“Why risk your life like that?”
I opened my mouth but that was as far as I could get.
“He might not say it,” Carson interjected, “but you better believe that old LT has an angle.”?€€ he
I could see that Kitteridge was smitten with the homicide sergeant. She, on the other hand, was not convinced by his cavalier indictment.
“Why am I here,” I asked, “instead of at home, in my bed?”
“You know,” Kitteridge said.
“No, I don’t.”
I gazed into Sergeant Bonilla’s eyes and she glanced away.
“Fell,” Kittridge said.
“I know a guy named Thurman.”
“Three other dead bodies, four if you include Willie.”
“Sanderson’s dead?” I asked.
“Brain hemorrhage. You finally got him, LT.”
I only had a high school diploma but I knew my numbers. There should have been five corpses even if the security guard under the flower arrangement had not died.
I looked up at Carson and his eyebrows rose an eighth of an inch.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked. I was feeling better.
“No. The DA is concentrating on Lana Hull, but he can’t get to her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s up in Albany, institutionalized again. Her father-in-law, too. You know the old man was knee-deep in gangsters since he was in his teens. We think he might have helped the wife but they got more lawyers than a teenager’s got pimples. If it ever comes to trial, you will be asked to testify.”
“I’ll keep my calendar open,” I said, grabbing on to the table and hoisting myself up.
I put some weight on my left foot and almost fell back into the chair.
“Should I get you a crutch?” Bethann asked.
“No need,” I said.
I took a step and stopped, took another step. The pain didn’t ease but I was coming to understand it. I limped to the door, grateful for the knob, and then lurched out into the brightly lit, light-green hallway. I had taken half a dozen steps when Carson called to me. Gratefully, I rested my hand against the wall and waited for him.
“Thanks for the save,” he said. “You did a good job out there. I should’ve sent a squad car up to the Hulls’ place. I wasn’t that worried because I figured they were rich and had some kind of security system.”
?€€ updiv height='1em' width='1em' align='justify'“They had a good gate,” I said. “How did Sanderson get in?”
“It wasn’t clear but he probably had the combination to the keypad.”
“Lana would have given it to him—if they were friends.”
“Probably. Anyway, LT, you saved my butt there. If it had gone wrong, I’d probably be out of a job or writing parking tickets on Staten Island.”
He held out his hand.
I accepted the capitulation.
“My son was surfing the Net the other day,” I said, “looking for porn, I guess. Anyway, he came upon this site called zebramanonthehunt517.com. You should take a look at it. I think that it’ll get you some brownie points with the brass.”
Carson frowned.
“What?” I asked him.
“This doesn’t let you off the hook, LT,” he said. “I still plan to put your ass in stir.”
“What’s a little jail time between friends?”
E€„
54
I took a cab straight from the police station to the Hulls’ house.
The two brawny guards in size fifty-six suit jackets didn’t surprise me one bit. They were both white guys, but the coming conflict between us would have nothing to do with race.
I hobbled up to the space between them and smiled.
“Move on,” the one on the right said. He had a shaved head and crystalline blue eyes.
“Can’t,” I replied brightly. “Here to see Bryant Hull.”
“Not in,” the darker-hued titan on the left said.
“Tell him it’s Leonid McGill.”
“You better be moving on, little brother,” Blue Eyes warned.
“Call him,” was my reply.
I wasn’t afraid of them. They had too much confidence, and I fought dirty. And anyway, I had defeated Willie Sanderson, the Frankenstein monster of the twenty-first century.
The darker guy pressed a button on his earpiece and said a word or two.
A few moments passed before the release for the gate made its n¶€t
THE MAN WHO let me in wore a black suit. He was slender but more deadly than the bruisers at the door. The only muscle you could see was in his hands. I was glad that I wasn’t planning any mayhem. He saw what I was in just a glance.
“Hurt your foot, Mr. McGill?”
“Yes sir.”
“There’s an elevator to Mr. Hull’s office at the end of this hall. Let me show you.”
We walked in silence and waited for the elevator, both of us mum and without expression. The car arrived and we both got in. It was another posh elevator, carpeted, and with a seat in the corner. It reminded me of the Crenshaw when I’d taken a ride with the two party girls, Tru and Frankee, and Norman Fell, who was now deceased.
The door opened and we entered into a dark-wood library with a big desk off in a corner.
“Mr. McGill,” Bryant Hull said as he rose from behind the desk and made his way around to see me. “I’m surprised that you’re up and around so soon. They said you collapsed after your fight with Sanderson.”
“Did Hannah survive?” I asked.
Bryant turned to his man.
“You can go, Mr. Jacobs.”
The security chief hesitated.
“I think it would be better if I stayed, sir.”
