Shouting a string of curses, ignoring the pain in his neck, he leaped from his vehicle and ran to the other driver’s open side window.
“You son of a bitch,” Ledoux yelled, ignoring the blood that was pouring from the driver’s nose and lip. “You’re under arrest. Put your hands on the wheel. One above and one through the middle. Now.”
Dumbly, the boy complied. Ledoux slapped his cuffs on his wrists, locking him to the steering wheel. He then reached past him and pulled the key from the ignition.
“Where is Frantz headed?” he demanded, peering into the gloom.
But the boy was now crying.
The deputy stepped back, quickly surveying the damage to his own vehicle. “God damn it,” he swore, and kicked the door before him, making the driver jump in surprise.
Ledoux pulled his radio from his belt. “Dispatch, this is oh-eight. I’ve been in a ten-fifty at the mall. Am in pursuit of a subject heading behind the Ames store along the north wall. Need assistance.”
Paying no attention to the dispatcher calmly repeating his message, Leon replaced the radio and began running. Coming abreast of the three young men still standing rooted in place, he only slowed enough to yell at one of them, “I got all your names, Carl. You move one foot from where you are, and you are screwed for life. You got that?”
All three merely nodded as he passed.
Despite the extent of this turmoil, Rick Frantz had been gone for only a little over a minute.
Ledoux arrived at the entrance to the alleyway, sweating and out of breath. Already, in the distance, he could hear sirens approaching. He didn’t have much time.
He poked his head around the corner. The alleyway ran straight and narrow to a streetlight at the far end, allowing him to see that there was no one in sight. Still, crouched low, he entered the narrow space warily, watching and listening.
About halfway down, he found something. A side door into the empty building was slightly ajar. Using his flashlight, Ledoux saw a set of melting footprints leading inside.
“You dumb bastard,” he said in a low voice, killing his light and silently stepping through the doorway.
It was cold in the building, almost as cold as it was outside, and very dark. The only light came from the parking lot fixtures, far away and filtered through the long row of dusty front windows. The room was huge, as befitted a space that once housed a department store and was now only home to a scattered jumble of counters, broken shelving units, forgotten furniture, and dozens of boxes.
It was otherworldly in its stillness and oddly disconcerting, since above a certain height, all obstacles ceased to exist, the abandoned rubble not reaching above five or six feet. It was like being in an enormous movie soundstage, designed for cameras and lights to fly overhead for hundreds of feet, totally unimpeded.
Except that Leon had no access to airborne lights or cameras. He was stuck on the ground, and that ground was increasingly resembling a maze of potential ambushes.
He hesitated, considering his options. He knew he was in trouble. The car crash had reduced his derring-do to the swagger of a reckless cowboy. His choices, as he saw them, were to retreat and face some serious disciplining, despite having taken in all but one of the suspects, or to finish the job, make a clean sweep, and hope that his success might offset his transgressions.
It wasn’t even a contest. Walking on the balls of his feet, Ledoux advanced into the cavernous room, keenly aware of his shoes crunching on the debris underfoot.
Even with the tumult before him, he could pick out the ordered pattern of erstwhile aisles, and began calculating what route Rick Frantz might have taken. He then moved toward the long back wall, instinctively bent over, and got the dim light coming through the far windows to reflect off whatever wet footprints were still visible.
Feeling surer now, and further stimulated by the appearance of blue strobe lights in the parking lot, he killed his radio and pager so they wouldn’t give him away, removed his heavy shoes, and silently began traveling parallel to Frantz’s glistening tracks.
He moved fast. Even buried inside the building, he could hear car doors slamming outside, along with a few muffled shouted commands. It wouldn’t be long before his colleagues followed his example, informed by the kids he’d left behind, and found the same door he had in the alleyway. He needed to get his hands on Frantz before that happened.
He was nearing a collection of tall shelf units, lined up like dominos, row on row, when at last the footprints inevitably faded to nothing. Undeterred, Ledoux remained against the far wall so that as he worked the row of shelves, he only had to look in one direction. He hadn’t seen a weapon during his earlier surveillance, but by now, he was beginning to fantasize that one reason Frantz alone had taken off was that he was probably armed. Instinctively, Ledoux slipped his gun from its holster.
He glanced down the first alley-like aisle and stopped dead in his tracks. The shelves were too tightly packed to allow the light from the front windows much access. Disappointed, he pulled his flashlight free, aimed it down the shadowy corridor, and hit the switch for just an instant. In a burst of light barely longer than a camera’s flash, Ledoux saw only empty floor space. He slipped along the wall to the next aisle.
He’d worked his way up five rows in this fashion, his tension increasing with each flash of his light, when he suddenly heard the loud crash of a door opening far behind him, making him jump.
“This is the police,” came a shouted, nervous voice. “If anyone’s in here, come out with your hands up.”
Ledoux swore under his breath. Things were not improving. Hedging his bets between remaining silent and letting out a shout, he turned his radio back on and murmured into the mike, “It’s Leon. I’m in the Ames store. I got him cornered. Block the door so he can’t get out.”
Instead of the answer he was hoping for, he heard, “Unit calling. I can’t copy.”
He was about to respond, bluntly and loudly, when a small sound drew his attention. He looked up the aisle beside him, just in time to see a shadow flit past its far opening.
He gave up the radio and bolted down the aisle. At its far end, he turned toward where the shadow had been heading, assumed a shooter’s stance-one hand holding the gun, the other the flashlight-and shouted, “Police. Don’t move.” He then switched on the light and captured Rick Frantz out in the middle of the room, one hand holding a small canvas bag.
Damn, he thought, I got you.
But it wasn’t to be. A split second later, bank by bank, in rapid succession, the ceiling’s rows of fluorescent lighting stuttered awake, causing both Ledoux and Frantz to instinctively freeze, their eyes cast heavenward.
With the light came a burst of shouted voices, causing them both to whirl and face the side entrance.
“Don’t move.”
“Police. Freeze.”
“He’s got a gun.”
To his horror, Ledoux saw not one but four of his colleagues on either side of the door, all of them with drawn weapons, half of which were pointed directly at him.
“It’s me,” he shouted, and waved his hands.
It was the wrong thing to do. One shot rang out, the bullet thudding into the shelf unit by his head, followed by another, which only elicited a small grunt from Rick Frantz.
Ledoux spun back in time to see the boy crumple to the floor, dropping his small bag.
“You stupid bastards,” Leon screamed, fighting the impulse to return fire. “It’s me.”
He ran over to Frantz’s side, seeing a pool of blood already seeping out from under the body.
He came to a stop in his stocking feet, holstered his gun in an embarrassed quick gesture, and stared at the end result of his evening’s work.