Shadow Prey

sharper sound, nastier, with an edge, six, seven rounds, then a pause, then an odd cracking explosion . . .
    “Minneapolis cops,” Lucas shouted to the FBI man at the base of the stairs. Lily was with him now and they crossed the street. The FBI man had one hand out at them, but with the series of pistol shots he turned and looked at the building.
    “Get out of the fuckin’ street, dummy,” Lucas screamed. “That’s fuckin’ Hood with the pistol. If he comes to the window, you’re a dead sonofabitch.”
    Lucas and Lily crossed the sidewalk to the building until they were standing behind the stoop. The FBI man came over and stood with them, his pistol out now. There was shouting in the hallway.
    “They got him,” the agent said, looking at them. He sounded unsure.
    “Bullshit,” said Lily. “They never got inside. If you got a radio, you better call the paramedics, because it sounds like Hood sprayed the place . . . .”
    The building door popped open and Kieffer, in a crouch, his gun drawn, stepped down onto the stoop.
    “What’s happening, what’s happening?” shouted the armored agent on the corner.
    “Back it off, back it off,” Kieffer shouted. “He’s got hostages.”
    “You dumb sonofabitch, Kieffer . . .” Lucas shouted.
    “Get out of here, Davenport, this is a federal crime scene.”
    “Fuck you, asshole . . . .”
    “I’ll arrest your ass, Davenport.”
    “Come down here and you can arrest me for kicking a federal agent’s ass, ’cause I will,” Lucas shouted back. “You dumb cocksucker . . .”
     
    The federal entry team and the Minneapolis teams stabilized the area and hustled the other tenants out of the apartment building and adjacent buildings. The city’s hostage negotiator set up a mobile phone to call Hood.
    When Lucas and Lily returned to the surveillance apartment, Daniel was talking with the AIC and Sloan was leaning against the apartment wall, listening.
    “ . . . go on television and explain exactly what happened,” Daniel was droning piously. “We’ve had substantial experience with this type of situation, we had the scene cleared and stable, we had an excellent action plan prepared by our best officers. Suddenly, with no coordination and without proper intelligence—intelligence that we had: we knew that door wouldn’t fall to AVONs, which is one reason we didn’t try them—suddenly, an FBI team takes jurisdiction and promptly launches what I can only describe as a rash action, which not only endangered the lives of many police officers and innocent people in adjoining apartments, but also jeopardizes the chances of capturing Bill Hood alive, and cracking this terrible conspiracy which has taken the lives of so many people . . . .”
    “It should have worked,” the AIC said bitterly.
    Daniel discarded his pious-preacher voice and turned hard. “Bullshit. You know, I never would have believed you’d have tried this. I thought you were too smart. If you’d come in with your team, taken some time, talked it over, we could have done a joint operation and you would havegotten the credit. The way it happened . . . I ain’t taking the rap.”
    “Could I get everybody out of here? Just for a minute,” the AIC asked loudly. “Everybody?”
    “Lucas, you stay,” Daniel said.
    When the other cops were gone, the AIC looked briefly at Lucas, then turned to Daniel.
    “You need a witness?”
    “Never hurts,” Daniel said.
    “So what do you want?”
    “I don’t know. I’ll probably want your seal of approval and some active lobbying on a half-dozen federal law-enforcement-assistance grant applications . . .”
    “No problem . . .”
    “ . . . and a line into your files. When I call you on something, I want what you got and no bullshit.”
    “Jesus Christ, Daniel.”
    “You can write me a letter to that effect.”
    “Nothing on paper . . .”
    “If there’s nothing on paper, there’s no deal.”
    The AIC was sweating. He could have had a coup. He was now in charge of a disaster. “All right,” he said finally. “I gotta trust you.”
    “Hey, we’ve always been friends,” Daniel offered, slapping the FBI man on the back.
    “Fuck that,” said the AIC, wrenching away. “That fuckin’ Clay. He’s calling me every fifteen minutes, screaming for action. He’s coming here, you know. He’ll have that fuckin’ gun in his armpit, the asshole.”
    “I feel for you,” Daniel said.
    “I don’t give