Rules of Prey

could, still dazed. With an exhausted heave he got to his feet and swayed.
    “Now, back up. Five steps.” Lucas thrust the pistol at Vullion’s chest. Vullion stepped back carefully, but looked as though he might be recovering.
    “Now, you just stand there,” Lucas said as he stepped toward the telephone.
    “I knew about the surveillance,” Vullion said through broken teeth.
    “I figured that out about ten minutes ago,” Lucas said. He gestured with his left hand.
    “Is your hand broken?”
    “Shut up,” said Lucas. He lifted the receiver from the phone.
    “Did you deliberately lure me here? With your friend? Like you did with McGowan?”
    “Not this time. McGowan was bait, though,” Lucas said.
    “You’re worse than I am in some ways,” Vullion said. Blood dribbled down his chin. He swayed again, and he reached out to Carla’s sink to brace himself. “I was taking people who were . . . chips. You set up a friend. If I had a friend, I would never do that.”
    “Like I told the papers, you’re not that much of a player,” Lucas said quietly in a voice just above a whisper.
    “We’ll see about that,” the maddog said. He was growing stronger, and Lucas was impressed in spite of himself. “I have defenses. You won’t be able to prove any of the murders. After all, I did not kill Miss Ruiz. And you’ll notice that my method is different this time. You won’t find a note. I was going to make it here, afterward. If it comes to negotiations, I’ll get an insanity plea. A few years at the state hospital and I’m out. And even if worse comes to worst, and I get a first-degree, well, it’s eighteen years at Stillwater. I can do it.”
    Lucas nodded. “I thought of that. It would be like losing,seeing you get away alive. I really couldn’t stand that. Not with an inferior player.”
    “What?”
    Lucas ignored him. He groped in his pants pocket and took a single nine-millimeter shell from his pocket. Watching Vullion carefully, he braced the pistol against his armpit and punched the magazine out of the pistol butt. This was when Vullion would act, if he was going to, but he did not; he stood still, puzzled, as Lucas pushed the blank into the top slot, slammed the magazine back into the butt, and jacked the shell into the chamber.
    “What are you doing?” Vullion asked. Something was happening. Something not right.
    “First, I’m going to call the cops,” Lucas said. He stepped to Carla’s wall phone and dialed 911. When he got the dispatcher, he identified himself and asked for an ambulance and backup. The operator asked that he leave the line open and Lucas said he would. That was standard operating procedure. Lucas let the phone dangle and stepped away from it.
    Vullion was still watching him, frowning. When Lucas stepped away from the phone, the maddog stepped back from the sink. Lucas pointed his pistol at the ceiling, fired once, his eyes tracking the ejected shell, the maddog’s eyes involuntarily widening at the sharp explosion. He was still reacting when Lucas fired two more shots. One hit Vullion in the right lung, one in the left.
    The three shots were in a quick musical rhythm, a bang; bang-bang.
    Vullion was swatted back a step, two, and then he fell, going straight down as though his bones had melted. His mouth worked a few times and he rolled onto his back. The shots were killing shots, but not too good; not too aimed. It was supposed to have been a gunfight. Lucas stepped over to look down at the dying man.
    “What happened?”
    The voice might have come from an animal. Lucas turned, and Carla stood in the doorway to the bedroom. She was nolonger bleeding, but had been battered, her nose broken, her face cut. She tottered over to Lucas.
    “You’ve got to go back and lie down,” Lucas said.
    A witness could kill him.
    “Wait,” Carla said as he gripped her arm. She looked down at Vullion. “Is he dead?”
    “Yeah. He’s gone.”
    But Vullion was not quite gone. His eyes moved fractionally toward the dark-haired woman who stood over him, and a tiny spate of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as his lips spasmed and opened.
    “Mom?” he asked.
    “What?” said Carla. Vullion’s legs spasmed.
    “Forget it,” Lucas said. He moved her physically back toward the bedroom, pushed her onto the bed. “Stay here. You’re hurt.” She nodded dumbly and let her body fall back.
    There was almost no time now. The St. Paul cops would be here in seconds. He