y breath. He put one hand out against the wall to steady himself.
“Did you catch him?”
The cop nodded. “You were right.”
“What happened?”
“Go see for yourself. I’ve gotta call this in.” The cop straightened up
and pointed a warning finger at Jack. “But you are not. to leave. I’m
not explaining this one by myself and it sounds like maybe you know a
helluva lot more about this than you’re letting on. Understood?”
Jack nodded quickly. The cop hurried off. Jack walked around the corner.
Wait. The cop had told him to wait. Wait for them to arrest him. He
should bolt now. But he couldn’t.
He had to see who it was. He was certain he knew the guy.
He had to see.
Jack looked up ahead. This was a service way for Metro personnel and
equipment. In the darkness, far down the tunnel, there was a large
bundle of clothing. In the dim lighting Jack strained to see more
clearly. As he moved closer he saw that it was indeed the homeless man.
For a few moments Jack remained motionless. He wanted the cops to show
up. It was so quiet, so dark. The bundle did not move. Jack couldn’t
hear any breathing. Was the guy dead? Had the cop needed to kill him?
Finally, Jack moved forward. He knelt beside the man.
What an elaborate disguise. Jack moved his hand briefly across the
matted hair. Even the pungent odor of the street person was authentic.
And then Jack saw the stream of blood as it trickled down the side of
the man’s head. He moved the hair away. A cut was there, a deep one.
That was the sound he had heard. There had been a struggle and the cop
had hit him.
It was over. They had tried to trick Jack and gotten tripped up. He
wanted to remove the wig and other elements of disguise, to see who the
hell his pursuers had been. But that would have to wait. Maybe it was
good the police were now involved. He would give them the letter opener.
He’d take his chances with them.
He stood up, turned and watched the cop striding quickly up the
corridor. Jack shook his head. What a surprise this guy was about to
get. Chalk it up to being your lucky day, pal.
Jack moved toward the cop and then stopped as the 9mm swiftly came out
of the holster.
The cop glared at him. “Mr. Graham.”
Jack shrugged and smiled. The guy had finally identified him. “In the
flesh.” He held up the box. “I’ve got something for you.
“I know you do, Jack. And that’s exactly what I want.”
Tim Collin watched the smile fade from Jack’s lips. His hand tightened
on the trigger as he moved forward.
SETH FRANK COULD FEEL HIS PULSE OUICKEN AS HE DREW nearer to the
station. Finally, he would have it. He could envision Laura Simon
devouring the evidence like it was a slab of aged beef. And Frank was
almost one hundred percent certain they would score a hit on some
database, somewhere.
And then the case would crack open like an egg hurled from the Empire
State Building. And finally his questions, the nagging, nagging
questions would be answered.
JACK LOOKED AT THE FACE, ABSORBING EVERY DETAIL. NOT that it would do
him any good. He glanced over at the Crumpled clothing on the floor, at
the new shoes covering lifeless feet. Poor guy had probably wangled his
first new pair of shoes in ages and now would never enjoy them.
Jack looked back at Collin and said angrily, “The guy’s dead. You killed
him.”
%et me have the box, Jack.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“That really doesn’t matter, does it?” Collin flipped open a compartment
on his belt and pulled out a suppressor that he quickly twirled onto the
barrel of his gun.
Jack eyed the hardware pointed at his chest. He thought of the gurneys