``How bad?'' Lucas shouted at Stadic.
``Nothing. Hit the backing plate in the vest,'' Stadic said, getting to his feet. ``He's a good fuckin' shot.'' He broke the arrow off and they moved forward again, found a puddle of blood, and some blood spatter. ``You hit him,'' the uniform cop said.
``Maybe you,'' Lucas said.
``Naw, I couldn't see bullshit, was just shooting 'cause I was scared.'' He looked around and said, ``Maybe we ought to wait until daylight. He can't be far. He ain't going anywhere, he was already bleeding before you hit him.''
``I want him,'' Lucas said. He put the handset to his face and told the dispatcher that the three had broken up, two apparently together, the third hurt bad. He gave the location and said, ``We're following up.''
``There are people coming straight into that block,'' the dispatcher said. ``You're heading right into them. We've got guys with armor coming up, so take it easy...''
WHEN THEY SPLIT UP, SANDY HAD RUN ON AHEAD, LaChaise trailing her by fifty feet, with Martin hobbling behind. They ran a block, LaChaise catching Sandy, then a red Ford stopped at an intersection ahead of them. Sirens were coming from all directions: the Ford wasn't moving. Without breaking stride, LaChaise swerved behind it, jerked open the passenger-side door, and pointed his pistol at the driver: ``Freeze, motherfucker.''
The driver instinctively stepped on the brake, and LaChaise was inside, his gun in the redheaded kid's face. Sandy, when she saw LaChaise turn toward the car, dropped back a few steps. When he jerked open the car door, she turned and ranthe other way. When LaChaise turned back, she was gone in the snow.
``Fuck it, fuck it...'' LaChaise pointed his pistol at the redheaded driver: ``Take off. Slow. Go, go...''
He slid to his knees in the passenger-side foot well, his head below the level of the dash, the pistol pointed at the kid's chest. They went a block, then the driver said, ``No,'' and swerved, and they hit something, and LaChaise yelled, ``Motherfucker,'' and the driver put his hands up to ward off the bullet.
But LaChaise levered himself up, and the kid babbled, ``They almost hit us...'' and LaChaise saw the two cars- a cop car and a four-by-four-disappearing down the street.
``Go,'' he said to the kid. ``That way. Down toward the dome.''
SANDY FOUND AN ALLEY AND STUCK WITH IT, LOPING along behind the apartment buildings. LaChaise had told her, teasing, that if she turned herself into the wrong cop, she was dead. True enough: she had his picture, but not his name.
And he'd be looking for her. Her best option, she thought, was to find a phone and call Davenport.
Now, if she could find someplace open. But what would be open at seven o'clock on a day like this? The city was a wilderness, the snow pelting down in buckets. She stepped out in the open, then back into the dark as a car roared by, then into the open again to look down the street. There was light on the side of the Metrodome. If she could get in there, there'd be lots of phones. She started that way.
LUCAS, STADIC AND THE UNIFORMED COP MOVED slowly up the blood trail, peering into the dark, starting at every shadow; the uniform fired once into a snowblower as it sat beside a house; Lucas nearly nailed a gate, as it trembledin the blowing snow. They shouted back and forth to reassure each other, and to pressure the bleeding man. Keep him moving; don't let him think about it.
MARTIN FIGURED HE WAS DYING, BUT HE WASN'T FEELING much pain. Nor was he feeling much cold. He was reasonably comfortable, for a man who'd torn open a thigh wound and had taken a gunshot hit in the butt. The butt shot had come in from the side, and nearly knocked him down. But he kept moving, feeling the blood running down his legs. He'd have to stop soon, he thought dreamily. He was running out of blood; that's probably why he felt so good. The shock was ganging up on him, and pretty soon, things would start shutting down.
One more shot with the bow, then he'd dump it. And when they came in again, for the last time, he'd go to work with the AR-15. His final little surprise, he thought, and grinned to himself.
LUCAS HIT THE GROUND NEXT TO A BRIDAL-WREATH hedge. A handful of snow splashed up in his face, and he snorted and tried to see past the corner of the apartment building, thrusting his.45 that way. He could feel Bunne's blood on the pistol stock, a tacky patina that'd be hard to get off. ``Go,'' he yelled, and the uniform went past and immediately screamed and went down, and Lucas flopped beside him, thought he saw movement, and fired, and the cop was screaming, ``Got me, he got me...''
Lucas pulled him back. The arrow was sticking out of the cop's leg, just above the knee: it had apparently hit the bone square on, and was stuck in it. ``Gonna be okay,'' Lucas said, and yelled at Stadic, ``Stay back, forget it, just hold your ground.'' He called for another ambulance on the handset and asked Dispatch, ``Where's the help?''
``They oughta be right ahead of you, they're all over that block.''
``You can't see the guy,'' Lucas sputtered. ``You can't see him in the snow...''
Stadic hunched up beside him. ``What do you want to do?''
``Hold it here for a minute. Get the ambulance...?''
The uniformed cop picked up on it. ``Where's the fuckin' ambulance... ''
An ambulance swung in behind them, and Stadic turned and ran back to wave it down.
``One more push,'' Lucas said. He spoke at the downed cop, but he was talking to himself. He got halfway to his knees, then launched into a short dash and dropped behind another hedge. Up ahead, powerful lights were breaking out around the block, and, behind the lights, he sensed moving figures.
``Davenport,'' he yelled.
``Where are you?''
``Straight ahead; I think he's between us...''
And somebody else shouted, ``We don't know that's Davenport, watch it, watch it...''
Then Lucas saw Martin. He'd been hunkered into the side of a shabby old apartment, next to a line of garbage cans. He broke across toward the next apartment, and Lucas shouted, ``There he is,'' and fired two quick shots, missing.
``He's coming around the apartment, look that way, he's coming around, watch it...''
And one second later, the lightning-stutter of the AR-15 lit up the back side of the apartment. Lucas half-ran that way, aware of the slipperiness underfoot, the shotgun already at his shoulder, leading the way. The automatic fire stopped before he was halfway there, then started again with a fresh clip. Glass was breaking, more cops were firing. Lucas reached the corner and peeked.
MARTIN WAS FIFTEEN FEET AWAY, IN AN ALLEYWAY stairwell. On his right, he was protected by the building. Ahead of him, and to his left, all along the length of a vacant lot, cop cars blocked the route. The cops were returning fire, but they didn't know he was below the level of the stairwell wall. With the snow, they probably couldn't see anything but the muzzle flash.
He crouched for a second, then popped up and fired another burst at one of the cars, aiming low, figuring the cops would be behind it.
LUCAS SAID TO THE HANDSET, ``TELL EVERYBODY TO cease fire. Cease fire, for Christ's sakes, you're gonna kill me. I got him if you can make them cease fire.''
Three seconds later, he heard yelling on the other side of the street, and the fire diminished. He peeked at the corner again. Martin had reloaded, and was about to pop up again, to hose down the line of cars.
Lucas shouted, ``Freeze!''
Martin turned, and his mouth dropped open. He posed like that for an instant, looking at the shotgun, then said, ``Fuck you,'' and the AR came around. Lucas waited for a microsecond longer than he should have, then shot Martin in the head.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LUCAS YELLED, ``GOT HIM,'' STEPPED OUT AND WAVED, and a line of cops broke toward him. He stepped through the snow and down the steps to the body. Most of the top of Martin's head was gone, but his face looked almost placid, his eyes closed, his lips turned up in a not-quite smile.
There was little point to it-he was dead-but out of reflex Lucas patted the body, felt the solidity of the body armor under the coat. And something else. A pistol, Lucas t
hought, but when he touched it, it was rectangular and he slipped it out of Martin's pocket just as Stadic arrived at the top of the stairs.
``He's dead?''
Lucas said, ``Yeah,'' and stood up, a cell phone in his hand. Where'd they get it? Probably a street buy. He frowned at the phone, then stepped up the stairs toward Stadic: ``Watch the muzzle,'' he said. Stadic's shotgun muzzle had drifted toward him as Stadic peered down the stairwell to Martin. ``One down, one to go.''
``One?'' Stadic asked. ``What about the woman?''
``She's been talking to us. We're not sure about her status,'' Lucas said.
``Okay.'' Stadic nodded, and he thought: Shit. They're gonna talk with her.
Lucas brushed past him on the way up the stairs and said, ``So let's find them.''
The line of cops arrived and Lucas shouted, ``There're two more. They're headed up the street toward the dome...''
A PATROL LIEUTENANT TROTTED OVER AND THEY BEGAN talking search techniques, and whether they should put it off until light: Lucas wanted to keep the pressure on. Stadic watched them as they talked. Lucas still had the phone in his hand, then unconsciously stuck it in his coat pocket. Had to get it. Stadic stared at the pocket. Had to get it, had to get it, had to get it... the chant rang through his mind like a mantra.
``Come on,'' Lucas called to him. Stadic, jolted back to the present, said, ``I'm here,'' and Lucas clapped him on the back and led the way back behind the building. He was six feet ahead, unsuspecting. Stadic had the shotgun: and there were more cops everywhere. But the temptation... an accident.
Nobody would believe it.
Had to get him alone. He had a piece-of-shit Davis.380 in his pocket. A piece of shit but it'd do the job, but he had to have him alone. Alone with either LaChaise or the woman would be best... But Christ, who knew what would happen in that chase?
Davenport was electric, animated, and if you didn't know what was going on, you might think Happy. Stadic thought about the arrows coming out of the snow, silent razors in the dark, the whack in the chest. If it'd been eight inches higher, it'd have carved a hole right through his throat and he'd belying in the street with a plastic bag over his face. He shuddered, and followed Davenport.
THE SEARCH GOT UNDER WAY. GROUPS OF COPS SWEPT the streets, parking lots and yards inside a perimeter thrown up in the first few minutes after finding LaChaise's location. Any house that showed fresh tracks was approached, the door banged on, the occupants asked and warned. But there were few of them this early in the day.
Lucas stayed along Eleventh, the billowing top of the dome a few blocks straight ahead, like the Pillsbury Doughboy's butt. Then a uniformed cop who'd lost his hat and gloves, his blond hair soaked with snow, his hands white as ice, ran up and said, ``We've f-f-f-found a line of t-t-t-tracks. Small tracks, a woman or a kid, and whoever it was kept stopping behind b-bushes and around c-corners...''
``That's her,'' Lucas said. ``Show me the way.''
They ran off together, Stadic a few steps behind. Four uniformed guys with flashlights and shotguns were leapfrogging up the track, which wandered through the maze of old houses, apartments, small brick businesses and parking lots. They were moving quickly, but nervously: everybody'd heard about the arrows. They were staying out of the trail, and Lucas stopped, just a moment, to look at it. ``Looks the same,'' he said to Stadic.
``Yeah, gotta be her,'' Stadic said.
They ran harder, caught up with the uniforms. Lucas said, ``Listen up, guys, this woman has been talking to us. She actually called in and left the phone off the hook so we could follow it in to the apartment. We gotta be a little careful, but I don't think she's dangerous.''
``G-g-g-good,'' chattered the bareheaded cop. ``I'm fffuckin' freezing.''
``Well, Jesus, go get some clothes on,'' Lucas said. And to the others, ``Come on...''
They ran along the track, and as they approached a cross street, saw cops ahead. A spotlight beam broke down toward them, and the uniforms waved their flashlights.
``She broke the perimeter before we set up,'' Lucas said. ``That means LaChaise probably did, too.''
He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out first the cell phone, then his handset, and said into the handset, ``The woman's outside the perimeter... we've got to spread it. The woman's outside for sure, LaChaise probably.''
He thrust the phone and handset back in his pocket and they ran along again, the cop cars behind them squealing in circles and then heading out to new positions. The larger the square got, the thinner the cops would be: but cops were pouring in from everywhere, from Hennepin County, from St. Paul. No ordinary dog hunt.
As they followed on the trail, Lucas said, ``You know what? She's going to the dome.''
``You think?'' Stadic asked.
``She's trying to find a phone,'' Lucas said. He took the handset out again, and relayed the idea to Dispatch. ``Get her through to me if she calls.''
The streets were getting wider as they got closer to downtown, and then they lost the track: she'd turned into a clearedoff street.
``Still bet it's the dome,'' Lucas said. ``Tell you what,'' he said to Stadic and two of the uniforms, ``you guys go that way, we'll go this way, push both sides of that apartment. But I bet she headed for the dome. I'll see you on the other side and we'll go on over.''
``All right.''
They split up, and Lucas and the other uniform headed off to the left. As they approached the apartment, Lucas thoughtof the cellular phone, took it out, then the handset and called Dispatch. ``Get somebody at the phone company. I need a number I can call where they can trace a cell phone. I'll call them on the cell phone, and I want them to figure out the number, and then give me a list of calls billed from the phone... who's at the numbers. Got that?''
``Got it.''
They pushed around the apartment, found nothing but pristine snow. Stadic was waiting on the other side, and they all looked over at the dome.
``Let's go,'' Lucas said, but as he was about to step off the curb, Dispatch called. ``That was fast,'' he said.
``Lucas, Lucas...''
``Yeah?''
``LaChaise...'' The dispatcher was sputtering. ``LaChaise is at the University Hospitals.''
``Oh, shit.''
Lucas look around wildly, spotted a cop car, waved at it, started running toward it, barely heard the dispatcher, ``Got your wife...''
``What?'' he yelled into the handset. And to Stadic: ``Stay with her, stay with Darling.''
He ran toward the squad car, and as the car stopped and the window came down, Lucas shouted, ``Pop the back door, pop the back.''
The driver popped the back door and Lucas dove inside and shouted, ``University Hospitals, go, go...'' And to the handset, ``What about Weather? What about Weather?''
``They think he might... have her.''
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE KID BEGAN TO CRY AS THEY PASSED THE METRODOME, and when LaChaise yelled at him, told him to shut up, he simply cried harder, holding on to the top of the steering wheel with both hands, tears pouring down his face.
LaChaise finally pushed himself up into the seat beside him and pointed the way: down to Washington, right, around a curve to a lighted sign that said several things, but concluded with ``Jesus Saves,'' down a ramp and onto a covered bridge.
``Shut up, for Christ's sakes, you do this right, I won't hurt you.''
``I know you,'' the kid said, ``you're gonna kill me.''
``I ain't gonna fuckin' kill you if you do right; I got no quarrel with you.''
But the kid started up again and LaChaise said, ``Jesus Christ,'' in disgust, and they rolled off the bridge past the beer-can building, up the hill to Harvard Street.
``Turn,'' LaChaise said. The kid stopped weeping long enough to get around the corner, and before he could startagain, LaChaise said, ``Go straight ahead to that turnaround and then stop.''
``You gonna kill me there?''
``I'm not gonna fuckin' kill you, unless you get smart,'' LaChaise sai
d. ``Just stop there and let me out, and go on your way.''
There were a half-dozen people on the street, coming and going from the hospital, slip-sliding down the sidewalks. Operations took place early in the morning. LaChaise had had two operations himself, for an appendix and to get a skin patch put over a bad case of road rash, and both times, they'd woken him up at dawn for the trip down to the operating room.
``Right there,'' he said, ``behind that red Chevy.''
The kid pulled in behind the Chevy, and LaChaise eased himself out, the backs of his legs on fire. The kid was looking at the gun and LaChaise grinned at him and dug into his jeans, found the remnant of the cash they'd taken from Harp, pulled out the wad of bills and threw it on the passenger seat. A couple of thousand dollars, anyway. ``Thanks for the ride,'' he said, and he stepped away from the car and slammed the door, and walked up to the hospital entrance.