'You want him?' Z said.
'You think you can catch him?' I said.
'The Cree named Z,' he said. 'All-American.'
'Go,' I said.
From a standing start, Z exploded down the alley. He'd been outrunning me in our interval training for several weeks. But this was like seeing some kind of different species. Z caught the shooter before he got to Arlington Street. He hit him in the back of the head with a forearm and the man went face-forward onto the ground. Z got hold of his collar and dragged him to his feet. And they came down the alley together more slowly than they'd gone up. I could hear sirens.
'Put the gun down on the ground,' I said to Z. 'Don't want the cops to shoot us while they are protecting and serving.'
Without letting go of the collar of the guy he'd caught, Z put the .357 on the street. I put my .40 beside it. From Berkeley Street, a police cruiser came rolling through the barrels without even slowing; another came down the alley from Arlington Street, showing equal contempt for the barrels. Both cars stopped maybe ten feet short of us, and cops got out, shielding themselves with the open door, guns leveled at us.
'Put your weapons on the ground,' one cop shouted. 'Slowly.'
I pointed at the guns on the ground.
'They're down,' I said.
Two more cruisers showed up.
'Okay,' the talking cop said. 'Now you. On the ground, facedown, hands behind your heads.'
Z frowned.
'Do it,' I said.
We got down as instructed.
'You guys ever gonna forget the Little Big Horn?' Z said.
47
IT WAS LATE, and the crowd in my office had cleared. The stiffs in the alley had been taken away. The survivor had been hauled off, too, and only Quirk remained. We were having a drink.
'Sorry it took so long,' Quirk said.
'Always does,' I said.
'Coulda taken longer,' Quirk said.
'I know that, too,' I said.
Quirk nodded and rattled the ice around in his glass and sipped some scotch.
'Slug you didn't shoot is Warren Carmichael,' he said. 'We've known him for years. Says he was hired by one of the shooters, now deceased. Guy with a shotgun: Squirrel Rezendes. Warren says he doesn't know why they were gonna hit you, or who hired Rezendes.'
'And Rezendes, being dead, can't tell us more,' I said.
'Yeah,' Quirk said. 'Nice going.'
'Sorry,' I said. 'I was just trying to keep him from killing me.'
'Sure,' Quirk said. 'It's always about you, isn't it.'
'Who hired me in the first place?' I said.
'Price was right,' Quirk said, and looked at Z.
'How about you,' he said. 'What do you get out of this?'
Z sipped his scotch.
'Squaw, two ponies,' Z said.
Quirk looked at me.
'Who knew he was funny,' Quirk said.
'Surprise to me,' I said.
'Indians are always amusing,' Z said.
'Sure,' Quirk said. 'What do you figure Jumbo's owners will do now that they've fanned twice.'
'If at first you don't succeed,' I said.
'Think they'll hire local talent again?' Quirk said.
'That hasn't worked out well for them,' I said.
'They haven't hired wisely,' Quirk said. 'The business with the traffic barrels. Talk about overthinking something . . .'
