Buried Prey

to think about, that Scrape didn’t do it. That the kids were picked up in a vehicle. I’ve got this guy I’m looking for. I got this feeling . . .”
    Daniel was shaking his head. “We can cover that. This is turning into a snake hunt. When we find Scrape—”
    Lucas leaned forward: “Listen, Chief, I’ll take vacation days. I’ll work free. Just back me up for a shot at this other guy.”
    Daniel pursed his lips, eyebrows up, then he said, “All right. Don’t take vacation, though. I’ll keep you on for three days. I got Del still working on Smith; get with him, talk this thing over, and between the two of you, figure out Smith and figure out this missing guy you got. I’d like to know who he is, myself—and what the hell is he doing?”
    “I’m outa here,” Lucas said.
    “Hey, hold on,” Daniel called after him. “Del works late. Get some sleep. You really do look like shit.”
     
     
    LUCAS CALLED DEL, who answered on the eighth or ninth ring. “What?”
    “This is Davenport. You up?”
    “Jesus, it’s not even noon yet,” Del said. “What do you want?”
    “We’re hooking up, looking for Mysterio,” Lucas said. “What time do we meet?”
    “Ah . . . six o’clock. Meet me at six. No, wait: seven. Downtown. Don’t call back.”

7
    Five hours of sleep wasn’t enough—he would have killed for seven—but the alarm blew him out of bed at five-thirty. Lucas cleaned up, put on khaki slacks, a black golf shirt and a sport coat, regulation black steeltoed uniform shoes, with the Model 40 in a shoulder rig.
    When he got downtown, he found Daniel in his office, cleaning off his desk, ready to go home. “What happened?” Lucas asked.
    “The chief had his press conference, we’re still looking for Scrape,” Daniel said. “We got fifteen guys on the street, and we’re getting jack shit. Don’t know where he could’ve gone. His face is all over the TV.”
    “We get a hard time about turning him loose?” Lucas asked.
    “Not yet, but we will, sooner or later,” Daniel said. He kicked back in his chair, put his feet on his desk. “But the chief can tap-dance. He made it sound like brilliant police work, picking him up the first time. Then, we’re civil liberties heroes, letting him go. Now we’re all working together, the people and the police, hand in hand, getting him back.”
    “Wish I’d seen it,” Lucas said.
    “Taught me one thing: I gotta learn how to tap-dance,” Daniel said. “What’re you doing here?”
    “Waiting for Del. We’re going out on the Smith thing again. Different angle this time. Was Smith a hero? Maybe loosen some people up. And we’re gonna see what we can find out about Fell.”
    “Good luck. I don’t think there’s anything there, but—good luck.”
     
     
    DEL SHOWED UP at six-thirty, yawning, rubbing his unshaved face with the back of his hand. “You look like a cocker spaniel, your tongue is hangin’ out,” he said to Lucas. “Let’s get some coffee, somewhere. Something to eat. Fries. Figure out what we’re doing. Maybe you could do some push-ups, or something.”
    “I could attract some women for us,” Lucas offered. “Just as a personal favor to you.”
    “Coffee. Fries. You can fantasize on your own time.”
    “Jealousy is hard to live with,” Lucas said. “But there are government programs for the handicapped. Maybe I could find one for you. . . .”
    They walked over to the Little Wagon, ordered coffee, two twenty-one shrimp baskets with fries, and Lucas sat for a few minutes beside a uniformed cop named Sally, working through her latest romantic trauma, before moving back to Del when the food arrived.
    “You are a goddamned hound,” Del said.
    “Just trying to help her out,” Lucas said. “Her boyfriend smokes a little dope, but now she thinks he might be moving into retail. She’s wondering if she should bust him, and if she does, if that would adversely affect their relationship.”
    “I’d get one last terrific piece of ass before I did it,” Del said, pouring a quarter bottle of ketchup on a mound of fries. “Of course, that’s the male viewpoint. And that assumes that the guy’s terrific in bed. ’Course, most dope dealers are. That’s what I hear.”
    “And that’s why you don’t get laid. You see everything from the male point of view,” Lucas said, around a mouthful of shrimp breading, and not much shrimp. “I try to see these things from the woman’s point of view. That’s why I got