I attempted to call back. I got another busy signal. I thought quickly, trying to decide what to do. Finally I stood, took off my jacket, and laid it on the hood of Safire’s black-and-white. As I began unstrapping my shoulder rig, an LAPD cruiser squealed to a stop beside me.
Lieutenant Snead rolled out from the passenger-side door. “What are you doing here, Kane?” he demanded angrily, crouching behind Safire’s vehicle.
“I live here, Snead. What brings you down?”
“After talking with Deluca, I got a squawk from the SWAT unit,” he replied. “You’re not the only one who can do simple addition.”
“Congratulations. One of these days you might make a good cop after all.”
Snead noticed that I was unstrapping my automatic. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going in.”
“The hell you are.”
“I’m going in, Lieutenant. And nobody’s going to stop me.”
“Wrong, hotshot. SWAT will be here shortly. If you go in, you’ll just make things worse.”
“Maybe.” I handed Snead my pistol and holster, turned, and started across the street.
“Don’t you realize he’ll kill you?” Snead shouted. “I’m ordering you to stand down, Kane. You’re relieved of duty.”
I turned. “Listen, Bill. We haven’t always seen eye to eye on things, but this goes way beyond that. My family’s in there.”
“I appreciate that, but-”
“Look, I know this guy,” I said, my voice hardening. “He has nothing to lose. He’s not going to negotiate. And he’s not going to surrender. And if SWAT sends in an entry team behind tear gas and concussion grenades or whatever, he’ll kill everyone. There’s only one chance of anyone getting out alive, and that one chance is me.”
Just then the SWAT van rolled up, lumbering to a stop fifty yards down the highway.
I glanced at the van. “Tell them there’s an officer inside. Have them give me ten minutes before they move.” I turned and started again across the highway, my arms held out from my sides. “If I’m still breathing when this is over,” I added over my shoulder, “we’ll talk about things then.”
“Count on it,” said Snead. “And Kane?
“What?”
“Good luck.”
The front door was locked. I banged on it with my fist. “Carns. I’m coming in.”
No answer.
Using my house key, I unlocked the dead bolt and stepped inside.
“Close it,” a voice hissed.
I turned. In the darkness I could make out a dim figure crouched in the kitchen. Arms extended. Gun.
I closed the door. A flashlight beam stabbed out, pinning me in its glare.
“Lock it.”
I inserted my key into the double cylinder and twisted. Suddenly I heard a muffled pop, followed by a sharp stab of pain. My left leg buckled. I crashed to the floor, landing hard on my side. I clutched my knee in agony, blood hot and sticky on my fingers.
“Face down. Do it, or I’ll take your other knee.”
With a groan, I rolled onto my stomach. The floor tiles were cold against my face. Grit pressed into my cheek.
“I assume those are handcuffs on your belt. Take them out. Secure one manacle to your right wrist and place your hands behind your back.”
“Where’s my family?”
“Do it.”
“No.”
“Maybe you’d rather I took something from your wife. She’s right down the hall.”
I reached into a leather pouch at the small of my back and withdrew a pair of cuffs. “Any deals are off if they’re not released.”
“Around your right wrist. Now.”
I snapped on one of the cuffs, then lay with my hands behind me.
Footsteps. A knee bore down between my shoulders. Something hard pressed against the back of my skull. The other cuff closed around my free wrist. Then a restraint was looped around my ankles and drawn tight.
“That’s better,” the voice said. “Now let’s see what you’ve brought with you.”
A rough search followed-arms, back, legs, groin. Carns found my holdout gun, a. 38-caliber revolver, concealed in an ankle rig beneath my trousers. “Tsk, tsk, Detective. It seems as if I won’t be able to trust you.”
I heard the. 38 clatter across the entry, banging against a wall near the closet. Unexpectedly, the restraint around my ankles loosened. A moment later I was yanked to a sitting position. I looked at Carns, noting a. 25 automatic in his right hand. What appeared to be a homemade silencer was fastened to the barrel.
“Let’s go where I can see you better,” said Carns. “On your feet.”
Slipping in my own blood, I struggled to stand. A shove sent me hopping one-legged down the hallway. I stumbled into the living room, Carns close behind. A glow from the police spotlights shone through the drapes.
“Stop.”
I turned, my knee throbbing.
Carns stared at me. “Where’s my helicopter?” he asked, his eyes as unreadable as coddled eggs.
Before I could respond, a bullhorn sounded outside. “Victor Carns. This is Sergeant Bruce Moore of the Los Angeles Police. The house is surrounded. You have no chance of escape.”
“The civilians leave first, then the helicopter,” I said, hoping the SWAT negotiator didn’t say anything to the contrary.
The bullhorn again: “Mr. Carns, please pick up the phone.”
“Let them go,” I said. “After that, you and I can go anywhere you say.”
“Mr. Carns, unless we talk, we can’t resolve this situation,” the voice outside continued. “Please pick up the phone.”
Carns moved closer. He shoved his pistol against my forehead. “There is no helicopter, is there?”
“It’s coming,” I lied. “It will land on the beach once the civilians are released.”
“Bullshit.”
I shook my head, deciding to change tactics. “Give it up, Carns,” I said quietly. “Even if you do get out of here, where will you go? Off to some deserted island to live on your millions? The world isn’t big enough.”
A secretive smile flashed across Carns’s face. Then the amusement seeped from his eyes. Without warning he swung his pistol, backhanding me. A clamp on the homemade silencer sent a gush of blood sheeting down my face. Already unsteady on my crippled leg, I went down again.
“Mr. Carns, pick up the phone.”
Ignoring the drone of the bullhorn, Carns descended on me, lashing out with his feet, fists, knees, gun. He grunted with each blow, his face twisted with rage.
Unable to defend myself, I tried to squirm out from beneath his assault. When that failed, I fought to free my hands. Couldn’t. Dazed, I attempted to fend off Carns’s attack with my uninjured leg. No good. Soon the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth and nose and throat. A kick caught me in the eye, snapping back my head. The automatic thunked against my skull. And again. A flash of light, then another kick to the face. And another to the stomach, the back, the groin. Before long I simply concentrated on breathing, trying not to choke on my own blood. Slowly, through a haze of pain that was dulling with each blow, I felt darkness closing over me.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Carns snarled, his breathing labored from his one-sided battle. He grabbed my hair, lifting my face from the carpet. “I’m not done with you yet. Not by half.” Suddenly he froze.
I thought I heard a rustling in the hallway.
Apparently Carns thought he heard something, too. Leaving me bleeding on the floor, he charged to the
