Sudden prey

TWENTY

LUCAS AND DEL WERE WAKING UP WITH DAY-OLD DANISH and plastic foam cups of fake cappuccino when Dispatch called.

''Woman called for you and identified herself as Sandy Darling,'' the dispatcher said without preamble, excitement under her steady voice. ''Said they were buying guns and they're gonna attack something, but she didn't say what or when.

She left the phone off the hook. We've got Minnetonka started that way, but they've got almost nobody around: it'll be a few minutes.''

''Well, Jesus…'' Lucas jumped up and grabbed his coat as he spoke into the phone: ''How long ago did she call?''

''Thirty-five seconds.''

''Warn Minnetonka about the guns. Don't let some guy be a hero, just seal off the streets around the address and bring in a team, or whatever they do out there… If they need aid, get Lester and see if we can ship some of our ERU guys out, or maybe Hennepin County guys.''

''Marie is doing that now, most of it. Are you going?''

''Yeah. Gimme the address…''

He scribbled it down and said, ''Direct us in there: we'll be on the air in one minute.''

He slammed the phone down and Del said, ''What?'' and Lucas said, ''Darling called. She said they're buying guns and she left the phone off the hook.'' They were already running down the hallway.

LACHAISE AND MARTIN HAD ROLLED THE RIFLES UNDER their coats, and when Sandy came up from the basement, Martin asked, ''Get it all?''

''I got most of it,'' she said, rattling the shells in her pockets. She felt herself flushing, and thought, Oh my God; Martin would figure it out. She said,

''There's a lot more ammo down there. I think we missed most of it

…''

''Forget it,'' Martin said. He turned away and said to Frank, ''Here.'' He handed the white-haired man a wad of cash.

''This is not exactly a purchase,'' Frank said, tightly.

''Take the fuckin' money,'' Martin said impatiently. ''I feel bad enough anyway.

The cash comes off a drug dealer downtown, there's no tracing it, it's all clean. It'll more than cover the cost of the stuff.''

''Still not right,'' Frank said. He took the money.

''I know,'' Martin said, almost gently. ''But there's no help for it. Now walk us out to the car so you can wave goodbye.''

They were in the car, rolling, and Frank went back to the house with his hands in his pockets. They turned the corner, headed down another side street, then out to the highway. As they sat at the intersection, waiting for the light, a dark sedan crossed the highway against the light, and flashed past, heading into the welter of streets they'd just left.

''Asshole,'' LaChaise muttered.

Sandy closed her eyes.

LUCAS PUSHED THE EXPLORER OUT I-394, HIS FOOT TO the floor, the car banging and creaking with the speed, Del braced in the passenger seat, cursing with every slip and bump. Dispatch said the owner of the phone was a guy named Frank

Winter, no priors anywhere, but he was a registered federal firearms dealer.

''So she knew what she was talking about,'' Del said.

Ten minutes after they left City Hall, they found a phalanx of City of

Minnetonka and Hennepin County cars blocking access to the subdivision. Lucas hung his badge out the window and a cop pointed at a group of men, some in uniform and some in plainclothes. Lucas parked and he and Del walked over.

The command cops looked up and one of them, in plainclothes, said, ''Lucas,'' and Lucas nodded and said, ''Gene, what's happening?''

''We got a couple of guys in the house across the street,'' the cop said.

''There're lights on, but there's no cars out front. There's a set of tracks going up into the driveway, and then backing out. Pretty fresh. We've had this off-and-on snow and the guys say the tracks are crisp.''

''Might have come and gone,'' a uniformed cop said.

''The question is, do we call ahead? Or do we just take the place?''

Lucas shrugged and grinned at him. ''You da man.''

''Yeah, right,'' the plainclothes cop said sourly. Then, ''Fuck it. He's a firearms dealer, so he could have all kinds of shit in there… If we go bustin' in, we could have a fight. If we call ahead, what can they do? Can't get out.''

He was thinking out loud. One of the Hennepin cops said,''He can't flush the evidence down the toilet.''

''Huh. All right. Let's call.''

FRANK WINTER CAME OUT OF THE HOUSE WITH HIS hands over his head, and stood that way in the driveway, until an armored cop directed him down the middle of the street to a blocking car. Winter said on the phone that LaChaise, Martin and

Darling had been there-had left only fifteen minutes earlier-but the house was now empty. When he got to the blocking car, where Lucas and Del were waiting with a group of uniformed cops, one of the uniforms turned Winter around and patted him down.

''He's wearing a vest,'' one of the cops said.

''Why the vest?'' Del asked.

''In case one of you officers decided to shoot me,'' Winter said simply. ''The woman called you in, didn't she?''

''What woman?''

''The one with Martin and his friend,'' Winter said. Then, ''Do I need a lawyer?''

''Better give him his rights,'' Lucas said, and one of the cops recited the code. ''You want one?''

''Yeah, I better,'' Winter said. ''I was sitting there, thinking about calling you, when you called me.''

''Why didn't you?'' Lucas asked.

''Because I figured Martin would kill me, or LaChaise.''

''What'd they get from you?'' Del asked.

''A couple of pistols, an accurized seven-mil-Magnum Model 70 and a box of handloads and a whole bunch of AR-15 ammo. Martin's an Armalite freak: he's always reworking them. I'd be careful. I'd bet they've got modified with them.''

''This Model 70,'' Lucas said. ''Got a scope?''

''Yeah. A Leupold Vari-X III in 3.5 10.''

''A sniper rifle.''

''A varminter,'' said Winter.

''Yeah, if elk are varmints,'' Lucas said.

AN ENTRY TEAM SWEPT THE HOUSE. THE BASEMENT WAS an arsenal, but, as one of the cops said cheerfully, ''Nothin' illegal about that.''

Lucas was looking at a Model 70, a gray synthetic-stocked Winchester. 300 Magnum with a Pentax scope. He turned the eyepiece down to two-power and sighted across the basement at a crosshairs target. Winter had opened the gun safes so the weapons could be inventoried, and they'd found fifty handguns, two dozen rifles and as many shotguns. Del was playing with a derringer, snapping it at a wall target, and Lucas was looking at the butt of the Model 70, when a plainclothes cop came halfway down the stairs and said, ''We're sending Winter downtown. You got anything else you want to ask him?''

''Naw. I kind of think he's telling the truth,'' Lucas said.

''So do I, but he should have called us,'' the cop said. He grinned and said,

''Now he claims he tried to call out, but his phone was screwed up and he was afraid to go out. Says he didn't know the phone was off the hook down here, just that it didn't work.''

''Not bad, if he sticks to it,'' Lucas said.

The cop said, ''We got guys walking the neighborhood, checking about the car.''

Winter had said LaChaise, Martin and Darling were in a big brown car, but he didn't notice what kind because he wasn't thinking about it. Maybe a Lincoln or a Buick. The cop went on, ''The media are swarming in.''

''Jesus, that was quick,'' Del said.

''They're monitoring everything…''

''Can't let them know that there was a tip,'' Lucas said. ''LaChaise'll know where it came from and he'll kill the woman.''

''What'll I tell them? They'll want to know.''

Lucas scratched his head, formulating the lie: ''Tell them that Winter called us. Tell them that we used an entry team because we were concerned it might be some kind of ambush, and Winter was known to be a gun dealer with heavy weapons

… Get that word out quick, so we don't get anybody speculating about tips. .. I'll get my chief to back us up, and we'll talk to Winter's lawyer about keeping Winter's mouth shut.''

''All right.'' The cop nodded, and hurried back up the stairs.

Lucas turned to Del and said, ''Look at this.''

Del came over and Lucas knelt by the gun safe and said, ''See the dust?''

There was a faint patina of dust on the floor of the middle safe, where Winter said he'd kept the stolen guns.

Del nodded. ''Yeah?''

''Three guns were taken out of here. See? You can just barely see the outlines. ..'' Lucas traced the dust outlines in the air, his finger a half-inch above them.

''Yeah?''

''Watch this…'' He put the Model 70 in a rack-slot on the opposite end of the gun safe, and wiggled it in place. When he picked it up, he'd left in the dust an almost imperceptible outline of the gun butt.

''Doesn't look the same,'' Del said. ''Too fat.''

''But he said a Model 70 and this is a Model 70.'' He turned to the Minnetonka cop doing the inventory. ''Give me one of those ARs, would you?''

The cop handed him an AR, a legal, unmodified rifle, and Lucas printed the butt in the dust next to the Model 70 imprint. The two prints were distinctly different-but the AR's print matched the dust shadows of the three stolen guns.

''They took the ARs out of here,'' Del said.

''And they're modified,'' Lucas said. ''That's why he laid that rap on us about

Martin modifying guns. He wanted us to know that they're running around with machine guns, but he didn't want to say they came from him.''

''I'm getting pretty fuckin' tired of this machine gun shit,'' Del said.

''Let's get a photographer down here and see if we can get some shots of this,''

Lucas said, tapping the edge of the safe. ''I don't know if we can get Winter or not. He's a smart guy. But maybe we can fuck with him a little.''

''Why'd they come out for more guns? They've got guns.''

''Because of Franklin,'' Lucas said. ''If they'd shot Franklin with an AR, it would've gone through that vest like it was cheese.'' He took a slow turn around the basement, looking up at the ceiling: the ceiling was neat, just the way the rest of the basement was. Lucas's basement joists were full of cobwebs, which he had every intention of leaving alone.

''Say they took three ARs off Winter. And he says they took three vests. I'd say they're gonna make a suicide run.''

''On what? The hotel?''

''Maybe,'' Lucas said, but then shook his head. ''I really think it's gonna come somewhere else. They gotta figure that none of us are hanging around home, not after Franklin. They can't get at the hotel, we've made that pretty clear.''

''They're gonna hit the hospital,'' Del said, suddenly white-faced. ''They're going back in after Cheryl and Franklin, and Franklin's old lady's been over there… Shit, where's the telephone?''

STADIC HEARD ABOUT THE SCRAMBLE OUT TO MINNETONKA, and called LaChaise, while

LaChaise, Martin and Sandy were still driving back downtown.

''They're out there now,'' he said, with thin satisfaction. ''They were about five minutes off your ass.''

''What happened to Winter?'' LaChaise asked, prompted by Martin.

''They're talking to him. The way I heard it, he's cooperating.''

''Fucker must've called them the minute we were gone,'' LaChaise said. ''They got the car?''

''I don't know,'' Stadic said.

''We better get out of sight.''

''Yeah: and one more thing. Me and a half-dozen other guys are supposed to be on the way to Hennepin General. They think you might be on the way there.''

''What? Why?''

''I don't know, but we're on the way over there. They talked to Winter, and he must've said something.''

''I gotta think,'' LaChaise said. ''Something's screwy.''

STADIC SAT BEHIND A DESK IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM, a shotgun by his feet, while

Lester and another cop named Davis talked about ways of blocking off the drive without being too conspicuous about it. Lucas and Del showed up, cold, damp, hurried.

''You get the new composites on the street?'' Lucas asked Lester.

''Yeah, and we got the car out,'' Lester said. As they talked, they drifted toward a group of chairs a few feet from Stadic. ''Big brown car. What the fuck does that mean? What we got to do is break out where they're hiding.''

''Until we do that…''

Davenport went on talking but Stadic blanked. All he could think of was, Big

Brown Car. And he thought, Oh, shit, they're at Harp's.

At noon, he was relieved of duty. He stopped at the office just long enough to pick up a pair of 8 50 naval binoculars, then drove down toward Harp's place. He stopped a blockand a half away and put the glasses on the windows above the laundromat. He hadn't been watching for more than five minutes when he saw the blinds move-somebody looking out at the street.

All right, he had them again. Same deal? He could wait in the street until they came out-they'd be in the car, that'd be a problem. He could maybe park across the street, and wait: and when he saw the garage door going up, he could run over to the driver's side, blow it up from one foot away-press the muzzle of the shotgun against the glass and pull the trigger. That would take out the driver, then the other guy… He'd need his vest.

He chewed his thumbnail nervously. A lot could go wrong. There'd be questions, later, too. But he could talk those away. He kept thinking about the death of

Sell-More, he'd say, and how Harp seemed to tie into it. He ran Harp's name on the computer and came up with a Lincoln… but why wouldn't he tell everybody at that point? Why would he go in by himself?

He tried to work it through, but his mind wasn't right: too tired. He drove past the apartment to a liquor store with a pay phone, and dialed LaChaise again.

''We're looking for a big brown car, a Lincoln or a Buick.''

''That's it? No tags?''

''No tags. But they've got a new composite out on you-it won't be on TV until the late news, they want to see if you hit the hospital. But they say you've got gray hair, and gray beards, and you look like old men.''

''That fuckin' Winter,'' LaChaise said. Then, ''What's it like at the hospital.

Security?''

''Tighter than a drum.''

''Goddamnit…''

''If I was you, I'd think about packing up and getting out,'' Stadic said.

''Your time's running out.''

After a moment, LaChaise said, ''Maybe.''

Stadic could hear him breathing; five seconds, ten. Then Stadic said,

''Really?''

''We're talking about it,'' LaChaise said. ''Mexico.''