“We can’t, probably,” Karl said. “But I can.”
“You sure?”
“It’s a vamp thing – you wouldn’t understand.”
I sat in the police-issue Plymouth, parked in some brush just off Watres Drive with the windows cracked a couple of inches each, and listened to the night. There wasn’t a lot to hear, since all the insect life was already in hibernation, and whatever birds were still around this late in the season apparently went to bed early. What I was really listening for was Karl returning to the car.
I should have known better. One second there was utter silence, and the next Karl was opening the passenger door and getting in. “Drive,” he said while fastening his seat belt. “No point in hanging around here any longer than absolutely necessary. I don’t think they have patrols out, but I could be wrong.”
There’s nobody better than a vampire when it comes to sneaking around in the dark, a point Karl had made when explaining why he should recon the house alone.
“I can see in the dark, and you can’t,” he’d said. “I can move a lot faster and quieter than you, and even turn into a bat, if I have to. And if they shoot at me with anything but silver, they’re shit out of luck.”
“And what if they do use silver?” I’d asked him.
“Then I’m the one who’s shit out of luck.”
I slowly turned onto Watres Drive, then took a right, heading us back to the city. I drove without lights for the first half-mile or so, to avoid drawing attention to the car. It wasn’t as dangerous as it sounds – my eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, and the almost-full moon gave enough light to see where I was going.
Still, I gave the road my full attention until it seemed safe to flick on the headlights. I blinked against the glare a couple of times, then asked Karl, “So, how’d it go?”
“Good news and bad news,” he said. “The good news is that they didn’t shoot me.”
“I’d already figured out that part, kemosabe,” I said. “Not that I’m not relieved.”
“Yeah, well, the bad news is that they’re in good shape to shoot the livin’ hell out of anything else. I counted six sentries – four stationary and two rovers, all with automatic weapons.”
“Sweet Christ.”
“Two of the stationary guys are on the verandas with night scopes. Oh, and they all wear these little radios with headsets, so they can talk to each other. It looks like the same rig SWAT uses.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I said.
“If we’re gonna go in there and get out alive, we’re gonna need some help. I’d recommend a couple platoons of Navy SEALs.”
“When we get back to the squad, we better have a talk with McGuire.”
“About what?”
“Getting some help.”
McGuire sat behind his desk, looking like his ulcer might be kicking up again. Funny how he often had that expression when talking to Karl and me.
We’d been talking for about fifteen minutes when he said, “Let me be sure I have this right. You want me to ask the Chief to authorize a full-out raid on this place – this heavily guarded place – near Lake Scranton because you think Patton Wilson is in there.”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“And your only source for this information is the consigliere of the Calabrese family, what’s-his-name, Loquasto.”
“Right,” I said.
“And Loquasto provided you with this valuable intelligence because…?”
I hated to lie to McGuire. He’s a good boss, and he’s supported Karl and me at times when others were calling for our heads. But there was a limit to what he’d put up with, and I was pretty sure that one of his detectives engaging in conspiracy to commit murder was outside that limit.
“It’s in his best interest,” I said. “He believes, just like we do, that Wilson is behind the Delatassos’ attempt to take over the Calabrese territory. If Wilson’s out of the picture, Loquasto figures that Ronnie Delatasso will take his ball and go home. Eventually.”
“It makes sense, boss, when you think about it,” Karl said.
McGuire looked at Karl, then back at me. “So why don’t the Calabreses just go after Wilson themselves?”
“It would take a pitched battle for them to overcome all the firepower that Wilson’s got protecting him,” I said. “Loquasto didn’t come right out and admit it, but I’m pretty sure Calabrese hasn’t got the troops to do the job. He’s been hurt pretty bad in the war with the Delatassos.”
“So he wants us to do his dirty work for him.” Judging by his face, McGuire’s ulcer had taken a turn for the worse.
“It’s a win-win, haina?” Karl said. “We want Wilson bad as Calabrese does – maybe more. And if we can take him out of play before the election–”
“Which is eight days away,” McGuire said.
“Which is eight fuckin’ days away,” Karl said, nodding, “it could make all the difference in the world.”
“Or none at all,” McGuire said sourly.
“We won’t know for sure unless we can pull it off,” I said. “But one thing’s for sure, boss – if we don’t do something, and quick, Wilson’s gonna own this town, starting nine days from now. I don’t wanna see that – do you?”
“You know I don’t.” McGuire ran a hand slowly through his thinning hair. “But there’s a problem – make that two problems.”
Karl and I looked at each other, but didn’t say anything.
“For what it’s worth, I believe you,” McGuire said. “I think Wilson’s hiding in that big house on Lake Scranton. Shit, who else around here could afford that kind of security – and who else would need it?”
“Then what’s–” Karl began, but McGuire waved him silent.
“But asking the Chief to send twenty, thirty cops out there, including SWAT, based solely on the unsubstantiated word of a known criminal… I just don’t think it’s gonna happen.”
“It’s still worth a try, dammit,” I said. “If he says no, we’re no worse off than we are now.”
McGuire’s expression had turned bitter. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But, like I said, there’s another problem.”
McGuire moved around a couple of objects on his desk that didn’t need moving, and that’s when I felt icy fingers touch my spine. The boss doesn’t usually hesitate to say what’s on his mind – about anything.
“I’ve been hearing things, the last couple of weeks,” he said. “Nothing definitive – it’s what you’d have to call circumstantial evidence, but it still bothers me. Some people that the Chief’s been seen having lunch with, a few things he’s said at meetings, the fact that he’s talking about retiring next year – to Bermuda.”
“Holy fucking shit,” said. “You think the Chief of Police is in Wilson’s pocket.”
“Can’t prove a damn thing,” McGuire said. “But, yeah, I do. So you see the problem. I ask the Chief to authorize a big raid out on Lake Scranton, and he’s gonna turn me down flat – which he might well have done anyway. But more than that…” He let his voice trail off.
“He’ll tell Wilson we know where he is,” I said.
“Fucking Wilson’d turn that place out there into Fort Knox,” Karl said. “You’d need an armored division to take it.”
“Either that, or he’ll just disappear again,” I said. “And if he does, what do you figure the chances are we’d find the bastard again, before election day?”
McGuire snorted. “Snowball in Hell – if the odds are even that good.”
“Which means we’re fucked,” Karl said.
“No,” I told him. “It means we’re royally fucked.”
We got sent out on a call that turned out to be a false alarm. A woman living on Kaiser Avenue reported a werewolf prowling around her house. Karl and I didn’t turn up any werewolves, but we did find a guy from the neighborhood – he could’ve used a haircut and a beard trim, but he was still human – who liked to peek through windows. We sent the jerk home with a warning that Karl reinforced with a little bit of vampire Influence.