Donna sat down and braced her elbows on the table. She held her Colt with both hands, the muzzle pointed at my face.
I was still desperately trying on scenarios, looking for something that would get the fewest number of us killed.
Sweat beaded on my scalp. I thought of Julie and Joe. That I might not see them again. Had I even kissed them on the way out the door this morning? I couldn’t remember.
I knew that I wouldn’t survive a head shot.
Donna Timko was showing visible signs of stress. She was red-faced, and the muscle in her left jaw was twitching. It looked to me like she could go off any moment.
She said, “Walt, take Mr. Conklin’s weapon, why don’t you? And then we’ve got to figure out what to do with these crumbs.”
Chapter 83
I had no problem believing that Donna Timko was a loose cannon. She was adrenalized. Her gun was braced four feet directly across the table from me. Her finger was on the trigger and she’d aimed her gun just so.
If she sneezed, she’d shoot me between the eyes.
Two feet to my left, Conklin sat in the chair with his hands in the air at shoulder height.
Walter Brenner stood to the right of his sister, training his gun on Conklin, grinning and bouncing on his feet like a four-year-old waiting for a pony ride.
Forget ponies. Make that a crazy four-year-old with a gun.
Some wave of serenity came over Timko’s face, which I read as her having made up her mind. To her we were dead cops walking, and now she was thinking ahead to how to get rid of our bodies.
She said to her brother, “Walt, here’s an idea. We can get into the processing plant. You can work the grinder, right?”
“You’re thinking cop burgers?”
“Exactly. Cop Prime. With bacon. Well done.”
They both had a good laugh.
I couldn’t help it. I pictured my body going through an industrial-grade meat grinder and heard the whirr of the blades cutting through muscle and bone. It gave me the horrors.
Why didn’t Walter and Donna just shoot us now?
Simple answer. It would be easier for them if we went into the transport van on the hoof.
I wanted to look at Conklin but didn’t dare take my eyes off the sweetheart of Chuck’s executive board, a woman who had sympathized with the bomb victims and the little people who worked at Chuck’s and was now transformed into a grinning, bloodthirsty ghoul.
Timko was not only thinking ahead, she wanted my opinion.
She said, “That’ll work, right, Sergeant? Take you out through the garage, and we all get into the van. Who knows, we might drop you off somewhere and make a run for Canada.”
“That’s a better idea than the meat processor,” I said. “We go missing, the FBI will be all over that plant, and you know human blood and remains will spell it all out, PDQ.”
“Good point. Well, I’m loaded with ideas. That’s my best one so far. Walt, get his gun. Come on. I can’t do everything.”
Walt was a lefty.
He walked over to Conklin and pressed the gun muzzle to his temple. Sweat rolled down my sides, but my partner was cool, give him credit. Give him all the credit in the world.
Walt said, “Take out your gun with the tips of your fingers and pass it to me. No sudden moves. My metabolism is high, normally. Now? I could shoot you out of pure freaking jitters. So do what I say. Okay?”
If Conklin didn’t hand over his gun, Brenner might reach for it. That would give my partner an opportunity to head-butt him, elbow him in the groin, any number of moves that might work—or get us both killed.
Timko flicked her eyes toward Conklin, who was gauging the situation, looking to see what her brother was going to do.
I knew what I had to do, and that I had to get it right the first time.
It might be the only chance Conklin and I had to get out of El Cerrito alive.
Chapter 84
My hands were flat on the table, but I hooked my thumbs under the edge of it. I took a breath, gathered my strength, and exhaled. Rising out of my chair, I flipped the dining table away from me and toward Donna Timko.
Donna yelped as the tabletop went vertical. She bolted out of her chair before the hundred pounds of tiger maple came down on her thighs, but she lost her footing and fell backward to the floor along with her chair and the fancy bone china crashing around her.
At the moment I flipped the table, Walt reflexively turned his gun on me.
Conklin went into action. Using both hands, he slammed Walt’s forearm away from his head to the left, and using the power of his legs, drove Walt into the wall. He followed that body slam up with a knee to Walt’s groin, then moved to get the gun out of his grip. He wrenched Walt’s gun backward. The angle of the trigger guard snapped Walt’s finger.
I heard it break.
Brenner’s scream was part shock, part fury, and then there was the pain. And Conklin wasn’t through with him yet.
As Conklin forced Walt’s arm behind him and brought him to the floor, I went for Timko.
I’m fit and she was a loose pile of what-the-fuck happened crammed into the corner behind an upended chair and dining table. I threw the chair out of my way, got around the table, and found the big woman lying on her shooting arm.
Her gun hand was flat to the ground and I stomped on it, hard. Timko shrieked, releasing her Colt, and I kicked it under the lowboy and out of the way.
My Glock had also fallen to the floor during the table flip, and I picked it up. Then, gun in hand, I squatted down to Donna’s eye level. I was blowing hard and my heart was still galloping. I was pumping so much adrenaline, I might have been able to fly. But I kept my wheels on the ground and spoke in measured tones to the helpless criminal staring at me defiantly with hard, furious eyes.
“Donna, you don’t have much time. I’ll bet that the belly bombs were Walt’s idea. Tell me the whole story before this house fills with cops and I’ll work with you.”
“Neither of us is guilty of anything.”
I kept going, giving her another chance to give me the confession I wanted.
“Right after the cops, there’s going to be a wave of pumped-up FBI and ATF agents who are going to see belly bombs as a career maker. Feds trump local. So I hope you understand, Donna. When the Feds show up, this deal goes out of my hands for good. Feds will seek the death penalty.”
“I want a lawyer. That’s all I have to say.”
“Sure thing, Donna. No problem. You can call your lawyer after you’re booked. In the years to come, I hope you’ll remember that I told you that your best chance to get a break was right now, with me.”
Chapter 85
Donna laughed maniacally. I was pretty sure that losing control of this shooting match was making her hysterical, but still. She was laughing.
I shrugged and said, “Well, I tried.”
“Am I under arrest?” Brenner asked from where he was cuffed and facedown on the scatter rug.
“Not yet,” said Conklin. “But when I hear sirens, I’m reading you your rights. That gives you, I don’t know, two minutes to play ball. Confess or don’t, I don’t really give a shit.”
I said to my partner, “I think I can still get home in time for a late dinner with my husband. That’ll be a nice change.”
“So what are you actually saying?” Timko said, squirming and pushing against the wall in an effort to sit upright in her corner. “You’re making us a real offer?”
“No promises,” I said. “You tell me who did what in these bombings. And I need to know if there are any more bombs in play. Talk to me. Get me on your side and I’ll help you with the powers that be.”
She said, “Huh. What are you, Sergeant? Size eight?”
I said, “Uh, ten. Why?”
This was prelude to girl talk, I guessed. My cue to get Timko to think I liked her. I pulled over a chair, sat so that I was looking down at the woman who couldn’t do a thing but look back.