The 5th Horseman

Chapter 85

“LOUIE WAS IN FRONT OF ME on line,” volunteered a thin man with a goatee standing a few feet away. “He said he had to go to the can.”

The man pointed his finger toward the men’s room, ten feet away from an elevator. I saw the arrow above the elevator door arc downward, the car stopping at the ground floor, three levels below us.

“What does Louie look like?” I asked urgently.

“Big guy. Over six feet. Blond.”

I turned to the chief.

“I’ll cover you here,” he said. Then I shouted to McNeil and Samuels to check the bathroom. Told Lemke and Chi to block the exits to all the streets.

“Nobody goes out.”

Conklin and Jacobi were behind me, running down the escalator, the three of us spilling out into the immense interior of the mall.

I pulled up short in the thickening foot traffic drifting in and out of the trendy shops — Godiva, Club Monaco, Bailey Banks & Biddle, Bandolino, and Kenneth Cole.

I didn’t know where to look first, which way to turn. I didn’t see anyone matching Louis Bergin’s description.

My Nextel rang, and I grabbed it from its clip.

It was McNeil, saying, “He’s not in the bathroom, boss. Nobody’s in here.”

“You and Samuels, take Fifth Street,” I said.

“There he is,” said Jacobi.

I saw him, too.

Across the mall, a coatless man in a white shirt was walking away from us, blending in with the crowd. He was about six two, 230, dirty-blond hair, smoking a cigarette.

A bruiser.

I drew my weapon, called out his name over the echoing rumble of the milling crowd.

“Louis Bergin. This is the police. Stay right where you are. Put your hands in the air.”