Mac yawned. It was 4:30 p.m., the sun was setting and the night was rolling in. The sports radio station was on low. It was Vikings season and nothing raised the passions of the sporting public in the Twin Cities more than the Purple. The rubes were in full rage, a recent loss to the Bears causing everybody’s bile to percolate. The updated weather forecast had rain turning to snow, and soon.
“We’ve been following him how long now?”
Lich rubbed his eyes, tired of the monotony as well. “A week, I think.”
“So, next will be the dry cleaning at the 801 Building.” It was. Mac laid out his next two stops, right on the money.
“What are you now, Columbo?”
They had his pattern down. They knew his every move, when he woke up, what route he drove to work, his route while working, who he talked too, what he picked up, what he dropped off, what streets he drove, where he parked, where he liked to eat lunch, fill up with gas, take a leak. They had it all. But they couldn’t relax. They had to stay sharp. This would be the time he’d throw them a curve ball, and Mac would drive a van right into the back of him. Then the jig would be up.
Per his normal schedule, Knapp finished his route at 6:00 p.m. At 6:05, he casually walked out of the building and got into his car. He left the lot and turned left onto University. Then he took an immediate right south on Lexington. He took a left onto the freeway and headed east on 94. This was not part of the normal pattern. Mac and Lich were in the first vehicle trailing Knapp towards Hudson.
“You don’t suppose?” Lich said.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Mac replied.
Riley and Rockford passed them, driving a white Buick Century. Rockford raised his eyebrows as they passed. They were thinking the same thing.
Knapp pulled into his driveway at 6:45 p.m. Mac and Lich drove past and pulled into the housing development. The rest of the crew were in the parking lot at the restaurant. Mac and Lich watched out the back windows of the van. Thankfully the back of the van had vinyl swivel seats that were moderately comfortable. They could sit and watch Knapp’s place through the night vision scope or binoculars. There was little radio traffic. Everyone was on edge. Something was happening.
Then nothing happened.
At 8:30 p.m. Lich bitched, “What the fuck? He takin’ a night off?”
A light, cold rain started. Mac felt the temperature drop five degrees in a minute and a shiver go down his spine. After a brief rush of action, the monotony set back in. Mac grabbed a
At 10:15, Mac’s bladder started barking at him, and he got out of the van to take a piss. He could see his breath in the cool night, the light mist falling around him. Steam rose from his urine as it hit the ground.
“Mac, get in here!” Lich yelled.
“What?”
“I’ve got the van.”
Mac quickly finished and moved for the van, trying to zip his pants at the same time. Parked in front of an out building they hadn’t seen Knapp go into all week, was a Ford Econoline van, dark in color, lights on, a large dent in the front bumper and, most important of all, the right license plate. “I’ll be damned, Jupiter, you the man,” Mac whispered to himself.
Mac jumped into the passenger seat and grabbed the radio, “Riles, do you copy?”
“Here, Mac.”
“We’ve got the van. It’s outside, and we confirmed the plate number.”
“Copy that. We’re moving out now. You follow Knapp.”
“Copy that.”
“Bout fuckin’ time,” Lich yelled gleefully, as he fired up the van, did a quick U-turn. He turned left onto County 35, half a mile behind Knapp.
Any exhaustion they had experienced was history. The game was on- finally. The adrenaline was flowing. They’d been waiting a week for this. “Tonight’s the night,” Mac said quietly.
Riley, Rockford, and the rest made a speed run to St. Paul and the bar to get ahead of Knapp. The highway patrol was clued in, so there wouldn’t be a problem.
At their meeting with the chief in the morning they went over where everyone would be when Knapp moved. For three days prior, they had pored over maps of the area and spoke with the owners of the businesses surrounding Dick’s Bar.
Riley would be in the bar. There was a small storeroom in the back across from the bathroom. He’d hang there. When Linda left the bar for the night, he would be right on the back door, which she would only pretend to lock. He could pounce as soon as Knapp made a move.
Rockford’d be in the back of the paint store, less than a hundred feet away. Mac had lobbied for the spot. Rockford was not that fleet a foot, Mac was.
Mac and Lich would be across the street to the west in the back garage of Ray’s Auto Repair, at least one hundred fifty feet away. They had spent a few nights watching from there already. Ray had a son-in-law with the force. He couldn’t have been more helpful.
Mac would be able to run across the street-less likely Lich, given his body type, girth, and age. Lich said he’d keep the van pointed in the right direction in case they needed a set of wheels. Mac’s concern was if Knapp ran- would they be able to catch him? They had to keep the rest of the vehicles a number of blocks back. Who knows what would happen if Knapp ran? He could slip away, get into someone’s house, take a hostage. There were risks if he ran and got outside their perimeter. It’s why Mac had wanted the paint store.
There were already two cops on the second floor of the office building to the north, looking directly down on the back of the bar. They could see the gap, the back door and would have the infrared video camera on the back. Neither man would be of any help if there was a chase.
In addition to Riley, they had detective Doug Long on the second floor in the bar. He would be able to look down on Knapp as he hid in the gap between the bar and paint store.
Finally, they had Falcon, the St. Paul Police chopper circling at a distance overhead that could swoop in at a moment’s notice.
In the van, Mac and Lich were two hundred yards behind Knapp, with another unit another two hundred yards further back. The temperature was dropping quickly. The rain was changing to snow. The wipers were going high speed, cleaning the windshield while they sped into St. Paul.
“I hope Ray left the heat on in the garage,” Lich pleaded.
“Suppose you want some coffee too?”
“A man can dream,” Lich quipped.
Mac, getting back to business, “With this snow, visibility’ll be an issue.”
“You’re right, boyo. That area behind the bar ain’t well lit.”
Viper and Bouchard were parked, watching Riley and his crew a block south of the Italian restaurant. Suddenly the two vans and a Crown Victoria pulled out and sped by, disregarding the local speed limit. Two minutes later, a Ford Econoline van came by.
“There’s our boy, I bet,” Bouchard uttered.
“See if McRyan comes by.” He did, thirty seconds later, keeping his distance.
Viper and Bouchard waited and pulled in well behind Lich and McRyan, trailing Knapp back to St. Paul.
“You’re comfortable with everything?” Bouchard asked.
“Yes.”
“How about Hagen?”
“He said it would be easy. He even showed me how he does it.”
“And the get away?”
