Secret Prey

SIXTEEN

ST. PAUL POLICE HEADQUARTERS RESEMBLES A Depression-era WPA post office, but with new windows. Lucas dumped his Porsche in a reserved-parking space at the front of the building and went inside to a glass security window, where a woman at the desk didnt recognize him, didnt care about his Minneapolis ID, wasnt sure that Lieutenant Mayberry had time to see him, and told him to take a seat in the reception area next to a kid with green hair.

Lucas sat down, said, Nice hair, crossed his legs, and stared at the opposite wall. The kid, whose brain was moving in slow motion, struggled with the sentiment for twenty seconds before he said, Thanks, dude, with sincerity.

Lucas waited another twenty seconds, then asked, Whatre you here for?

Another twenty seconds and the kid said, Fuckin smokin weed.

Were you doing it? Lucas asked.

Fuckin yeah.

THE CONVERSATION WITHERED AFTER THAT; THEN Mayberry pushed through the security door and said, Hey, Lucas, whatre you doing out here? Mayberry had a head the size and shape of a gallon milk jug, right down to thehandle, which was a tiny blond ponytail tied into his hair at the back. He pushed through the security door and said, Come on back… How ya been, I havent seen you since that goat-fuck over at Ronnie Whites place.

Ah, ups and downs, Lucas said. You heard about Weather?

You mean the bomb? Yeah, in the paperand somebody said you guys busted up.

I dont know, were kind of working on things.

Shes a good one, Mayberry said. He guided Lucas to an elevator, up a couple of floors and into a meeting room with a dozen chairs with red plastic seats, a blackboard, a wide-screen color television, and a