The Devils Teardrop

tried to evacuate anybody word would spread and there’d be panic.”
    “So you’re just going to hope for the best?”
    She glanced at the extortion note.
    The end is night . . .
    It seemed to be sneering at her.
    “No,” Lukas said. “We’re going to stop him. That’s what we’re going to do.” A glance at Evans: “Doctor, if you could stay here.” Then a glance at Hardy. “You handle communications.”
    Hardy sighed angrily. He said nothing else.
    “Let’s go,” Lukas said to Cage. “I’ve got to stop by my office.”
    “For what?” Cage asked, nodding to her empty ankle holster. “Oh, another backup?”
    “No, for some party clothes. We’ve got to blend.”
    * * *
    “He’s got something good for us.” Wendell Jefferies, the sleeves of his custom-made shirt rolled high, revealing health-club-toned arms.
    By “he” the aide meant Slade Phillips, Mayor Kennedy knew.
    The two men were in the City Hall office. The mayor had just given another embarrassing press conference, attended by only a dozen reporters, who, even as he spoke, took cell phone calls and checked pagers in hopes of getting better news from other sources. Who could blame them? Christ, he didn’t have anything to say. All he could report on was the morale of some of the victims he’d been to visit at hospitals.
    “He’s going on the air at nine,” Jefferies now told the mayor. “A special report.”
    “With what?”
    “He won’t tell me,” Jefferies said. “Somehow he thinks that would be unethical.”
    Kennedy stretched and leaned back in the couch—a fake Georgian settee his predecessor had bought. The finish was chipping off the arms. And the hassock on which his size 12 feet rested was cheap; a piece of folded cardboard was stuffed under one leg to keep it from rocking.
    A glance at the brass clock.
    Dear your honor, thank you very much for coming to speak with us today. It has been an honor to hear you. You are a very good person for us children and students and we would like to commem . . . commem . . . commemorate your visit with this gift, which we hope you will like . . .
    The minute hand clicked forward one stoke. In an hour, he thought, how many more people would be dead?
    The phone rang. Kennedy glanced at it lethargically and let Jefferies answer.
    “Hello?”
    A pause.
    “Sure. Hold on.” He handed the receiver to Kennedy, saying, “This is interesting.”
    The mayor took the receiver. “Yes?”
    “Mayor Kennedy?”
    “That’s right.”
    “This is Len Hardy.”
    “Detective Hardy?”
    “That’s right. Is . . . Is anybody else listening?”
    “No. It’s my private line.”
    The detective hesitated then said, “I’ve been thinking . . . About what we were talking about.”
    Kennedy sat up, took his feet off the couch.
    “Go ahead, son. Where are you?”
    “Ninth Street. FBI headquarters.”
    There was silence. The mayor encouraged, “Go on.”
    “I couldn’t just sit here anymore. I had to do something. I think she’s making a mistake.”
    “Lukas?”
    Hardy continued, “They found out where he’s going to hit tonight. The Digger, the shooter.”
    “They did?” Kennedy’s strong hand gripped the phone hard. Gestured to Jefferies to hand him a pen and paper. “Where?”
    “The Ritz-Carlton.”
    “Which one?”
    “They aren’t sure. Probably Pentagon City. . . . But, Mayor, she’s not evacuating them.”
    “She’s what? ” Kennedy snapped.
    “Lukas isn’t evacuating the hotel. She’s—”
    “Wait,” Kennedy said. “They know where he’s going to hit and she’s not telling anyone?”
    “No, she’s going to use the guests for bait. I mean, that’s the only way to say it. Anyway, I thought about what you said. I decided I had to call you.”
    “You did the right thing, Officer.”
    “I hope so, I really hope that. I can’t talk any longer, Mayor. I just had to tell you.”
    “Thank you.” Jerry Kennedy hung up and rose to his feet.
    “What is it?” Jefferies asked.
    “We know where he’s going to hit. The Ritz. Call Reggie, I want my car now. And a police escort.”
    As he strode to the door Jefferies asked, “How ’bout a news crew?”
    Kennedy glanced at his aide. The meaning of the look was unmistakable. It meant: Of course we want a news crew.
    * * *
    They’re both standing awkwardly, side by side, four arms crossed, in the Digger’s motel room.
    They’re both watching TV.
    Funny.
    The pictures on the TV look familiar