said.
'Come on, Spann. Better minds than you or me have put that team together. Go down gracefully,' the Mad Dog said.
'Better minds than you or I are also rethinking it, Ed. For the sake of argument I'll keep the long-barrels the same. Now let's chuck the Beretta and replace it with four Ruger Model Security 6.38 Special revolvers with either.38 Special + P ammunition or maybe.357 Magnum. I'd take the four-inch barrel over the two and three- quarters. So we've stepped up the Smith and Wesson, and it's also double action. And it's easily field- stripped.'
'Lady, you're a fool. Your Ruger's only got six shots compared to sixteen in the Beretta. The buzz words in this exercise are 'greater firepower.' That means semi-automatic.'
'Look,' Spann said, 'we're also talking accuracy and reliability. If you don't hit with the first few shots what does it really matter: all four women on the team will be dead and…'
'Women! That'll be the day. We're talkin
'… and besides, your firepower is in the long-barrels: you're not going to meet a short-barrel firepower situation. You're going to use the pistol only if you're right against it, eh? If your semi-auto misfires and jams, well then you're fucked. If your Ruger misfires you just pull the trigger again. Your Beretta you'd have to clear and that takes precious time. So your Ruger's reliable.'
'Oh, smart broad,' Rabidowski said, raising his eyebrows and looking at Scarlett. 'Let's look at transportation. Your semi-auto's thinner and more easily concealed and holstered than your bulky cylinder. And to reload you got speed: just eject one magazine and jam in another. What about that, eh?'
'Irrelevant,' Spann said immediately. 'Have you never heard of a speed-loader for a revolver? Besides, your Beretta 92 S is fussy in what it feeds. It won't reliably take your Glaser Safety Slug. It won't take a hollow-point or flat nose. It won't take either your wadcutters or your armor piercing cartridges. With your Ruger, if it goes in the chamber, it fires. So your Beretta's got no selection of ammo. Your options are nil.'
Rabidowski went to counter this, then realized as he opened his mouth that he had run out of arguments. He blinked instead.
'And while we're at it,' Spann said, 'you're creating jeopardy. Your semi-auto will be spewing out hot casings with every shot fired. What if one of those hits the guy
running beside you? A second can mean survival, and there the next guy is with a red hot cartridge down his shirt. And what about the floor? You want your whole team rollerskating on spent Beretta casings? Your Ruger hasn't got that problem. And anyway, for the sake of argument, why does your squad need sidearms at all? You're in a tactical response situation: it's the long-barrels that you'd use. But if you really want a pistol… yep, your Ruger is the one.'
'Amen,' Macdonald said. And then she turned to Lewis. 'Well, what's your judgment?'
Rusty Lewis was twenty-nine years old and slightly overweight. He had drooping eyelids that made him look half-asleep. Sort of like Robert Mitchum. Above all, Rusty Lewis was fair. 'Kathy wins,' he said.
'Jesus, Mad Dog,' Scarlett exclaimed. 'The woman set you up!'
As Monica took the money she let out a thankful sigh.
'You just saved me, Kathy, from having a rabies shot.'
Everybody laughed.
Except Rabidowski.
11:56 a.m.
'I'm impressed,' Rick Scarlett said, 'with the way you handled Mad Dog.'
'Yeah sure. Nice friends you got.'
'No really, I mean it. And he's not my friend. We just spent some time together in the same detachment. Where'd you get that knowledge? I certainly didn't expect it.'
Katherine Spann gave him a long, hard look. 'And just what did you expect? That I'd be reduced to tears when the subject turned to hardware? Don't be such a jerk.'
'All right. I admit it. I started out an asshole. I'm sorry. Okay? So let's change the program. We got to work together, that's orders.'
They were both sitting in the White Spot coffee shop at Cambie and King Edward waiting to order lunch. The waitress came and they ordered burgers Triple 'O' with a side of french fries. Scarlett had coffee. Spann had tea.
When they were finished eating, Rick Scarlett said: 'Let's pose you another problem. You've got this flying patrol, see, that wants to get this Headhunter. Where does it start?'
'At the beginning,' Spann said. 'So let's hit the files.'
12:37 p.m.
Monica Macdonald and Rusty Lewis came into the White Spot just as Spann and Scarlett were leaving. They took the same table. Both ordered the weight-watchers' platter.
'So where do we start?' Lewis asked, sipping a cup of
coffee.
'The way I see it, we haven't many options.' Macdonald thought a moment. 'The Central Corps will start with local info. I say you and I abandon our country. Let's go south.' 'And do what?' Lewis asked. 'Tap the FBI?' 'Remember that baby kidnapping case several years ago? The infant out of White Rock found in Oregon? Well I was on the Force team that worked with the FBI. I even went out a few times with this Bureau guy from Seattle. He'll remember me.'
'You still keep in touch?'
'No, but he'll remember me. So I say we leave this afternoon and make for Washington State. Let's get a look at the skin list they'll have there. We'll get a jump on the other flying patrols and Central Corps and maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe we'll find an American skinner poaching in Her Majesty's far western forest.'
'Sounds good,' Lewis said. 'Do you want to drive or shall I?'
'I'll drive,' Macdonald said. 'You look far too tired.'
2:45 p.m.
Outgoing local call.
Weasel: Hello. Fox: Hey. Weasel: Hoodoo. Fox: Hoodoo yourself.
Weasel: (Chuckling) Hey nigger… Hey nigger… what's happening?
Fox: Be ready… you know… It's on. Weasel: That's cold, man.
Fox: I was wondering about that house youse knows. Burnaby?
Weasel: It's cool. Everythin' all moved in. Fox: Ah… that's good. Weasel: There were so many ladies out last night. Fox: Uh huh.
Weasel: They shoot at you, no need to shoot at them…you know, drive them white boys wild.
Fox: Yeah I know. Play the sucker man… Hey nigger, are you ready? You be gettin' your hoodoo soon.
Weasel: That's good… cause I's hurtin'.
Fox: Okay. Bye. Weasel: Bye… Hey. Fox: (Laughing) Hey hey.
3:57 p.m.
Incoming call. Long distance.
Fox: Hey hey.
Operator: I have a collect call from Mr. Wolf. Will you accept the charge?
Fox: Yes I will.
Wolf: It's cooking on the 6th.. The pot boils over at midnight.
Fox: I'm ready… The cous will be down there to see all you.
Wolf: Ah… right… be seein' the man then.
