Easy Prey

thinking was, what if he’s timing something?”
    “Huh.”
    “Yeah. When you think about it, West St. Paul and Spooner’s place in Highland Park, you don’t connect them, but if you look at a map, it ain’t far—about six miles, and most of that is interstate. He could do a round-trip in less than fifteen minutes. What if he does his weird preaching thing, then tells the pastor or whoever that he needs to be alone for a bit, to recover—or thinks of some shit like that—goes out to his car, runs over to Highland Park, wastes Spooner, runs back, and there he is: all those witnesses who say he was at the church.”
    “Sounds Hollywood.”
    “Yeah, well . . . that’s our concept.”
    “Could be his concept, too. How many guys we got on Spooner tonight?”
    “Two or four.”
    “I’ll make sure it’s four. You need any more help on Olson?” Lucas asked.
    “If he goes to the church, we could use one more car, for a while, anyway.”
    “All right, get me a radio, and I’ll come out and sit with you. I’m not doing anything.”
     
 
HE SPENT THE rest of the afternoon walking around town—got his hair cut, visited a game store, three bars, and a gun shop, where a dealer tried to sell him a $2,600 Scout rifle by Steyr.
    “I’d have to shoot a deer that dressed out at thirteen hundred pounds to get my money back,” Lucas said, looking at the rifle. “On the hoof, that’s a two-thousand-pound whitetail. That’s a whitetail the size of a Chevy pickup.”
    “It’s not the deer, it’s the aesthetics of the machinery,” the dealer said. The dealer had quit his job as an English teacher to take up gun sales. “Look at this piece. . . .”
    “The bolt handle’s weird,” Lucas said.
    “It’s German.”
    “It’s weird.”
    “Forget the bolt for a minute, look--”
    “Why’s the scope way out there on the end?”
    “I’ll tell you why.” The dealer pointed out the window. “Swing it at something across the street. Keep both eyes open and then let your right eye just look through the scope.”
    Lucas swung. “Whoa . . . that’s nice. You shoot where you’re looking.”
    “They didn’t mean it to be, but this is the perfect North Woods deer rifle. There’s never been anything better.”
    “Caliber’s too small.”
    “A .308’s too small? Have you been smokin’ something strange? A .308 is absolutely--”
    “Not for a two-thousand-pound deer. And the bolt handle’s weird.”
    “You aren’t the artist I thought you were, Davenport,” the dealer said. “I can barely contain my disappointment.”
     
 
AT SIX O’CLOCK, he drifted down toward West St. Paul, located the church, then got dinner at a steak house and made it back to the church a little before seven-thirty. He hooked up with one of the surveillance cops, a guy from Intelligence, and got a radio and a pair of binoculars. “I’m getting pretty tired of this,” the cop said.
    “Maybe something will pop,” Lucas said. “Where do you want me?”
    “See that hill? If you go up there, there are a row of houses where the backyards look right down on the parking lot. If you could go up there, find somebody at home and hustle them a little--”
    “How will I know which car is Olson’s?”
    “Call us when you’re set, and when Olson rolls in, and he’s inside, I’ll walk over to his car and point a flashlight up at you. We’ll have somebody inside the church watching Olson. We’re most concerned that he might find a way to sneak out and get rolling before we know it. Or maybe have another car ditched here by one of his Burnt River pals.”
    “All right. I’ll set up.”
     
 
LUCAS FOUND A house with lights, showed his ID, and got permission to sit out on the patio. The owner dug a webbed folding chair out of a lawn shed and gave it to him.
    Olson was already moving, a little early. He arrived twenty minutes before he was to preach; the Intelligence cop spotted the car for him, and Lucas settled down to wait. The radio burped every few minutes: when Olson started preaching; when other cars came or went; and an occasional observation on life.
    Four people in two cars were at Spooner’s, watching front and back, and they weighed in from time to time. Spooner was at home, but the front drapes were drawn. Then Spooner’s garage lights came on, and a minute later Spooner backed out in his car. The people watching him scrambled. Spooner drove five blocks to a SuperAmerica, bought something, walked half a block