Certain Prey

any of them.”
    “Them?” Lucas asked.
    “Four-time loser,” Mallard said, jabbing his fork at Malone.
    “Jesus,” Lucas said. “In the FBI?”
    “If it hadn’t been for the second one, I’d be a deputy director by now,” Malone said.
    “What’d he do?” Lucas asked.
    “He was an actor.”
    “Bad actor,” Mallard said.
    “No, he was a good actor; he just couldn’t stay away from the nude scenes,” Malone said. “The killer was when The Washington Post interviewed him, nude, and he mentioned he was married to an FBI agent.”
    “Not the best career move,” Mallard said. “We were all still wearing white shirts.”
    “You got number five figured out yet?” Lucas asked.
    “Not yet,” Malone said. “But I’m looking around.”
    “This is what it is,” Mallard said, breaking into the dialogue. “We’ve got nine guys here, and we’re watching Lopez twenty-four hours a day. He’s got three phones, we’re listening to all of them, and we’ve already gotten a couple of ambiguous calls. I mean, people talking in circles about something besides flowers. Nothing that would implicate him, but something’s going on.”
    “Could I hear them? Your tapes?”
    “Sure. I’ve got an edited tape you can listen to tonight. Tomorrow, when he moves, we’ll hook you up with him.”
    “Good enough,” Lucas said. “I don’t want him to see me, though, not if he’s been in and out of the Cities. I’ve been on TV a couple of times with this stuff . . . he might’ve caught it.”
    “You must be sort of a celebrity, then,” Malone said. “A local hero.”
    “Come on, guys,” Mallard said. “Please? Malone?” M ALLARD SPRAWLED on the bed in his motel room while Lucas sat in the single easy chair and Malone perched against a credenza. They listened while voices said, “I thought I’d stop by today . . . Not much point . . . Really? Then when do you think would be a good time? . . . Gotta be by tomorrow, unless something happened on the way down. I haven’t heard anything—I could give you a ring if you want . . . That’d be good, I’m getting, you know . . .”
    Lucas said, “He’s peddling dope.”
    “I already suggested that,” Malone said. “It sorta made people unhappy.”
    “Can’t be sure that it’s dope,” Mallard said defensively.
    “Sure it is,” Lucas said. “I can even tell you what kind.”
    “Heroin?” suggested Malone.
    “Yup.” Lucas nodded.
    “Maybe that’s the old Chicago system working,” Mallard said.
    “I don’t see a murder contractor trusting a junkie to kill people,” Lucas said.
    “Maybe he’s not a junkie.”
    “That was a small retail sale you were listening to,” Lucas said. “If he’s a small retail dealer, chances are he’s a junkie.”
    “On the other hand, since he had somebody coming in from a long way off . . . maybe not,” Malone said. “He seems to be buying wholesale.”
    Lucas shrugged. “Could be—but it’s strange behavior for a guy who’s supposed to be a paranoid superkiller. I could see a killer buying cocaine or maybe speed from a good, tight retail connection, but I can’t see one actually selling the stuff. That means he’s dealing with all kind of craphead junkies who’d sell him out for a dime.” W HEN THEY FINISHED with the tapes, they all sat around for a few minutes and then Mallard said, “The Yankees are on cable.”
    “I gotta get outside,” Lucas said. “I’ve been sitting in a car all day.”
    “Where’re you going?” asked Malone.
    “Maybe find a bar,” Lucas said. “Have a couple beers.”
    “I could do that,” Malone said. “I’d like to change into something a little more relaxed.”
    Mallard sighed and said, “All right. I guess it’s better than staring at a TV.”
    Malone glanced at him, a thin line forming between her eyes; it disappeared in a half-second, and she said, “So why don’t we meet back here in a half-hour?” L UCAS GOT BACK to Mallard’s room a few minutes before Malone; when she got back she was wearing black slacks and a soft black jacket over a sheer blouse. Beneath the blouse, Lucas thought, she was wearing a frilly black bra; and to the left, under the jacket, he could still pick out the slightly lumpy form of the semi-auto. Going out the door, Malone went first, and Lucas got the finest possible whiff of something exotic; something cool and icy.
    Malone got to the front passenger door first; Mallard got in the back. Malone looked at all the