Lethal Rage by Brent Pilkey Page A

the gun. Now.”
    With a sneer, the gunman snapped open his hands and the rifle clattered to the floor.
    â€œOne of the key rules to policing: for every minute of excitement, there’s at least one corresponding hour of paperwork.” Mason cast a satisfied eye across the empty apartment. “You did good work today, Jack.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    Jack and the detective were alone in the apartment. The gunman had been cuffed and the bedroom searched; the hours of corresponding work had begun.
    It turned out there had been no dancing hippos in the living room, just three guys and one busy crack whore. She was doing the guys in exchange for some Black and there was more than enough to go around; the delivery man was pumping away when the police came through the door and his merchandise was stacked neatly on the coffee table. Along with the crack and several thousand dollars in cash, Mason’s team found three handguns and a shotgun, all loaded and ready to go. If the fools assigned to the crack house had not been paying attention to the whore’s wasted body, the entry could have gone sour in a very bad way. But it hadn’t, and the only one to get off any shots — not including the delivery man; apparently, the sudden explosion of police officers into the apartment had triggered another, smaller, explosion — had been the one with the faulty assault rifle.
    The bodies had all been hauled off to 51, where Mason and his crew would interrogate them.
    â€œI’ve hopes for the whore talking. I figure she’ll want to avoid being associated with a large amount of crack and firearms, but I doubt she’ll have anything useful to give us. The next best bet is the gunman. He’s facing attempted murder charges along with all the rest and he’s looking at a long stint behind bars. Might be we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Mason gave a satisfied smile. “And drop the ‘sir,’ Jack. It’s Rick. Sy was right about you. Once you’ve done a year or so in the division, learned the streets, there’ll be a spot in Major Crime for you if you want it.”
    â€œAbsolutely. Thank you.”
    Taft stuck his head into the apartment. “Rick, Toronto Housing’s here to replace the doors.”
    â€œThat was fast, for a change. Tell them we’re done. They can get to work whenever they’re ready.”
    â€œGot it.” Taft disappeared.
    â€œWhere’s Sy, Jack?”
    â€œHe went to get the car. Said he’d meet me out front.”
    â€œDo me a favour, will you? I want to get this baby to the station —” Mason hefted the gunman’s AK-47 “— and get started on everything. Can you hang tight till Housing takes over?”
    â€œNo problem.” Like Mason had to ask. After the offer of a spot in MCU, Jack would have volunteered to replace the doors himself.
    â€œWhile you’re waiting, maybe give the place a final once-over. Make sure we didn’t leave anything behind. It’s embarrassing when Housing calls us to pick up a memo book or a bag of evidence we forgot.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    â€œTell Sy we’re ordering pizza back at the office.” He contemplated the weapon in his hands. “You know we got lucky today, don’t you? If this gun hadn’t jammed. . . .” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.
    â€œYeah, I know.”
    Mason laughed. “Thank God for cheap ammunition, huh?”
    â€œI’m sure my wife will see it that way.”
    Mason nodded. “See you back at the office.”
    Alone in the apartment, Jack drew a deep breath and let it out slowly between pursed lips.
If the gun hadn’t jammed. . . .
But it had and the good guys had won and no one had got shot. Jack was the only one sporting any injuries. His left forearm had some heavy scratches and minor cuts from the splintered bedroom door. Jack had