appointment wasn't something an underpaid sector cop would normally be late for....
His own cop instincts twitching, Otto went back outside. The gate separating the two sectors was locked. He looked through the eight-foot chain-link fence, down the street into Sector Twelve, and still saw no sign of the officer. Then he looked back up the street in the direction he'd come and saw nothing there either.
The rain grew more intense, and for a long moment he considered calling White, then decided he better look around a little more. He considered leaving the briefcase in the guard shack to keep his hands free, and thought better of it.
An old factory neighborhood, Sector Eleven was mostly
run-down vacant buildings for blocks in every direction. Some had been taken over by squatters, who seldom ventured far at night, especially not on a rainy night like this one. Otto gazed down the street into Sector Twelve again and still saw nothing, the rain blurring anything beyond a few hundred feet anyway.
His heart fluttered, his stomach was in knots, and he had a warm, loose feeling in his bowels. Otto hated being scared, but something was terribly wrong here and he had no idea what it was. He withdrew a small flashlight from his coat pocket, turned it on, then struggled to hold it in his left hand along with the briefcase as he drew his pistol with his right from under his topcoat and started back in the direction from whence he'd come. His rubber-soled shoes moved silently over the concrete, his flashlight jabbing holes in the night, seeking any sign of the missing sector cop.
Halfway back down the block, an alley bisected the street. Otto was worried that if Dunphy had gone off to check on a prowler or something, the sector cop might be coming back down the alley, see the light and the gun, and wind up drilling Otto.
Wouldn't that be a son of a bitch. Pushing himself flat against the brick building on the west side of the street, Otto moved back north. When he got to the alley, he first looked across the street to the east and could see nothing but rain in that direction.
Feeling like a putz on the empty street, Otto peeked around the edge of the building, saw nothing, and risked shining the flashlight down that way.
Nothing.
He turned west in the alley, the flashlight and briefcase
clumsily in front of him as he meandered ahead, careful to
stay in the middle and aim the tiny pen flash at any shadows.
Keeping his pistol ready, he moved forward slowly.
Five feet, ten feet, fifteen, twenty, nothing, the flashlight
sweeping back and forth, the briefcase growing heavier by the second, his fingers aching, then stiffening, as the case wobbled back and forth.
Damnit, he thought. Where is this asshole?
Ahead, on his right, something tapped on metal in the shadows.
He swung the flashlight over and saw a dumpster. He couldn't tell whether the tapping came from the inside or from the far end, where he couldn't see. The tapping continued, slow, rhythmic—something man-made, for sure.
"Dunphy?" he asked quietly.
No answer—just the tapping.
Otto took a wider arc, so he could see around the far end of the dumpster.
Nothing.
The tapping stopped.
His gun coming up, Otto took a step forward, then another. Still no sound from the dumpster. He took a third step, and was now less than ten feet away. Taking a breath in through his nose, he blew it out through his mouth, just like he did when he was running.
The lid to the dumpster flew open, clanging off the wall, and a figure rose up from within the container.
Freaking at the noise, Otto dropped both the flashlight and the briefcase as he brought up the gun in a two-handed grip. The light stayed on, doing its job as best it could, shining crazily toward the foot of the dumpster.
The briefcase wasn't so lucky.
Money spilled out into the puddles in the alley, and the remaining cash got splattered by the rain. The crash of the lid scared Otto so badly he almost shot
His own cop instincts twitching, Otto went back outside. The gate separating the two sectors was locked. He looked through the eight-foot chain-link fence, down the street into Sector Twelve, and still saw no sign of the officer. Then he looked back up the street in the direction he'd come and saw nothing there either.
The rain grew more intense, and for a long moment he considered calling White, then decided he better look around a little more. He considered leaving the briefcase in the guard shack to keep his hands free, and thought better of it.
An old factory neighborhood, Sector Eleven was mostly
run-down vacant buildings for blocks in every direction. Some had been taken over by squatters, who seldom ventured far at night, especially not on a rainy night like this one. Otto gazed down the street into Sector Twelve again and still saw nothing, the rain blurring anything beyond a few hundred feet anyway.
His heart fluttered, his stomach was in knots, and he had a warm, loose feeling in his bowels. Otto hated being scared, but something was terribly wrong here and he had no idea what it was. He withdrew a small flashlight from his coat pocket, turned it on, then struggled to hold it in his left hand along with the briefcase as he drew his pistol with his right from under his topcoat and started back in the direction from whence he'd come. His rubber-soled shoes moved silently over the concrete, his flashlight jabbing holes in the night, seeking any sign of the missing sector cop.
Halfway back down the block, an alley bisected the street. Otto was worried that if Dunphy had gone off to check on a prowler or something, the sector cop might be coming back down the alley, see the light and the gun, and wind up drilling Otto.
Wouldn't that be a son of a bitch. Pushing himself flat against the brick building on the west side of the street, Otto moved back north. When he got to the alley, he first looked across the street to the east and could see nothing but rain in that direction.
Feeling like a putz on the empty street, Otto peeked around the edge of the building, saw nothing, and risked shining the flashlight down that way.
Nothing.
He turned west in the alley, the flashlight and briefcase
clumsily in front of him as he meandered ahead, careful to
stay in the middle and aim the tiny pen flash at any shadows.
Keeping his pistol ready, he moved forward slowly.
Five feet, ten feet, fifteen, twenty, nothing, the flashlight
sweeping back and forth, the briefcase growing heavier by the second, his fingers aching, then stiffening, as the case wobbled back and forth.
Damnit, he thought. Where is this asshole?
Ahead, on his right, something tapped on metal in the shadows.
He swung the flashlight over and saw a dumpster. He couldn't tell whether the tapping came from the inside or from the far end, where he couldn't see. The tapping continued, slow, rhythmic—something man-made, for sure.
"Dunphy?" he asked quietly.
No answer—just the tapping.
Otto took a wider arc, so he could see around the far end of the dumpster.
Nothing.
The tapping stopped.
His gun coming up, Otto took a step forward, then another. Still no sound from the dumpster. He took a third step, and was now less than ten feet away. Taking a breath in through his nose, he blew it out through his mouth, just like he did when he was running.
The lid to the dumpster flew open, clanging off the wall, and a figure rose up from within the container.
Freaking at the noise, Otto dropped both the flashlight and the briefcase as he brought up the gun in a two-handed grip. The light stayed on, doing its job as best it could, shining crazily toward the foot of the dumpster.
The briefcase wasn't so lucky.
Money spilled out into the puddles in the alley, and the remaining cash got splattered by the rain. The crash of the lid scared Otto so badly he almost shot
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