Wicked Prey

fuck it: we’re gonna do it. We’re gonna do it, so let’s get ready.”
    * * *
    THEY FINISHED eating and watched TV for a while, Oprah , and then Lane said, “I’m gonna go get that extension cord. Anybody want to come?”
    Nobody did. Lindy was scared. “I’m afraid to go outside. This convention, I bet they got cameras everywhere. If they see me with you guys, I’m as bad off as you are, and I haven’t even done anything.”
    Cohn nodded, stood up and stretched. “So you keep your head down,” he said. “Once it gets dark, the cameras won’t work so well.” To Cruz: “Let’s go walk to the hotel.”
    * * *
    THE ST. ANDREWS was the modern counterpart to the aging St. Paul Hotel, as they stood side by side facing the CNBC TV platform set up in Rice Park, and conveniently outside the main security lines. The St. Paul was once the classiest place in town; now it was the second classiest, to the St. Andrews. Because they were only two blocks from the convention center, the richest Republican donors were stuffed in the two hotels, and the richest Republican nomination ball was set for that night in the St. Andrews ballroom, with John McCain himself scheduled to make a handshake tour and maybe dance with a couple of dowagers.
    The main door of the St. Andrews faced Rice Park, but there were other entrances from the second-floor skyway, and out the back door onto St. Peter Street. Cohn and Cruz took their time, walking off the skyway escape route, with Cohn counting the steps: Cruz had already measured the distance, and, one afternoon in June, had put on jogging shorts and a T-shirt and jogged the route, timing herself, but she didn’t disturb the count.
    When they dropped down the stairs into the lobby, Cohn nodded at Cruz; he bought her timeline. Of course he did, because she wouldn’t mess up anything that basic. At the same time, she appreciated the check. If anything went wrong, they needed to know their escape moves, and know them exactly.
    Inside the hotel, they walked from the front desk to the bar, which was jammed with politicos and media, pouring it down as fast as it could be served. At the front desk, Cohn got a map from the desk clerk, consulting with her about the best route to the interstate entrance. And about the safe-deposit boxes: “I have a friend staying with me tonight, after the ball. If she needs one, would you have one available?”
    The clerk shook her head. “As of now, we’re all full. First time that’s happened. Have you looked at your room safe?”
    “She’ll be wearing some fairly, mmm, important jewelry,” Cohn said. “We thought that a real safe-deposit box might be more appropriate.”
    “If you can leave your name and room number, we can let you know about any availabilities,” the woman offered.
    Cohn shook his head: “Ah, it’s six to eight hours. I guess we can do with the room safe. I thought I’d ask.”
    Back down the hall to Cruz: “They have no boxes available. They’re all taken. I tried to impress her by telling her that we had some important jewelry coming in. She wasn’t impressed. They must have goddamn Tiffany’s in those boxes.”
    “Told you,” Cruz said.
    A guy went by with a broom and a dustpan, hurrying to clean up a mess somewhere. He was wearing a neat gray uniform, with his name in red script in a white oval. Cohn looked after him and asked, “How many janitors working overnight?”
    “Couldn’t find that out,” Cruz said. “Probably a couple.”
    “Would have been nice to know.”
    * * *
    THEY WALKED through the hotel for fifteen minutes, got a drink, watched the crowd, checked where the cops were. “The only really bad, serious, unpredictable factor would be if the protesters broke through the police lines and started trashing the area,” Cruz said. “In that case, we walk away. There’d be cops every fifteen feet. Chaos. But from what I can tell, from walking it, they’ll be kept well away, over to the north of the convention center. They’re not going to allow anything down here. Lots of cops, but all out on the perimeters.”
    “The biggest problem won’t be cops—the biggest problem is that we have to take down so many people that I can’t control them,” Cohn said. “Would have been easier with McCall. Goddamn McCall.”
    “You shoot him?” Cruz asked.
    Cohn did a double take on the question. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
    “Just . . . wondered,” Cruz said. “If he was hurt,