belt. "Or a relative on the
force?" He holstered the pistol and cuffed my right wrist.
"I used to work for the D.A.'s office," I
said to him.
"You were a cop?"
I nodded.
"You might have said something earlier," he
said, glancing down the hall. "It would have saved us all a lot
of trouble. I'm never going to hear the end of this." He pulled
my left arm behind me and cuffed my hands behind my back. "He's
going to try to kill you when he comes to. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded again.
"Even if you can get bail tonight, you're going
to take a beating."
"I know that," I said. "What would you
have done?"
Lewis laughed grimly and said, "One thing I
wouldn't have done is mess with Jordan."
"About the girl ..." I said, glancing at
Karen, who had been taking all of it in with a horrified look on her
face.
"She's free to go," Lewis said.
I turned to Karen. "Go home," I said to
her. "Go back to St. Louis. Tonight."
She stared at me as if I were out of 'my mind. "And
leave you to these bastards?" she said, staring right at Lewis.
The old cop ducked his head.
"Karen," I said softly, "whether you
stay or not isn't going to make any difference where they're
concerned."
"How about where you're concerned?" she
said angrily.
"I can't look after you from jail," I said.
"I can look after myself."
"You don't know what's going on here," I
said helplessly. I wanted to pull her aside and explain it to
her--about Bo and his pals and the cocaine. But there was no way to
do it without letting Lewis in on it too.
I heard the john flush. "Please," I said
again. "Go home."
Karen shook her head. "I don't understand this,
Harry. Any of it."
Jordan stepped out of the john into the hall. He
walked up to us and said to Lewis, "You take him in. I've got a
couple of things to take care of." He didn't even glance at me
just walked out the door.
"C'mon, Stoner," Lewis said, jerking me by
the handcuffs. "Let's get this over with."
He led me out of the apartment and down the hall. I
glanced back at Karen. She was standing in the doorway, staring after
me with a stunned look on her face.
"Go home, for chrissake!" I shouted back
over my shoulder. Lewis jerked the cuffs again and we started down
the stairs.
17
Before they locked me up in the Central Station
holding tank, I got to make my one call on the pay phone. I called
Laurel Gould, my lawyer, and told her I was in trouble.
"What are the charges?" she asked.
"I'm not sure yet," I said. "But they
may throw the book at me. Possession of cocaine. Possession for sale.
Assaulting a cop."
There was a dead silence on the line. "You
assaulted a police officer?" Laurel said, as if I'd told her I'd
boarded a flying saucer.
"I lost my temper."
"You've lost your mind," she said sharply.
"Assaulting a cop can be a nasty charge, my friend. And
possession for sale is no day in the country. Where are you going to
get the money to raise bail for all this?"
"From pushing drugs," I said acidly. "Just
get me out of here, Laurel. I mean it. This cop I punched . . . he's
very bad news."
"It's that way?" she said with concern.
"Very likely," I told her.
"I'll be down there in ten minutes," she
said. "With a photographer."
"Good," I said, and hung up.
As they were closing the cell doors on me, I called
Lewis over to the bars.
"Do me a favor and tell Lieutenant Al Foster
that I'm down here?" I said hopefully.
Lewis walked away without saying anything.
After he'd gone, I wandered back to the rear of the
tank. There were a couple of cell-blocks inside the tank, rows of
six-foot by three-foot walk-ins, sided with bars on three sides and
stone on the fourth, like animal cages in the zoo. I walked into one
of the open cells and sat down on the steel bench suspended from the
wall. To the right there was a tiny porcelain toilet smelling of
urine and Pine-Sol, with a roll of oatmeal-colored paper tissue
sitting beside it. I reached down and picked up the tissue. Tearing
off a dozen sheets, I wadded them
force?" He holstered the pistol and cuffed my right wrist.
"I used to work for the D.A.'s office," I
said to him.
"You were a cop?"
I nodded.
"You might have said something earlier," he
said, glancing down the hall. "It would have saved us all a lot
of trouble. I'm never going to hear the end of this." He pulled
my left arm behind me and cuffed my hands behind my back. "He's
going to try to kill you when he comes to. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded again.
"Even if you can get bail tonight, you're going
to take a beating."
"I know that," I said. "What would you
have done?"
Lewis laughed grimly and said, "One thing I
wouldn't have done is mess with Jordan."
"About the girl ..." I said, glancing at
Karen, who had been taking all of it in with a horrified look on her
face.
"She's free to go," Lewis said.
I turned to Karen. "Go home," I said to
her. "Go back to St. Louis. Tonight."
She stared at me as if I were out of 'my mind. "And
leave you to these bastards?" she said, staring right at Lewis.
The old cop ducked his head.
"Karen," I said softly, "whether you
stay or not isn't going to make any difference where they're
concerned."
"How about where you're concerned?" she
said angrily.
"I can't look after you from jail," I said.
"I can look after myself."
"You don't know what's going on here," I
said helplessly. I wanted to pull her aside and explain it to
her--about Bo and his pals and the cocaine. But there was no way to
do it without letting Lewis in on it too.
I heard the john flush. "Please," I said
again. "Go home."
Karen shook her head. "I don't understand this,
Harry. Any of it."
Jordan stepped out of the john into the hall. He
walked up to us and said to Lewis, "You take him in. I've got a
couple of things to take care of." He didn't even glance at me
just walked out the door.
"C'mon, Stoner," Lewis said, jerking me by
the handcuffs. "Let's get this over with."
He led me out of the apartment and down the hall. I
glanced back at Karen. She was standing in the doorway, staring after
me with a stunned look on her face.
"Go home, for chrissake!" I shouted back
over my shoulder. Lewis jerked the cuffs again and we started down
the stairs.
17
Before they locked me up in the Central Station
holding tank, I got to make my one call on the pay phone. I called
Laurel Gould, my lawyer, and told her I was in trouble.
"What are the charges?" she asked.
"I'm not sure yet," I said. "But they
may throw the book at me. Possession of cocaine. Possession for sale.
Assaulting a cop."
There was a dead silence on the line. "You
assaulted a police officer?" Laurel said, as if I'd told her I'd
boarded a flying saucer.
"I lost my temper."
"You've lost your mind," she said sharply.
"Assaulting a cop can be a nasty charge, my friend. And
possession for sale is no day in the country. Where are you going to
get the money to raise bail for all this?"
"From pushing drugs," I said acidly. "Just
get me out of here, Laurel. I mean it. This cop I punched . . . he's
very bad news."
"It's that way?" she said with concern.
"Very likely," I told her.
"I'll be down there in ten minutes," she
said. "With a photographer."
"Good," I said, and hung up.
As they were closing the cell doors on me, I called
Lewis over to the bars.
"Do me a favor and tell Lieutenant Al Foster
that I'm down here?" I said hopefully.
Lewis walked away without saying anything.
After he'd gone, I wandered back to the rear of the
tank. There were a couple of cell-blocks inside the tank, rows of
six-foot by three-foot walk-ins, sided with bars on three sides and
stone on the fourth, like animal cages in the zoo. I walked into one
of the open cells and sat down on the steel bench suspended from the
wall. To the right there was a tiny porcelain toilet smelling of
urine and Pine-Sol, with a roll of oatmeal-colored paper tissue
sitting beside it. I reached down and picked up the tissue. Tearing
off a dozen sheets, I wadded them
Similar Books
