Silent Prey

on?”
    “We’re gonna surveil for a while . . . .”
    “Surveil what?” Another cop car rolled by, and again they got the look.
    “This Lacey woman’s building, for a start. Bekker knows me, I don’t want to go right up front . . .”
    “I know where we can get a hat,” Fell said. “And it’s on the way . . . .”
     
    They dodged from doorway to canopy, staying out of the rain as much as they could. Fell finally led Lucas into a clothing store that apparently hadn’t changed either stock or customers since ’69. Every male customer other than Lucas was bearded, and three of the four women customers wore tie-dye. Lucas bought an ill-fitting leather porkpie hat. In the mirror, he looked like a hippie designer’s idea of an Amazon explorer.
    “Quit grumbling, you’d look cute in the right light,” Fell said, hurrying him along.
    “I look like an asshole,” Lucas said. “In any light.”
    “What can I tell you?” she said. “You ain’t posing for Esquire. ”
    The rain had slowed further, but the streets were wet and slick, stinking of two centuries of grime emulsified by the quick shower. They found Lacey’s building, cruisedit front and back. The back wall was windowless brick. A weathered shed, or lean-to, folded against the lower wall. The gate in the chain-link fence had been recently opened, and car tracks cut through the low spotty weeds to the shed.
    Lucas walked to the edge of the lot, where he had the sharpest angle on the shed. “Look at this,” he said.
    Fell peered through the fence. The back end of a rounded chrome bumper was just visible inside the shed. “Sonofabitch, it’s a Bug,” she breathed. She grabbed his arm. “Lucas, we gotta call.”
    “Lily and O’Dell are taking care of it,” he said.
    “I mean Kennett. He’s our supervisor. Christ, we’re cutting out the boss . . . .”
    “Soon,” Lucas promised. “I want to sit and watch for a few more minutes.”
    They walked around front, and Lucas picked out a store a hundred feet up the street from Lacey’s, on the opposite side, an African rug-and-artifact gallery. The owner was a deep-breasted Lebanese woman in a black turtlenecked silk dress. She nodded, nervous, and said, “Of course,” when they showed their badges. She brought chairs and they sat at an angle to the window, among draperies and wicker bookcases, watching the street.
    “What if he goes out the back?” asked Fell.
    “He won’t. There’re cops all over the place. He’s holed up.”
    “Then what are we waiting for?”
    “For some guys. Robin Hood and his merry men. If nothing happens in a half-hour, we go in . . . .”
    “Would you like some cookies?” the Lebanese store owner asked, a touch of anxiety in her voice. She was twisting her hands, and looked, Lucas thought, remarkably like the wicked-witch stepmother in Snow White, ifhe had his Disney movies right. “Baklava, maybe . . . ?”
    “No, thanks, really,” Lucas said. “We’re fine. We might want to use your phone.”
    “Yes, surely . . .” The woman gestured at a black telephone next to the cash register and retired to the rear of the shop, where she perched on a high stool and continued to rub her hands.
    “Eat her goddamn baklava and your nuts’d probably wind up sealed in a bottle with a genie,” Lucas muttered.
    Fell glanced back and said, “Shh,” but smiled and shook her head. “Fuckin’ midwestern white guys, it must be something out there, wall-to-wall Wasps . . . .”
    “Look,” Lucas said.
    Two men in sport coats and slacks were walking up the street, not looking at Lacey’s building. One was beefy, the other rail-thin. Their sport coats were too heavy for a New York summer, the kind of coat called “year-round” by the department stores, too hot in summer, not warm enough in winter. The beefy one walked stiffly, as though something were wrong with his back; the thin one showed a cast on his left arm.
    “Cops,” Fell said. She stood up. “They look like cops.”
    “The sonofabitch with the cast is the guy who whacked me, I think,” Lucas said. Fell took a step toward the door, but Lucas caught her by the arm and said, “Wait, wait, wait . . .” and backed toward the counter and picked up the phone, still watching the two cops. They passed Lacey’s building, strolling, talking too animatedly, phony, walked on until they were in front of the next building, then stopped.
    Lucas punched Lily’s office number