Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (21 page)

“Danny,” Miguel said. “Hold up.” We paused. “You think he can hear us if he’s all the way down to the other end?”

“Seventy, seventy-five meters? Yeah. I’m sure of it.”

“Good. Let me try talking to him.” He turned and whispered, “Everybody make sure you’re hugging the wall.” Then he took a deep breath before yelling, “Laskin! Give it up! There’s no way out, and you’re blocked!”

For a response, we got a bright muzzle flash, probably fifty meters away, followed almost immediately by a loud buzz as a bullet whizzed past, then a huge boom
from the muzzle blast of the weapon itself.
The areaway was only ten feet wide, and the bullet passed right down the middle of us. If we hadn’t been hugging the wall before, we damn sure were now.

I turned to Miguel and Greg. “That was fun. But I’m beginning to think that there might be a better way to go about this. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starting to feel just a little exposed. If I remember right, there’s a stack of construction stuff ahead ten meters or so. I don’t want to shine my light on it. I think we can move up there and hold in place. While we’re doing that, we can send some guys back. They can go topside and run on down to the Sylvia Lyon Gallery. There, they can go downstairs and come in behind this son of a bitch, and then we’ll have him trapped.”

“You getting tired of drawing his fire?” Greg asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, just a little. But it’s not just that. I don’t think the guy has anywhere to go. It’s going to get more and more dangerous to squeeze all of us into a tinier spot. And it wouldn’t be too smart, either. We don’t need to force this.”

Greg nodded. “Good plan.” He turned and gave instructions to three of his men, who immediately turned around and headed back out the way we’d just come. Then he turned back to me. “It’s done. They’ll circle back and come out in fifteen minutes. Go ahead and lead us up to the cover. We’ll wait there.”

Suddenly, I heard banging coming from Laskin’s direction. “The hell is that?” Greg said.

“Sounds like he’s banging on a door. Good time for us to move up, while he’s busy.” I signaled to Doc, and we started moving. We’d only covered what I figured was about half the distance to the cover when Laskin fired two quick gunshots. Once again, the muzzle flashes brilliantly lit the areaway at his end. And once again, the bullets buzzed by me, followed by loud booms. But unlike last time, Toni gave a little yelp and immediately pitched forward facedown. And my heart stopped.

In a panic, I turned my light off and jumped across the areaway to Toni in a single motion. My ears were ringing, and my chest was filled with a cold dread. This
could not
be happening. Toni lay on the ground, dimly illuminated by the light of the man behind her. I reached her and crouched down. She moaned softly and tried to roll over. “Help me,” she gasped.

I got her turned over, then switched my light on while cupping my hand around the end and holding it low. “Toni,” I whispered. “Where are you hit?”

“Oh-h-h shit,” she said in pain. “I’m not hit.”

“What?”

“I’m not hit. I tripped over that
fucking
pipe when he fired! I think I must have broken my goddamned ankle. Son of a bitch, Danny—it hurts like hell!”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I whispered in relief, falling forward on her. I could literally feel my heartbeat begin to slow down. “I thought you’d been shot.”

She reached up and patted me on the head. Then she pushed. “I’m good. Get off me.”

I moved, but I stayed with her—there was no moving her out until Laskin was neutralized. I checked her ankle—thank God she was wearing her Doc Martens; at least they’d keep the swelling down. I wasn’t sure if the ankle was broken or simply sprained, but either way, Pri was going to have a new patient soon.

Not long afterward, Miguel and Greg called me back up front. “You got her?” I said to Doc.

He nodded. “Yeah. Go do your thing.” I leaned over and kissed Toni, then left her with Doc.

“Any minute now,” Greg said when I crouched beside him. “They’re going to signal us, and I have to answer. He turned to Miguel. “Much as I hate to suggest it, why don’t you try calling out to Laskin again?”

“Okay. Tell everyone to take cover.”

The whispered message went back down the line, and the men made themselves small against the walls.

“Laskin!” Miguel yelled. “C’mon—give it up! There’s nowhere to go! There’s no reason anyone needs to get hurt here!”

This time there was no answer, just silence. Miguel tried again, but still, there was no response.

“Maybe he’s trying to save ammo,” Greg said.

A minute later, I heard one long followed by two quick bangs against one of the doors somewhere down the areaway, possibly from Sylvia Lyon’s shop.

“That’s them,” Greg said. He gave his prearranged response—three quick bangs on the door next to him.

Immediately, a distant door swung open and light flooded the far end of the areaway.

A few seconds later, a voice called out, “We’re clear down here, boss!”

Laskin was definitely not down at that end.

“Let’s move,” I said. We moved out, more quickly now, our vision a little better because of the light. The team at Sylvia’s end poured into the areaway and, after checking the space behind them, started moving toward us. A moment later, their lights met ours and suddenly it was clear—the reason Laskin hadn’t answered the last call was simple. He was gone.

* * * *

“Where the hell did he go?” Miguel shouted.

“Check all the doors!” I yelled.

A moment later, someone yelled out, “Here! Over here! This one’s unlocked.”

I ran over. One of the empty spaces in the Lyon Building—the one two doors up from Carta Rarus—was indeed unlocked. I knew it was vacant, which meant that Mike would have locked it from the outside.

“Damn,” Miguel said. “I thought he was down farther than that. He must have snuck back up here.”

“Let’s open it,” Greg commanded. “Carefully.”

The SWAT team members took their places on either side of the door and, on Greg’s command, swung it open and burst inside. Almost immediately, they started yelling “Clear!”

I stepped in and flashed my light around. The space was completely empty. “Son of a bitch!” I said.

Miguel joined me. “He’s not in there, and he’s not out here. Who the hell was shooting at us?”

“Check the door up there!” I yelled, pointing to the door at the top of the stairs.

A SWAT team member raced up the stairs and tried it. “It’s locked!”

I looked up at the door and weighed the evidence. Laskin had been here. Now he wasn’t. All the areaway doors along the way were locked, except this one. The upstairs door was locked, but from the other side. There was only one possible explanation. “Damn!” I said. “That bastard snuck in here, ran up the stairs and locked the door behind him. Now he’s getting away topside!”

“There are cops all over the place up there,” Miguel said.

“Yeah, but they’re all looking the wrong way. They’re up on Second.” I looked around to get my bearings, then said, “We’ve got to follow him! Let’s just use the Lyons’s stairs.” I stepped back outside of the empty space and took a few steps toward Sylvia’s space when I noticed that the SWAT team hadn’t come through Sylvia’s door after all—they’d come through the Carta Rarus door next door.

“I thought your guys were going through the Lyon Gallery?” I said to Greg.

“We did.”

“No you didn’t. You came through the space next door.”

Greg looked from one to the other, then he yelled, “Carter! Why didn’t you go through the Lyon Gallery door?”

“Sorry, boss, we couldn’t. The gallery was closed. The door was locked. So we backed up a space and the guy there let us through. Rare books, something like that.”

I stood straight up and paused. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “They’re always open this time of day.” I turned to Miguel. “Something’s not right. We gotta go.”

* * * *

Miguel, Steve, Greg Jordan, and six other members of the SWAT team followed as I raced through the Carta Rarus basement and up the stairs. We burst onto the main floor, where we startled Omar Reynolds, who had his back turned to us. He’d been looking out his window as SPD patrol cars sped east up Main.

He recognized me. “Mr. Logan, what’s happening?”

I pulled up suddenly, the rest of the men piling up behind me. “Omar, did you see anyone run by toward Sylvia’s gallery?”

He shook his head. “Toward the gallery? No! But I was downstairs until a minute ago. I’ve seen everyone running the other way, toward the fire station. What’s going on?”

I ignored his question. “Is Sylvia open now? Is she normally open?”

He nodded. “Yes, she’s open. Certainly. She was there earlier. She’s open until eight.”

“Thanks.” I started to leave, but then turned back. “Omar, stay inside! When we leave, lock your door until we come back!”

We ran out Omar’s front door, and I was about to sprint right up to Sylvia’s door when the thought occurred to me that if Laskin was inside Sylvia’s gallery, waiting, he’d have a clear view of us approaching. “Stop!” I ordered, raising my fisted hand. Everyone froze in place behind me. I turned to Greg. “We’re out of cover once we cross in front of that window. We should move back behind this truck.”

He nodded, and the team moved back and took up positions behind a truck parked halfway in front of the gallery and halfway in front of Carta Rarus. I peeked around the back of the truck and scoped the setup. “Greg!” I signaled for him to come look as well. “See that door right over there?” I pointed to the Main Street entrance. “That’s the main door. We’re going to need to take up positions to cover it. There’s another door just like it right around the corner that faces out onto the mall. We need to cover that one, too. See there?” I pointed to the windows. “There’s glass storefront windows all the way around. If Laskin’s inside, we may well have a hostage situation, but the windows mean he’d have to move either into the basement or else into a private room they use for showing pictures to clients. Otherwise, the glass makes him visible.”

Greg nodded. “Got it.” He split his force in half, issuing orders for both teams to use the cover of parked cars to shoo away civilians and take up covered positions outside both of Sylvia’s doors. He turned to me. “I need to call in a hostage team.”

“Why? We don’t know that’s what we’ve got here. For all we know, Sylvia Lyon had to go to the bathroom, so she locked her door first. Why don’t we find out where we stand before you make the call?”

“How do you propose we do that?”

I smiled. “I’m going to pretend like I’m a patron of the arts—walk right up to the front door.”

“You can’t do that,” Miguel said. “If Laskin sees you, he’ll recognize you. Besides, you’re a civilian. We can’t let you do that.”

I looked at him. “Look. One: I’ve done this before. I’m quick. Most likely, I’ll see him before he sees me. If he does spot me, all he or you or anyone else is going to see is a streak—the place where Danny Logan used to be. Besides, even if he starts shooting at me, perhaps the two of you could maybe shoot back? Distract him a little. Two: we don’t have time for this. He’s either inside, in which case we need to know right now so Greg can order up his hostage team, or else he already left, which would also be sorta handy to know so he doesn’t get away while we’re sitting around here with our fingers up our butts staring at an empty store. I’m going up.” I looked at both of them.

“I’m coming, too,” Miguel said.

We stepped out from behind the truck and walked slowly up to the front door. The “closed” sign was out, but the lights were on. I tried the door, but it was locked.

Miguel looked at me. “What now?”

“Let’s see.” I knocked on the glass door, hard enough to rattle it in its frame. I listened hard and thought I just might have heard a noise in reply, but I wasn’t sure.

“You hear anything?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

I leaned forward and put my ear to the glass. “You do it.”

Miguel banged on the door. This time, there was no mistaking it: someone inside gave a muffled scream.

“Stand back!”

Miguel looked at me. “What?”

“Get back!” I stepped back and then gave a quick side kick right to the middle of the door, cutting my follow-through short like we did when we pulled our blows in training.

It worked—the tempered plate glass door crumbled into a million pieces and fell to the ground.

“Shit!” Miguel yelled.

I ignored him. “Sylvia!”

“Mmm!” A muffled cry came from the direction of the observation room.

“C’mon,” I called to Miguel. I pulled my 1911 for the first time that day as we sprinted back to the observation room. I burst through the door, gun drawn. Sylvia and Mike were taped to their chairs, with a strip of tape across their mouths. Mike was in bad shape, looking pretty blue. I peeled the tape off his mouth first, and he immediately started gulping in air. Miguel peeled off Sylvia’s just as Greg and two other SWAT team members ran in.

“You’re alright,” I said to Mike, watching for an instant as the color returned to his face. I turned to Greg. “You’d better have your guys search the place.”

“No!” Sylvia cried as her tape came off. “He left! He took Libby with him! Oh my God, he had a gun. He took Mike’s keys and he locked the front door, and then he taped me and Mike, and then he took Libby and he ran! He just took her!”

“When?”

“Just a minute ago!”

“Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know. They went out the mall door! Oh hurry, Danny! Find her!”

Miguel turned to Steve. “Stay with these people. Call it in.”

“Let’s go,” I said. Our diminishing group now consisted of Miguel, Greg, the two SWAT team members from inside the gallery and the three who were outside. Plus me. We hustled out of the observation room and burst through the mall-side door.

* * * *

“Which way?” Greg asked as the three SWAT team members who’d been posted outside the door ran up and joined us.

I looked north toward Main, only sixty feet away. The four other SWAT team members that we’d left behind at Laskin’s store rounded the corner and headed our way, bringing the SWAT group back to ten. I turned and looked south, past Evelyn Freeman’s photography shop toward Jackson. “Well, I doubt he’d turn back toward Main—too many cops. I think he had to have gone south. There’s still no police cars that way. He’d have probably been drawn to that.”