"What?"
"Wohl says I can't go in the building until you have this guy in cuffs, and he sent Payne along with orders to sit on me if necessary."
"I wondered what he was doing here," Suffern said. "No problem. Here, let me show you."
He opened the door of his RPC and took a clipboard from the seat.
"Somebody give me a light here," he ordered, and one of the ACT cops took his flashlight from its holster and shined it on the clipboard. It held a map.
"This is Hawthorne Street," he said, pointing. "Mr. Abu Whatsisnamehis real name is Charles D. Stevens, Wohl tell you that?"
O'Hara nodded.
"-lives here, just about in the middle of the block." He pointed. " There's a Homicide detective, he has the warrant, sitting here, right now. This is the way we're going to do this: One ACT car, with two cops and the Homicide guy, will go to the front door. Another ACT car, with two ACT guys and the sergeant, will go around to the back, via the alley here." He pointed again. "When they're in place, the sergeant will give the word. The Homicide guy will knock or ring the bell or whatever. We'll give him thirty seconds to open the door. Then they'll take both doors. When they have him in cuffs, they'll take him out the back. There's a wagon, here." He pointed again, this time to a point a block away. "The van will start for the alley the moment he hears they're going in. They'll put Abu Whatsisname in the van, with one cop from each of the ACT cars, and get out of the neighborhood. The same thing, the same sort of thing, will be going on here in the 5000 block of Saul Street. Two ACT cars, a sergeant, and a Homicide detective will pick up Kenneth H. Dome, also known as 'King' Dome, also known as Hussein Something. When they havehim, the sergeant will call for the wagon. When both of these guys are in the van, they'll be taken to Homicide. Got it?"
"Yeah," Mickey said thoughtfully.
"So there's no problem, Mickey," Lieutenant Suffern finished. "I'll put you and Payne in my car. We'll go into the alley behind Stevens's house, from the other direction. I'll let you two out, and I'll go in with the sergeant when he takes the back door. When you see us coming out, you can make your pictures. Okay?"
"Can you give me a list of the names?" O'Hara asked. "I really hate to spell people's names wrong. And point them out to me, so I know who's who?"
"Absolutely," Suffern said.
Lieutenant Suffern, Officer Payne thought, is entertaining hopes that the next issue of the Bulletin will carry a photograph of Lieutenant Ed Suffern with the just arrested felon in his firm personal grip.
"Payne," Lieutenant Suffern said, "if answering this puts you on a spot, don't answer it. Are we really going to move in here?" He waved in the general direction of the school building.
"I think so," Matt said. "I think the Board of Education wants to get rid of it."
"My mother went to school in there," Suffern said. "I thought they were going to tear it down."
"Okay," Inspector Peter Wohl's voice suddenly came over, with remarkable clarity, all the loudspeakers in all the vehicles in the playground. "Let's go do it."
There was the sound of starters grinding, and then an angry voice.
"I'm going to need a jump start here!"
Headlights came on, their beams reflecting off the still falling snow.
Suffern opened the rear door of his car and waved Mickey O'Hara and Matt in. The hem of Matt's topcoat got caught in the door, and the door had to be reopened and then closed again.
The cars and vans began to roll out of the playground, onto Frankford Avenue. Most turned left, but some turned right. Matt looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes to five.
At ten minutes to five, they drove down Hawthorne Street. There were a number of cars, their roofs and windshields now coated with snow, parked on the street.
If this snow keeps up, Matt thought, these cars are going to be buried.
The headlights of a rusty and battered Chrysler flicked on and off quickly.
"That's the Homicide guy," Lieutenant Suffern said, and then added, " That wasn't too smart."
"Maybe he's just glad to see you," Mickey O'Hara said. "How long has he been there?"
"Probably since midnight," Suffern said. "When he tries to get out of the car, he'll probably be frozen stiff."
Suffern made the next right, turned his headlights off, and then turned right again into the alley and stopped.
Matt started to open the door.
"We got a couple of minutes," Suffern said, stopping him. "Better to stay in the car."
"Right," Matt said.
Said Officer Payne, the rookie, who don't know no better.
"I want to get out," O'Hara said. "If I just jump out of the car, my lens is likely to fog over."
"Okay, Mick," Suffern said obligingly. "But stick close to the walls, huh?"
O'Hara got out and Matt followed him, carefully closing the car's door. Suffern put the car in gear and inched away from them, stopping fifty yards farther down the alley.
It took Matt's eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness, but gradually the alley took shape. They were standing between two brick walls, but thirty feet away, the alley was lined with wooden fences. There was what looked like a derelict car parked against one wall, between them and Suffern's car. Matt wondered how Suffern had managed to get past it in the dark.
And then, as he looked at Mickey O'Hara, who was wiping the lens of his 35-mm camera with a handkerchief, the hair on the back of Matt's neck began to curl.
What the hell is the matter with me? Abu Ben Whatsisname is sound asleep in his bed. He won't know what hit him when those guys come crashing into his house. And I am a good hundred yards from where the action is going to be anyway.
But he pulled off his right glove, stuffed it into the pocket of his topcoat, and then quickly knelt and took his revolver from the ankle holster on the inside of his left leg. Hoping that Mickey O'Hara hadn' t seen him, he quickly put it, and the hand that held it, into his topcoat pocket.
And then there was first a creaking, tearing noise, like a board being split, somewhere down the alley, and then the sound of crunching snow.
A moment later he saw something moving.
It has to be a cat, or a dog, or something Then he realized that what was coming down the alley toward them was too large to be a dog.
Everything shifted into slow motion.
"Stop!" Matt heard himself say. He had trouble finding his voice. " Police officer-"
"Out of my way, motherfucker!" an intensely angry voice called.
There followed a series of orange flashes, accompanied by sharp cracks.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Mickey O'Hara said softly.
Matt was slapped in the face and then, a half second later, with terrifying force, in his right calf. He felt himself falling hard against the brick wall to his side.
As a voice from the recesses of his brain told him,Hold it in both hands, he pulled his revolver from his topcoat pocket. He got it free and up as he slid to the ground.
There was no way to hold the pistol with both hands. He fired instinctively. And then again. And a third time.
There was a grunt from the vague figure coming down the alley, and then the figure stood erect. Matt fired again. The figure took two more steps, and then fell forward.
Matt tried to get on his feet by pushing himself up the wall, but his hands slipped and his leg seemed unstable. He got on all fours, and somehow, that way, managed to get on his feet.
Now holding the pistol in both hands, Matt moved unsteadily toward the fallen figure.
You only have one cartridge left! Don't fuck this up!
The man on the ground was writhing in pain. Matt saw his pistol-a semiautomatic, probably a Colt.45-on the ground, half buried in snow. The man made no move for it. Matt hobbled to it and put his foot on it and nearly fell down.
There was a white flash, and he turned quickly toward it, pistol extended.