The Twelfth Card

officer on his patrol in the alley. Thekiller began counting the young man’s footsteps. One, two . . .
    At thirteen the officer reached the back of the building and turned around. He was covering a lot of ground in his guard detail; he must’ve been told to watch the entire alleyway, both front and back, and to keep an eye on the windows in the opposite building too.
    At twelve he reached the front sidewalk and turned, started back. One, two, three . . .
    It took twelve steps again to get to the rear of the building. He glanced around then paced his way to the front, stepping thirteen times.
    The next trip was eleven steps, then twelve.
    Not clockwork, but close enough. Thompson Boyd would have at least eleven steps to slip unseen to the rear of the building, while the boy’s back was turned. He’d then have another eleven until he appeared at the rear again. He pulled the ski mask over his head.
    The officer now turned and headed toward the street once more.
    In an instant Thompson was out of cover and sprinting to the back of the apartment building, counting . . . three, four, five, six . . .
    Quiet on his Bass walking shoes, Thompson kept his eyes on the boy’s back. The cop didn’t look around. The killer reached the wall on eight, pressed against it, catching his breath; he turned toward the alleyway where the uniformed cop would soon be appearing.
    Eleven. The cop would have just reached the street and be turning and starting back. One, two, three . . .
    Thompson Boyd, slowing his breathing.
    Six, seven . . .
    Thompson Boyd, gripping the club in both hands.
    Nine, ten, eleven . . .
    Feet scraped on the gritty cobblestones.
    Thompson stepped quickly out of the alley, swinging the club like a baseball bat, fast as a sidewinder striking. He noted the pure shock on the boy’s face. He heard the whistling of the stick and the cop’s gasp, which stopped at the same moment the club struck his forehead. The boy dropped to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. The killer then clocked the man on the crown of the head.
    The officer fell face forward to the filthy ground. Thompson dragged the quivering young man, still partly conscious, around the back of the building, where they couldn’t be seen from the street.
    *   *   *
    At the sound of the gunshot, Roland Bell leapt to the window of the apartment, looked out carefully. He unbuttoned his jacket and grabbed his radio.
    He ignored Aunt Lilly’s wide-eyed friend, who said, “Lord, what’s going on?”
    The great-aunt herself stared silently at the huge gun on the detective’s hip.
    “Bell,” the detective said into the microphone. “What’ve we got?”
    Luis Martinez replied breathlessly, “Gunshot. Came from the back of the building, boss. Pulaski was there. Barbe’s gone to check.”
    “Pulaski,” Bell called into his radio. “Respond.”
    Nothing.
    “Pulaski!”
    “What’s this about?” Lilly demanded, terrified. “Lord.”
    Bell held up a finger. Into his radio: “Positions. Report.”
    “I’m still on the front porch,” Martinez responded. “Nothing from Barbe.”
    “Move to the middle of the ground-floor corridor, keep your eye on the back door. That’s the way I’d come in, I was him. But cover both entrances.”
    “Roger.”
    Bell turned to Geneva and the two elderly women. “We’re leaving. Now.”
    “But—”
    “ Now, miss. I’ll carry you if I have to but that’ll put us more at risk.”
    Barbe Lynch finally transmitted. “Pulaski’s down.” She called in a 10-13, officer needs assistance, and requested medics.
    “Back entrance intact?” he asked.
    Lynch answered, “Door’s closed and locked. That’s all I can tell you.”
    “Stay in position, cover the back alley. I’m taking her out.
    “Let’s go,” he said to the girl.
    The defiance faded but she said, “I’m not leaving them.” Nodding toward the women.
    “You tell me right now what’s this about,” her great-aunt said, eyeing Bell angrily.
    “It’s a police matter. Somebody might be trying to hurt Geneva. I want you to leave. Is there a friend’s apartment here you can stay in for a spell?”
    “But—”
    “Gonna have to insist here, ladies. Is there? Tell me quick.”
    They glanced at each other with frightened eyes and nodded. “Ann-Marie’s, I guess,” the aunt said. “Up the hall.”
    Bell walked to the doorway and looked out. The empty corridor yawned at him.
    “Okay, now. Go.”
    The