More Twisted

there.
    “This is Eberhart. All units, stand by.”
    Lampert asked, “What’s up, Stan?”
    Eberhart said breathlessly, “He made us! He didn’t plant anything under the Mercedes. Or if he did there’s another device on our car. It’s in a Whole Foods bag, a little one. We’re getting out!”
    “Negative, negative,” another voice called over the radio. “This is Grimes with the bomb unit. It could have a pressure or rocker switch. Any movement could set it off. Stay put, we’ll get an officer there.”
    Eberhart muttered, “It’s a double feint. He leads us off with the poison and then a fake bomb at the Mercedes. He’s been watching us all along and he’s planning to get us here . . . . Jesus.”
    Lampert called, “All units, we’re going into Miguel’s. Don’t let him hit the detonator.”
    Eberhart covered his face with his jacket.
    Stephen York had his doubts that that would provide much protection from an exploding gas tank. But he did exactly the same.

    “Ready?” Lampert whispered to Alvarado and the others on the takedown team, huddled at the back door of Miguel’s.
    Nods all around.
    “Let’s do it.”
    They crashed through the door fast, pistols and machine guns up, while other officers charged through the front. As soon as he stepped into the bar, Lampert sighted on Trotter’s head, ready to nail him if he made any move toward the detonator.
    But the suspect merely turned, alarmed and frowning in curiosity like the other patrons, at the sound of the officers.
    “Hands up! You, Trotter, freeze, freeze!”
    The landscaper stumbled back off the stool, eyes wide in shock. He lifted his hands.
    An officer from the bomb squad stepped between Trotter and the detonator and looked it over carefully, as the tac cops threw the man to the floor and cuffed him.
    “I didn’t do anything! What’s this all about?”
    The detective called into his microphone, “We’ve got him. Bomb Units One and Two, proceed with the render safe operation.”

    In the car, complete silence. Eberhart and York struggled to remain motionless but York felt as if his pounding heart was going to jiggle the bomb enough so that it would detonate.
    They’d learned that Trotter was in custody and couldn’t push the detonator button. But that didn’t mean that the device wasn’t set with a hair trigger. Eberhart had spent the last five minutes lecturing York on how sensitive somebomb detonators could be—until York had told him to shut the hell up.
    Wrapped in his jacket, the businessman peeked out and, in the side-view mirror, watched the policeman in a green bomb suit approach the car slowly. Through the radio’s tinny speaker they heard, “Eberhart, York, stay completely still.”
    “Sure,” Eberhart said in a throaty whisper, his lips barely moving.
    York could see the policeman step closer and peer into the shopping bag. He took out a flashlight and pointed it downward, examining the contents. With a wooden probe, like a chopstick, he carefully searched the bag.
    Through the speaker they heard what sounded like a gasp.
    York cringed.
    But it wasn’t.
    The sound was a laugh. Followed by: “Trash.”
    “It’s what?”
    The officer pulled his hood off and walked to the front of the car. With a shaking hand, York rolled the window down.
    “Trash,” the man repeated. “Somebody’s lunch. They had sushi, Pringles and a Yoo-hoo. That chocolate stuff. Not a meal I myself would’ve picked.”
    “Trash?” Lampert’s voice snapped through the speaker.
    “That is affirmative.”
    The first bomb unit called in; a search of the area beneath York’s Mercedes revealed nothing but a crumpled soda cup, which Trotter might or might not’ve thrown there.
    York wiped his face and climbed out of the car, leaned against it to steady himself. “Goddamn it, he’s been yanking our chain. Let’s go talk to that son of a bitch.”

    Lampert looked up to see Eberhart and York angrily walking into Miguel’s. The patrons had resumed eating and drinking and were clearly enjoying this real-life Law and Order show.
    He turned back to the uniformed officer who’d just searched Trotter. “Wallet, keys, money. Nothing else.”
    Another detective from the bomb squad had carefully examined the “detonator” and reported that they’d been wrong; it was only a small laptop computer. As York was mulling this over, a plain-clothed cop appeared at the door and said, “We searched Trotter’s car. No