Lieberman's Choice by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page A

and said, “I can do it, Viejo. You know I can.”
    When the two officers and El Perro were gone, Lieberman looked at Hal Querez.
    â€œThe way I figure it,” said Querez, “off the record and it ain’t my call, but what have we got to lose? That crazy shit goes up there, gets Bernie or gets himself killed.”
    â€œFernandez and Piedras?” asked Lieberman.
    â€œNo one got hurt at Wertzel’s. They didn’t get away with anything.”
    â€œThat the way you look at it, Hal, or the way you figure Hartz will look at it?”
    â€œAbe, we got a choice here? If we don’t let Hartz know about the offer and he finds out, you’re back at the North and I’m ducking Uzis on the West Side. We’re both too old.”
    â€œAnd you figure Hartz’ll take it seriously?”
    â€œHe’s gonna figure the way I said, ‘What have we got to lose?’”
    When he got back to the Shoreham half an hour later, Lieberman passed El Perro’s offer on to Alan Kearney.

6
    A LAN KEARNEY SURVEYED THE battlefield that had recently been recognizable as the stylish apartment of Dr. Jason Belding. Papers, phones, ashtrays, and empty junk food bags littered the tables, chairs, and floors. The white carpet showed dark and dirty indentations that might well be permanent. Two policemen were in the corner, one on the phone, the other filling in a log.
    â€œYou listening to me, Captain?” Alton Brooks said, breaking into his consciousness.
    Kearney was sitting in a sofa, considering another coffee, but the idea turned his stomach. Brooks stood darkly over him, hands behind his back, waiting like Father Cronowyz at Saint Ignatius when a boy was brought up for discipline. Father Cronowyz, however, had learned the value of the pregnant pause, the long delay that set the prey on edge and made him ready to confess to any and all crimes in the hope of escape from those accusing eyes. Kearney had wondered if this was part of Jesuit training and if the Jesuits might be willing to take on the instruction of some Chicago police officers. Brooks would be high on the list.
    â€œHe’s not going to let your men get a clean shot at him from below,” said Kearney.
    â€œI think you need a few hours sleep here, Captain,” Brooks said in a lowered voice. “We’re not talking about what he will or will not do here. We’re talking about whether or not my men have the go-ahead to pick him off if they get a clean shot.”
    â€œYou’ve got it, but you won’t see him.”
    â€œAnd the door?” Brooks pressed.
    â€œHartz already told you to go ahead.”
    â€œTo work on the door, not what to do when we can open it. It’s your operation. I’m not getting into any blurred lines of command if something goes foul when this thing is over.”
    â€œTake the fucking door.”
    â€œWe’ve got the …”
    Someone knocked on the front door of Belding’s apartment. No one seemed to notice.
    â€œJust be quiet and don’t use the radio,” Kearney said, closing his eyes.
    â€œKearney, who do you think you’re dealing with?”
    â€œSorry, Brooks. It’s been a long night and the day doesn’t promise to be much better.”
    Whoever was knocking did it again, only louder, and the cop at the phone turned and shouted, “Just open the fuckin’ door and come in.”
    Carla Duvier opened the door and stepped in. The policeman at the phone and the one at the log joined Brooks in looking at her. Her hair was drawn back in a tight bun and she wore no makeup. She was wearing a yellow skirt and vest and a white silk blouse.
    Carla Duvier was accustomed to being looked at. Usually she liked it. Now she had business. She crossed the room to Kearney, who opened his eyes.
    â€œLet’s talk,” she said softly.
    â€œYou’ve been watching the news,” said Kearney, getting up.
    â€œIs it