Dirty Harry 03 - The Long Death by Dane Hartman Page B

height, which was still two inches shorter than Harry. “Might I remind you, Inspector, that I’m the captain and not the other way around?”
    “No, that’s OK,” said Harry, squinting across the street at the silent Uhuru home. “Don’t go out of your way.”
    “I won’t stand for any more of your insubordination, Inspector!” Avery shouted in Harry’s ear. “I only had you called here to show you how wrong you can be. If you had arrested Mohamid when we found the Steinbrunner girl, none of this would have happened!”
    “How do you figure?” Harry asked, looking down at the captain’s flushed face.
    “Mohamid knew you’d do some more investigating, so he sent three of his men to kill you at the university.”
    “What for?” Harry interrupted.
    “So you wouldn’t find the link between him and the girl,” Avery contended.
    “What link?”
    “The link we are sure to find if we look hard enough,” Avery maintained. “And when he failed to kill you, he decided to make a stand here.”
    “I don’t understand,” Harry said flatly. “If he was guilty, why not just make a run for it?”
    “These aren’t rational people!” Avery exclaimed. “These are people who’d kidnap, gang-rape, and murder a beautiful blond girl!”
    Avery looked up at Callahan in triumph, as if his logic was unimpeachable. Harry looked down, pasting an expression that said “Why didn’t I think of that” on his face. He waited until after the captain had turned to face the Uhuru house to shake and hit the side of his head as if there were water in his ear.
    “Hand me that megaphone,” Avery told a subordinate. “I’m going to give Mohamid an ultimatum.”
    “Uh, excuse me, Captain,” Harry said as the bullhorn was handed up to his blond boss. “But may I try to talk to Mohamid before we do anything final?”
    Avery smiled at the inspector. “Know when to admit your mistakes, eh, Callahan?” he smirked. Harry looked at him through narrowed lids, as if the sun were in his eyes. His top lip curled up. “Well,” Avery continued, “you two go back a ways.” He handed Harry the megaphone. “Go ahead. Give it a shot.”
    Callahan took the device and walked slowly toward the picket fence around the Victorian. He stopped when the top of the barrier touched his thighs. The rest of the cops watched and waited. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut.
    “Mohamid,” Harry called through the speaker. “This is Harry Callahan. I don’t know what’s the matter, but this is only making it worse. You know you’re not going to get out of this alive the way things are. If you force them these guys will rip you up like so much paper. I don’t care how many guns you have or how many men you have. I don’t care if you have a box of grenades in there. There’ll be no fighting your way out.
    “A couple of guys might die out here, maybe, but all you guys will die in there for sure. You start it . . . you even look like you’re gonna start it and these boys will be ready to send you to hell. And if you think that’s going to make you a martyr to the cause, forget it. All these reporters out here will be happy to film every second of the destruction in slow motion and from twelve angles and it won’t change a goddamn thing. They’ll put it on the six o’clock news tonight, and nobody’ll give a shit. You’ll be sandwiched between a Charmin commercial and a report about talking parrots and none of your brothers or sisters will even care.”
    Harry lowered the bullhorn for a second, licked his lips, and went back to it. “I’m going to come in now, Big Ed. I’m going to walk to the front door and get in any way I can. I would appreciate it if you would meet me there. I give you my personal guarantee of protection.”
    Harry handed the megaphone to the cop nearest him. The cop scurried from the cover of his squad car’s fender, grabbed the horn, and scurried back. Harry turned. Captain Avery was shaking his head