Nathan's Run

Chapter 28

Jesus Christ!"

The exclamation startled Pointer back to consciousness. His head felt like someone had lit a fire behind his eyes. That fucking kid.. .

"Sarge! Oh my God!" Schmidtt's voice was nearly a sob. He drew his weapon and chambered a round. "Steadman!" he called. "Steadman, are you here?"

Pointer reoriented himself in an instant, and formulated a plan. He couldn't believe that it all had become this complicated. "Steadman!"

The new addition to the evening's cast was an unwelcome intrusion, but Pointer could handle it. Just another bullet, that's all. He needed to draw the new cop into the cell somehow. Easily enough done. Pointer groaned loudly. It took no effort to sound convincing.

Little shit could have had a career ahead of him in the big leagues, he observed, trying to blink away the lingering fuzziness in his vision.

Schmidtt ran the distance to the open cell in seconds, his footsteps stopping just out of sight beside the opening. After what Pointer thought a ridiculously long hesitation, Schmidtt swung into the doorway, crouched into a two-handed shooting position.

His expression said it all. Who the hell are you?

Pointer sat propped up against the far wall, his head lolling against his chest. He moaned again for effect, even as he noted the bulge of the cop's chest protector through his uniform shirt. Head shot it is, Pointer thought.

Schmidtt nervously scanned the room for the perpetrator who had done this to his fellow police officers. If he had even the slightest suspicion of the stranger on the floor, his eyes showed none of it. In fact, he looked entirely relieved to find that whatever danger there had been had passed him by. The tension drained visibly from his shoulders as he straightened and approached his fellow police officer.

The moment Schmidtt holstered his weapon, Pointer brought his to bear. "Looking for me?" he said as he squeezed off a single round.

The bullet entered Schmidtt's head squarely at the crease of his lips, and sent him sprawling backwards into the hallway.

"Brilliant police work," Pointer chided, holding his aim for just a few seconds to make sure there was no movement before holster ing his own weapon.

Such a simple fucking job, and from what anyone would be able to tell, he was no better at it than the slob Bailey had hired to make the hit. Goddamn kid was slippery. And fast. Pointer was surprised by the effort it took to rise to his feet. He never did get a good look at what the kid used for a bat, but he admired the skill and guts it took to use it so well.

Mr. Slater was not going to be happy. Dead cops always brought more scrutiny than they were worth, and now there were two more of them. Questions were going to be asked. Pressure was going to be brought to bear, and Pointer knew enough about his boss's business to know that people sometimes had to be sacrificed to keep the heat off. The more loyal and hard-working the sacrificial lamb, the more the right people were satisfied. That meant Pointer, unless he could turn this all around somehow.

Everyone deserves a second chance, but no one deserves a third.

As he stared at the uniformed body in the corridor, the outline of a plan began to form in his mind. Most people thought that Nathan was a cop killer already. Looking at the physical evidence in the jail, they might just draw the same conclusion again, especially if Pointer stacked the deck some.

Stepping over Schmidtt's legs to gain access to his holster, Pointer noted with satisfaction the near-total absence of blood. It was a perfect shot. He removed the cop's pistol and stuck it into the waistband of his own trousers.

"You've been a bad boy, Nathan," he mocked as he strolled back toward the watch desk. "Didn't your mama ever tell you that you shouldn't shoot nice policemen?" His joke pleased him.

Back at the watch desk, he leaned awkwardly over Watts's body to reach the tape decks they used to record the security cameras. Three eject buttons produced three videotapes, which he tucked under his arm. When he looked at the clock, he was startled to see that it was nearly five o'clock. Hurrying his pace, he left through the front door.