Easy Prey

some ID?”
    Lucas still couldn’t spot the voice. He could feel Del edging farther away from him on one side, Loring idling away on the other, an inch at a time, so they wouldn’t all get taken down with a single burst. A little stress. He grinned and held up his card case. “Lucas Davenport,” he said. “And friends.”
    The voice spoke softly—into a cell phone, Lucas thought—and two minutes later, a side door opened on the garage. Pat Kelly stepped out, a thin, white-haired man wearing a white dress shirt open at the throat. He looked tentatively down the driveway and said, “Davenport?”
    “Yeah. Me and Loring and Del.”
    “Jesus, like old home week. What’s going on?”
    “You got Trick Bentoin up there?”
    “What’s he done?”
    “You got him?” Lucas asked.
    “Well . . .”
    “So we’ll just run up and get him,” Lucas said.
    “You’re gonna scare the shit out of my guests,” Kelly said. “We’re just a bunch of friends.”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lucas said impatiently. “Look, you heard this lady cop got shot this afternoon?”
    “Yeah? What’s that got to do with Trick?”
    “Something,” Lucas said. “So we’re gonna go up.”
    “Why don’t I just ask him to step down?”
    “Nah. If people knew exactly what was going on, they might start running. We’re gonna have to go up, Pat. I guess it’s up to you how we do it.”
    Kelly shook his head. “Hey, if you wanna go up, you’re the cops.”
     
 
THEY FOUND SEVEN guys sitting around an empty green-baize table on a beige carpet. There was no money in sight, no chips, no cards—an air of innocence smudged with cigar smoke. A television in the corner was tuned to ESPN; Trick Bentoin’s chair was turned toward the TV. With the exception of Trick, the guys were all beefy, and every one of them wore a dress shirt. Suit jackets and sport coats hung off the back of plain wooden chairs. Trick was thin, and looked a little like a cowboy in a cigarette ad.
    “Trick,” Lucas said. “You gotta cash out. We need you downtown.”
    “Me?” He was surprised. The other six players looked at him.
    “Yeah, it’s that Rashid Al-Balah thing,” Lucas said.
    “Man, we’re right in the middle of Sports . . .”
    “ Sports what?” Del asked.
    “ Sports Talk ?”
    “Sorry, that’s the radio,” Del said. “And the only goddamn place you ever watched sports was a book in Las Vegas. Come on along.”
    “What if I told you I was on a roll?” Trick asked.
    “You could just ask the guys to wait until you get back,” Loring said.
    One of the guys grunted, “Huh,” and a couple of them grinned.
    “Sorry. We need you,” Lucas said. He looked at the other men—other than the single grunt, none of them had said a single word, or had met his eyes—and said, “We’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs.”
    Pat Kelly followed them down. “That was relatively civilized,” he said.
    “This is a nice place,” Lucas said. “But . . . don’t push it.”
    “I never push,” Kelly said genially. “Never, ever.”
     
 
TRICK BENTOIN APPEARED a minute later, pulling on a rumpled jacket, shook his head, and said, “Down four.”
    “I thought you were on a roll,” Lucas said.
    “I was. I’d been down nine. Another two hours, I’d of owned their asses, each and every one.” He looked at the three cops and said, “Well, I’m not gonna run. What’re we doing?”
    “We need to haul your ass out to Stillwater tomorrow, for a little discussion with Rashid Al-Balah.”
    “You could’ve called,” Trick said. “I would’ve come in.”
    “Couldn’t find you. Didn’t even know you were at the game for sure. And if we’d called, and you’d found it inconvenient . . .” Lucas let his voice trail away.
    “So you’re gonna put me in the fuckin’ jail?” Trick asked.
    “Well,” Lucas said, “we don’t want to take a chance.”
    “That’s such a pain in the ass. I’ll get some psycho up all night screaming. I need some sleep.”
    “I got a spare bedroom,” Loring said. “If you really won’t run.”
    “I won’t run,” Trick said. “You guys know me better than that.”
    Lucas thought about it for a minute, then said, “All right. Let’s do that. Then we won’t have any bullshit, either, checking him in.”
    “You want me to bring him over to your place?” Loring asked. “I’m up early tomorrow.”
    “I’ll be down at the office about eight. Let’s meet there,” Lucas said. “I’ll make