cop was an explosive in the car, a bomb in the mailbox, or a sniper on the opposite roof—all of which Harry had experienced during his career.
Even so, he knew he couldn’t put it off forever. He had to go back to Russian Hill sometime. And he figured his hunters wouldn’t want to raise any commotion in his apartment building. Unlike Grand View, it wasn’t filled with military employees.
As long as he was careful, and didn’t do any unusual posturing in front of the windows, Callahan figured that, contrary to the famous saying, you can go home again.
That didn’t mean he was just going to waltz in, however. Harry waited until night had fallen and all of his neighbors had settled in for a long winter’s nap. Only then did he cross the street, quietly unlock the front door and go upstairs—with his Magnum held in his right hand.
He stopped only when he got to his floor. The hall light was off. A bad sign. It was a naked, pale yellow bulb, so it wouldn’t be unusual for it to be out, but tonight wasn’t a good night for coincidences.
All it would take was one man inside a dark apartment to put one silenced bullet into him as he entered, and there’d be no witnesses for one more dead cop whose murder would never be solved.
But Harry wasn’t going to turn back now. He slid forward and put his hand on the light. It flickered to life for a second. In that second, Callahan saw that there was no one else in the hall.
He twisted his hand, and the light went on. It was slightly unscrewed. The question was: how? By gravity or by hand? Callahan felt himself smiling. Suddenly, he looked forward to going in.
He found himself wanting to face whatever they were going to throw at him. They’d find out all too soon that he wasn’t some dupe they could push onto the subway tracks.
He went in fast, low, and professionally. He kicked open the door, threw himself sideways, somersaulted, and came up pointing his Magnum right into the face of Denise Patterson.
C H A P T E R
N i n e
N ow just what the hell do you do?
It was the first thing Harry wanted to know after he closed and locked the door behind him. He was about to flick on the lights when her outstretched arm stopped him.
“Please . . . please don’t. I’m afraid.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Harry reminded her, but took his hand off the switch. “You didn’t seem paralyzed with fear when your apartment was attacked.” He remained standing by the door. She sat near the head of his bed, her legs tucked under her.
“You don’t understand . . .”
“Make me understand.”
“They want to kill me.”
“That much is obvious. They want to kill me, too.”
She waved her arms abruptly, as if trying to clear the air of all the words which swooped around and stung her like verbal bees. He saw her silhouette against the clear winter moonlight slipping under and around his pulled shades.
“Please. Let me explain. It’s hard for me.”
“Better start talking then,” Harry said hastily, moving into the room. “I’m only here for a couple of minutes.”
As the young woman began to talk, Harry began checking up the electronic junk he had picked up at Sid Kleinman’s shop on the way home. Sid had outfitted him with the body mike he had used when delivering the extortion money to the Scorpio Sniper way back when, and he had serviced Harry’s police needs ever since then. But tonight he had outdone himself. Still, in all those years, his payment never changed.
“Bring it back in one piece,” he would say. “That’s enough.”
Harry didn’t know what he’d do without friends like Kleinman and MacKenzie. Actually, he did know what he’d do. He’d die.
First, he tested the room and the phone for bugs, using a little box-shaped counter. There were none. Next, he started installing little things in the receiver and base of the phone. While he worked, the woman told him her life story.
Her name was Denise Barbara Patterson and she had
Even so, he knew he couldn’t put it off forever. He had to go back to Russian Hill sometime. And he figured his hunters wouldn’t want to raise any commotion in his apartment building. Unlike Grand View, it wasn’t filled with military employees.
As long as he was careful, and didn’t do any unusual posturing in front of the windows, Callahan figured that, contrary to the famous saying, you can go home again.
That didn’t mean he was just going to waltz in, however. Harry waited until night had fallen and all of his neighbors had settled in for a long winter’s nap. Only then did he cross the street, quietly unlock the front door and go upstairs—with his Magnum held in his right hand.
He stopped only when he got to his floor. The hall light was off. A bad sign. It was a naked, pale yellow bulb, so it wouldn’t be unusual for it to be out, but tonight wasn’t a good night for coincidences.
All it would take was one man inside a dark apartment to put one silenced bullet into him as he entered, and there’d be no witnesses for one more dead cop whose murder would never be solved.
But Harry wasn’t going to turn back now. He slid forward and put his hand on the light. It flickered to life for a second. In that second, Callahan saw that there was no one else in the hall.
He twisted his hand, and the light went on. It was slightly unscrewed. The question was: how? By gravity or by hand? Callahan felt himself smiling. Suddenly, he looked forward to going in.
He found himself wanting to face whatever they were going to throw at him. They’d find out all too soon that he wasn’t some dupe they could push onto the subway tracks.
He went in fast, low, and professionally. He kicked open the door, threw himself sideways, somersaulted, and came up pointing his Magnum right into the face of Denise Patterson.
C H A P T E R
N i n e
N ow just what the hell do you do?
It was the first thing Harry wanted to know after he closed and locked the door behind him. He was about to flick on the lights when her outstretched arm stopped him.
“Please . . . please don’t. I’m afraid.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Harry reminded her, but took his hand off the switch. “You didn’t seem paralyzed with fear when your apartment was attacked.” He remained standing by the door. She sat near the head of his bed, her legs tucked under her.
“You don’t understand . . .”
“Make me understand.”
“They want to kill me.”
“That much is obvious. They want to kill me, too.”
She waved her arms abruptly, as if trying to clear the air of all the words which swooped around and stung her like verbal bees. He saw her silhouette against the clear winter moonlight slipping under and around his pulled shades.
“Please. Let me explain. It’s hard for me.”
“Better start talking then,” Harry said hastily, moving into the room. “I’m only here for a couple of minutes.”
As the young woman began to talk, Harry began checking up the electronic junk he had picked up at Sid Kleinman’s shop on the way home. Sid had outfitted him with the body mike he had used when delivering the extortion money to the Scorpio Sniper way back when, and he had serviced Harry’s police needs ever since then. But tonight he had outdone himself. Still, in all those years, his payment never changed.
“Bring it back in one piece,” he would say. “That’s enough.”
Harry didn’t know what he’d do without friends like Kleinman and MacKenzie. Actually, he did know what he’d do. He’d die.
First, he tested the room and the phone for bugs, using a little box-shaped counter. There were none. Next, he started installing little things in the receiver and base of the phone. While he worked, the woman told him her life story.
Her name was Denise Barbara Patterson and she had
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