The chain was connected, but getting that puppy off was no big deal. You insert the tool, move the door until it was just about closed, then slide the lock over the…
His ears perked up.
Someone was talking…a woman with a couple of guys.
He heard the beep of a walkie-talkie.
It was cop talk.
He didn’t like that at all.
Hurry up, hurry up.
For the first time tonight, he began to sweat. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He always had a plan, and he usually had time.
His hands began to shake.
Concentrate, motherfucker, concentrate!
Sliding the lock past…hearing the chain drop. Not the most elegant of jobs but it was over. Within seconds, he had slipped inside.
He flipped the dead bolt back into place and replaced the chain.
The cops could talk as much as they wanted now. He was safe inside-exactly where he wanted to be.
THIS WASN’T A dream.
The scratching sounds were real. The smell was real-sweat and fear from a man.
Harriman knew he was in trouble.
As perspiration poured down his face and back, he sat up, his hands shaking as he reached over to his nightstand and groped for his cell phone. In the process, he knocked over the remote control to the TV. It fell to the ground with a muffled thud.
Did he hear it? Hopefully not. Thank God for carpets.
More fumbling until there it was in his hot, wet hands, the metal feeling cool and sleek. Depressing the button to turn it on. The man was getting bolder, walking around, not even bothering to tiptoe, his footsteps easily perceived.
He heard the phone’s jingle as he turned it on. It seemed to take forever. He spoke into the autodial.
911.
A moment later, the voice on the telephone.
911, what’s your emergency?
Talking as calmly and clearly as he could, but his voice sounded foreign to his ears.
Someone’s broken into my condo.
What is the address, sir?
His mind went momentarily blank.
What was his address?
One breath, two breaths…ah, yes.
He told the lovely 911 lady his address.
Someone will be out right away.
Hurry, please! I’m blind!
When he hung up, he remembered the cops in front of his unit. Then how did this happen? Were they asleep? Did Decker lie and pull them off the job without telling him?
How the fuck did this break-in happen?
Do something, you wimp!
Think, think!
He kept his phone in his hand and silently eased himself out of bed, dropping to the floor and sliding under his bed. He was naked and shivering, but it wasn’t from cold. He was sandwiched between the carpet and the mattress so he was warm enough, but he couldn’t get rid of the internal chill of dread. He tried to concentrate on what was happening inside his condo, but his breathing was so loud it was as if he was listening with cotton in his ears.
Steady, steady.
Concentrate.
The enemy was in the kitchen. Harriman could hear him clicking the light switch on and off. The bastard wouldn’t get any help there. Harriman never bothered to put any bulbs in the ceiling fixtures.
Why pay for electricity that you’re never going to use?
THE BEAMS FROM the flashlights crisscrossed the yard.
“I still don’t understand why you had to come down.” It was Bud Rangler talking. “Why not just call us up?”
He was clearly miffed, but so was Marge. The man was giving her attitude that she didn’t need at 12:30 in the night. Rangler was a punching bag on legs-a big barrel chest with short, muscular limbs. In his late twenties, he’d been on the force for five years. He seemed to regard Marge’s personal appearance as an affront to his competence.
“When the boss says go, I go.” Marge added, “Not a bad thing to remember, Officer.”
The second uniform on watch, Mark Breslau, was the older of the two and more seasoned. He was an eleven-year vet, and time had mellowed his machismo. “You’re the boss, Sergeant. I think Bud just wanted you to know that we’re doing our job. We’ve been checking out the back every couple of hours.”
“You can see for yourself, Sergeant,” Rangler said. “Nothing’s been disturbed.”
“Dark back here.” Marge followed the ray of light with her eyes. “How well could you see if something was disturbed?”
“The lightbulb over the porch just burned out,” Rangler said. “Before that, the place was pretty well lit up.”
“Burned out?” Marge turned around and faced him. “Why didn’t you replace it?”
Rangler said, “I didn’t think replacing lightbulbs was part of the job description.”
“If it helps you see what’s going on, it sure as hell is.” She turned to Breslau. “Do you have a lightbulb in the car?”
“No, ma’am.”
“There’s a twenty-four-hour place just around the corner.” She tossed him the keys to her car. “Go down and get one. I’ll stay with Officer Rangler until you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Marge could hear the young cop chuckle. “Something funny, Rangler?”
“Not at all, Sergeant.”
“I thought I heard laughter. Must be imagining things, huh?”
Rangler was silent. Marge walked over to the back door and focused the flashlight on the socket over the entrance. “C’mere, Officer.”
Rangler complied, stopping about a foot away from Marge.
“Take a look up there.” She shone her beam on the light fixture. “How could a bulb burn out…when there’s no bulb in the socket? Want to explain that to me?”
Rangler started to speak, but then wisely stopped himself.
Marge swept her flashlight over the ground until she found the molded piece of glass resting in the grass. She picked it up and screwed it back into the socket, bathing the back area in welcomed yellow light.
“Call in for backup, all units in the area.” Standing off to the side, she pounded on the back door and shouted out to Harriman. Did it again and when she got no response, she hooked her flashlight onto her belt and took out her service revolver.
“Cover my ass, Rangler, we’re going in.”
IT WASN’T GOING like he planned.
None of the fucking lights worked!
They were pounding at the back door.
There were the two cops watching the front door.
Sirens in the background.
You’re not a stupid guy, he said to himself. Don’t start being stupid now!
With desperation, he looked around for a way to get out undetected. But both doors were guarded.
He was a cornered animal about to be hunted down.
Think, you asshole, think!
He took out his piece and held it in his hand. It would give him some leverage, but in the end he was badly outnumbered. A shootout wasn’t the answer.
There was no place to run; he might as well hide.
THIRTY-SEVEN
HARRIMAN COULD HEAR the banging at his back door. His heart, already galloping, almost flew out of his chest. If he yelled from under the bed, could they even hear him? Would he give himself away to the intruder?
Wait until they were closer.
Patience, patience.
Like they say, silence is golden.
WITHIN MOMENTS, BRESLAU had returned and was breathless. “I heard the call go out.”
“What call?” Marge pounded the door again.
“911 from the inside of this address.”
“Good God!” Marge exclaimed. “If Harriman called 911, someone’s inside. The door’s bolted. I don’t want a hostage situation, but I don’t want to ram the door without vest protection. Guy could have a gun.”
Her eyes made a frantic search around the yard and landed on the patio chairs. She stacked the four of them together, picked them up, and brought them to her chest, using them as a shield.
“This’ll have to do,” Marge said. “Cover me.”