The Coming Part 15

"Address for Norman Bell."

"This is lunacy," Moore said. "Isn't one murder a day enough?

"He can't f.u.c.k with me that way!"

The car told Solo the address. "Go there." It pulled away from the curb, hesitated, and slipped into the traffic.

"Plenty of people saw us together. Saw him leave."

"Shut up, okay? Just gonna check the f.u.c.kin' thing out."

"Just promise me you won't-"

"I don't promise you or n.o.body a f.u.c.kin' thing," he said quietly. "But Solo ain't gonna kill him. Just rough him up a little. Put the fear o' G.o.d into him."

"Jesus. Listen to yourself."

Solo turned around to face them. "Boss, I don't think he's the kind of guy you just push around ... "

"That's right, you don't think! You don't think! You just do what I tell you."

"What do you mean, Solo?"

"I mean beggin' your pardon, Boss, but G.o.d knows I met all kinds a tough guys and phony tough guys, inside and outside. He's not phony, and he's p.i.s.sed. I think he'd just as soon kill any one of us as look at us."

"You've got a f.u.c.kin' gun. How's he gonna kill you?"

"You buy that s.h.i.+t about the trumpet oil?" Solo put a finger beside his nose. "Hoppes No. 9, I've smelled it all my life. He's got a gun, all right.""So he's got a gun. He's a f.a.ggot professor twice as old as you."

"Push the info b.u.t.ton for me, Solo," Moore said. He did. "Public records, military. Norman Bell."

"I'll need a service number," the car said, "or current residence."

"Gainesville, Florida."

"Norman Bell volunteered for the draft during Desert Wind, in September 2031. For his service in the 101st Airborne Division, he was awarded the Silver Star with two cl.u.s.ters and the Purple Heart."

"Silver Star," Solo said. "Two cl.u.s.ters. Some f.a.ggot."

"So? So you afraid of him?"

Solo didn't move. "I'll do what you want."

"I want."

Moore kept an eye on the road. There was a bike lane. But Bell probably would take a less direct route, avoiding traffic.

"He probably has a burglar alarm. House full of musical instruments."

"Solo can take care of a burglar alarm."

"Yeah, or run like h.e.l.l."

Moore shook his head. "You ought to wait until he's home, if you have to do this. Knock on his door and push your way in."

"Excuse me, Mr. Lawyer. We already gone over this in the restaurant."

"It's an unnecessary-"

"I don't got a replay b.u.t.ton. You clear on that?"

This could get them all into trouble. Too many people in that restaurant saw the four of them together. "It's going to be an interesting trial. Calling the mayor as a witness."

"Shut the f.u.c.k up. The mayor's f.u.c.kin' ours. Besides, he came in after the professor left."

"This is going too fast."

"Sometimes you gotta live fast. We got a chance for perfect timing here. Get them both, get the money, get the f.u.c.k out."

After they dropped Solo off, he was going to go confront Aurora Bell. In theory, by the time she called home, her husband would be sufficiently intimidated. They would empty their bank accounts into w.i.l.l.y Joe's coffers.

Again in theory, the Bells couldn't call the police. This Qabil Rabin was still on the force, w.i.l.l.y Joe had said. But what if the jealous wife was not exactly fond of her husband's boyfriend. Or her husband, for that matter. This whole thing could blow up in their faces.

The car turned right and went uphill for a couple of blocks, through a quiet residential neighborhood.

Then left and right and they pulled up in front of the Bells' house, a large rambler with conservative but well-maintained landscaping. There was n.o.body in sight.

"No burglar-alarm signs," w.i.l.l.y Joe said. "People who got 'em advertise it."

"Yeah; like me," Moore said. "Someone stole my sign."

"Move it," w.i.l.l.y Joe said. Solo opened the door and got out.

He stood for a moment with his hand on the door. "Call you tonight, Boss, or come by?"

"Call." He shut the door and the car glided away.

Solo stood for a moment, feeling exposed and perhaps betrayed. What the h.e.l.l was w.i.l.l.y Joe's game this time? A test? A sacrifice play?

You couldn't just walk out on him, crazy and vindictive f.u.c.ker. Solo fought the reasonable impulse to call a cab and go straight to the airport, sighed, and turned on his heel. s.h.i.+t or get off the pot.He went up the walk briskly, checking his watch for the sake of unseen neighbors. The place was a perfect design for breaking in; a small atrium hid the front door from the street.

The atrium was cool and smelled of jasmine. He went straight to the door and rang the bell, getting his story ready in case there was a servant or a robot.

No answer. He looked around carefully for security cameras. If there was one, it was pretty well hidden.

The double lock was a Horton magnetic dead bolt and a plain Kayser underneath. He took out a plastic case of tools and threaded a probe into the Horton and pushed a b.u.t.ton. It sometimes got the combination right away; sometimes it took a few minutes. With two mechanical picks, he unlocked the Kayser in seconds. Then the Horton gave a solid snap. He pushed the door open.

He stepped into the anteroom and eased the door shut. Books, paper books, from floor to ceiling!

This might work after all; these people had real money.

The Horton lock snapped and he looked back at it-h.e.l.l, it was a keypad on this side. He'd have to find another way out.

He took one step and a voice in every room said, "h.e.l.lo? Who's here?"

s.h.i.+t. The place did have a system. "Professor Bell," he said, and the system answered "okay"-but of course it was already calling the police.

Quickest way out. He ran into the kitchen. The door to the garage was also a keypad. There was a gla.s.s door and a stained-gla.s.s window looking out into the atrium. He picked up a heavy bar stool and swung it against the gla.s.s door; it bounced back, nearly dislocating his shoulder. He threw it into the stained gla.s.s, which crashed in a glittering rainbow shower, and jumped through the hole into the atrium.

He rushed to the walk, paused to smooth his jacket and his tie, and started striding toward town, casually but fast.

Hope the dispatcher's not too swift.

Rabin "Units seven, nine, and twelve. I have a 217 at 5412 NW Fourteenth Avenue. Who wants to pick it up?"

Allah, Rabin thought, that's Norm's house. What's going on?

"Take it?" his partner said. "That's like eight blocks."

"Wait and see if there's a closer pickup." Seconds ticked by, and no other unit responded.

"Come on, Qabil. We could use some laughs."

"Sure. Let's take it." Two-seventeen was B&E, usually no big deal. Except when the house being broken into belongs to your fellow sodomite. Sweet Allah!

"Unit nine on the way," his partner said, and switched to manual. The car surged into the middle of the street, and traffic parted in front of them like the Red Sea for Moses. Qabil checked to make sure his pistol was on "stun." He was tempted to accidentally switch the dart selector to "lethal." Whatever this guy might say was unlikely to advance his career.

He allowed himself one long moment of reflection. That had been a turning point in his life-as large as being a soldier; larger than the POW camp. He went straight after the wife caught him with "Normal Norman," at least straight enough to collect his own wife and kids. Love is love, though, and l.u.s.t, l.u.s.t, and a man can't help being what he is.

"Perp shot," the radio said, and the monitor showed a picture of a well-dressed man swinging a bar stool at a gla.s.s door. The image ratcheted forward and rotated, to give them a full-face portrait of the man.

"We have an ID," the radio said. "Suspect did six months Raiford in fifty-two, accessory toextortion. Two juvies, B and E and A and B. He has a Georgia license to carry a concealed weapon, supposedly in three states. Dolome Patroukis, street name Solo. Consider him armed and dangerous."

"Well, h.e.l.lo," his partner said. The suspect was loping down the sidewalk toward them, on the other side of the street, hands in pockets. No other pedestrians in sight. "Guy can't even afford a car."

He turned on the lights and pulled over to the curb, traffic weaving, and b.u.mped up onto the sidewalk. The man crouched as if to run, and then stood up with his hands over his head.

"I'll take it." His partner got out and walked toward the man while Rabin unclipped the detector from the visor, then opened the door and stood behind it, peering through the detector tube.

"David!" he said. "Left armpit!" He and David both had their stunners out in an instant.

Solo stood on his toes, reaching high. "Hey! Hey! I got a ticket! I'm a private investigator!"

"Yeah, sure." David reached into the man's jacket and pulled out a light automatic. "You got a Georgia ticket outta some cereal box. You got the right to remain silent anything you say may be held against you this encounter is being recorded and encrypted and will be acceptable as evidence against you."

"I don't say nothing until I talk to my lawyer. Not meaning to be disrespectful."

"Like I say," David said, "everything you say is evidence. Everything you don't say, too."

"You can call your lawyer from the station," Rabin said. "First we're going back to the place you were trying to rob."

"Hey, I didn't take nothing."

David took him by the shoulder and steered him toward the car. "Keep talking. You were a Jehovah's Witness, or what?"

"I got lost, I was confused. Went to this house to ask directions, and then this voice starts up."

He pushed him down into the backseat. "Put your wrists on the armrests, please." He did. "Close."

The armrests handcuffed him. "So then you had to break your way out."

"Man, it locked me in! What would you do?"

"Oh, I'd probably call nine-one-one. But then I'm a cop. I have the number memorized." He eased the door shut and went around to the driver's seat.

Rabin had just finished calling it in. He turned around and studied Solo for a moment. "So whose house was it? What were you after?"

"I don't know. Like I say, just wanted directions."

"Bulls.h.i.+t. We have you on a previous B and E."

"What, bacon and eggs?" Rabin just smiled as the car b.u.mped over the curb and eased into traffic.

"Look, I was just a kid. The judge said that was goin' to be erased."

"Probably on the condition of good behavior. a.s.sault and battery isn't such good behavior."

"That was juvenile, too!! You never got into a fight?"

"No, as a matter of fact. Not until the war."

Solo was staring at his name badge. "Oh."

"That's right; I was on the other side. And here I am, a towel-head, arresting you. Is this a great country?" They pulled into the driveway at 5412.

David said "release" and helped Solo out of the car. He chinned the microphone on his lapel. "This is Eakins. You got the owners on this B and E?"

"Not yet," a distant voice said. "One's at lunch, the other's in transit."

"Keep trying." He inserted a probe like Solo's into the Horton lock. Both locks snapped open instantly. "After you." He pushed Solo inside.

"House," Rabin said, "this is the police.""I know," the house said.

"Did this man take anything or do any physical damage to you?"

"Yes, he broke a stained-gla.s.s window. The replacement cost will be six thousand four hundred and fifty dollars."

David whistled. "Felony property. You should have done a different window. Or even used the door."