Shadow Prey

and Oklahoma City. Nothing about the Brookings killing, so they were mailed before that. The killings were done as the beginning of a new uprising against white tyranny. There were unconvincing quotes from the Oklahoma assassin, but there were also details from Oklahoma that Lucas hadn’t seen.
    “This Oklahoma stuff . . .” he said, looking up at Daniel.
    The chief nodded. “They got it right.”
    “Huh.” He finished the release, glanced at the second sheet Daniel had given him, a copy of the envelope the release had arrived in, and said “Huh” again.
    “Interesting envelope,” Sloan remarked.
    “Yeah.”
    “What’s that?” asked Hart. He had been looking at the press release and now turned to the envelope.
    “Look at the cancellation,” Lucas said. “Minneapolis.”
    Anderson looked up. “We thought they were working out of here.”
    “Now everybody will know,” Daniel said. “That’ll crank up the pressure.”
    “That TV stuff we put out about Yellow Hand last night, blaming this group, I think it backfired,” Hart said. “A lot of people knew Yellow Hand. They know he was a crackhead. They figure he was killed by a dealer or another crackhead. Some kind of ripoff. They think the TV stuff is just more white-cop bullshit.”
    “Shit,” Daniel said. He pulled at his lip, then looked at Lucas. “Any ideas? We gotta break something loose.”
    Lucas shrugged. “We could try money. There’re a lot of poor people out there. A little cash might loosen things up.”
    “That’s ugly,” Hart objected.
    “We’re about to get lynched by the media,” Daniel snapped. He looked at Lucas. “How much?”
    “I don’t know. We’d be on a blind trip, just fishing. But I don’t know what else to do. I’ve got no net with the Indians. You show me a problem with the black community, I can call two hundred guys. With the Indians . . .”
    “You won’t make any friends by spreading money around,” Hart insisted. “That’s too . . . white. That’s what the people will say. That it’s just like the white men. They get in trouble, and they go out and buy an Indian.”
    “So it’s not the best way. The question is, Will it work?” Daniel said. “We can worry about rebuilding community relations later. Especially since we don’t have any in the first place.”
    Hart shrugged. “There’s always some people who’ll talk for money. Indians are no different than anybody else, that way.”
    Daniel nodded. “And we have a source of money,” he said. “We don’t even have to tap the snitch fund.”
    “What’s that?” Lucas asked.
    “The Andretti family. When the word got out that we’d nailed Billy Hood, I got a call from old man Andretti himself, thanking us for our help . . . .” He frowned, remembering, and looked at Lucas. “Where’s Lily? I haven’t seen her.”
    “She headed back to New York,” Lucas said. “She was done here.”
    “God damn it, why didn’t she check out with me?” Daniel asked irritably. “Well, she’ll just have to come back.”
    “What?”
    “The Andrettis were happier’n hell about Hood, but apparently they’re no longer satisfied with getting what the old man calls ‘small fry.’ He’s convinced the NYPD that Lily should stay out here and observe until this whole crazy bunch is busted.”
    “So she’s coming back?” Lucas asked, his breath suddenly coming harder.
    “I expect she’ll be back tomorrow, as hot as the Andrettis are,” Daniel said. “But that’s neither here nor there. Anderson has started putting together some interview files . . . .”
    Daniel kept talking, but Lucas lost track of what he was saying. A slow fire of anticipation spread though his chest and stomach. Lillian Rothenburg, NYPD. Lucas bit his lip and stared into a dark corner of Daniel’s office, as the chief rambled on.
    Lily.
    A moment later he realized Daniel had stopped talking and was staring at him.
    “What?” asked Daniel.
    “I got an idea,” Lucas said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
     
    An hour after dark, Lucas found Elwood Stone standing under a streetlight on Lyndale Avenue. This time, Stone didn’t bother to run.
    “What the fuck you want, Davenport?” Stone was wearing sunglasses and a brown leather bomber jacket. He looked like an advertisement for rent-a-thug. “I ain’t holding.”
    Lucas handed him a deck of photographs. “You know this kid?”
    Stone looked them over. “Maybe I seen him