silent waters.
“Let’s take another look at Michael Drive,” he said, heading back to the car. “We’ve got to plan this right.”
CHAPTER
9
A T 1 A.M ., the rented midnight blue van pulled quietly from the driveway and down the street. They drove silently to their destination. Everything had been discussed, every scenario played out, and they were as comfortable with the plan as they could possibly be.
Nick sat in the passenger seat and felt perspiration bead up on the back of his neck. In eight years with SFPD, he had never seen much to make him sweat. He had seen mangled bodies, dead children, and shotgun suicides, and he had never shrunk from any of it.
You become immune after the first year
, Bill Merchant had told him.
You get an iron stomach.
His father had been right. He wondered how long it took criminals to develop iron stomachs. His was in knots.
The early hours of the morning were coal black, no moon in the sky to throw a spotlight on them. Upon arrival they made a pass down Michael Drive, scanning the street for any signs of life. Nick was encouraged to see that the streetlamp directly in front of Jacobs’s home was burned out. The first break had gone their way.
Alex pulled the van to the curb around the corner and cut the engine. Nick glanced over his shoulder down the block and strained his eyes toward Jacobs’s house, the fourth one from the corner.
“Conditions are about as good as they could be,” hesaid, sounding more confident than he felt. “I doubt we’d have a better night to try this.”
Alex nodded. “Houses are dark except for that one across the street.”
Nick looked himself over yet again. He was wearing a heavy army jacket over a pullover. Inside the jacket was a crowbar; over his shoulder, a backpack. His hands were fitted with black leather gloves, and his radio was secured in his front jacket pocket. They had tested the clarity in Alex’s backyard and been satisfied. Nick had remembered to remove the van’s license plates before they had set off for Hudson.
“You look like Rambo,” said Alex with a nervous little laugh.
“Let’s hope I pull this off like Rambo,” replied Nick. He grasped the door handle, hesitated, and looked back at her. “You all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
“Ask again and I may say no. Get your butt moving before I start thinking too much.”
“Okay. If all goes well, you’ll hear from me in less than ten minutes on the radio. If anything goes way wrong, I could be back here real quick, so just be ready to gun it.”
“I’ll be ready,” replied Alex. “Be careful.”
Nick stepped to the curb, closed the door gently, and disappeared around the corner.
John Malloy slouched behind the wheel of the car and listened to his partner gurgle. The breathing was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. With every wheeze and snort, he felt himself grow drowsier. He pinched himself and glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes after one. Another forty minutes and it would be his turn to be annoying. His partner would hear some real snoring then.
They had parked at the end of Michael Drive, beneaththe long shadow of a tree. Their vantage point was completely perfect. It was boring, simple work, but at least the money was right.
Malloy was almost glad to see the pedestrian. Watching him would kill a few minutes. He reached for the binoculars and raised them. The solitary figure was moving quickly down the dark sidewalk of Michael Drive. He immediately felt suspicious. The stranger wasn’t jogging, didn’t have a dog by his side. Malloy studied him and wondered what the hell he was up to.
Nick walked briskly along the sidewalk toward the Jacobs home, feeling every thump of his heartbeat. Despite his reconciliation with the plan, he couldn’t purge a distinct uneasiness in his gut. The Jacobs case was about to become unique in more ways than just money. He had always respected the law, and despite his and Alex’s rationalizing, he
“Let’s take another look at Michael Drive,” he said, heading back to the car. “We’ve got to plan this right.”
CHAPTER
9
A T 1 A.M ., the rented midnight blue van pulled quietly from the driveway and down the street. They drove silently to their destination. Everything had been discussed, every scenario played out, and they were as comfortable with the plan as they could possibly be.
Nick sat in the passenger seat and felt perspiration bead up on the back of his neck. In eight years with SFPD, he had never seen much to make him sweat. He had seen mangled bodies, dead children, and shotgun suicides, and he had never shrunk from any of it.
You become immune after the first year
, Bill Merchant had told him.
You get an iron stomach.
His father had been right. He wondered how long it took criminals to develop iron stomachs. His was in knots.
The early hours of the morning were coal black, no moon in the sky to throw a spotlight on them. Upon arrival they made a pass down Michael Drive, scanning the street for any signs of life. Nick was encouraged to see that the streetlamp directly in front of Jacobs’s home was burned out. The first break had gone their way.
Alex pulled the van to the curb around the corner and cut the engine. Nick glanced over his shoulder down the block and strained his eyes toward Jacobs’s house, the fourth one from the corner.
“Conditions are about as good as they could be,” hesaid, sounding more confident than he felt. “I doubt we’d have a better night to try this.”
Alex nodded. “Houses are dark except for that one across the street.”
Nick looked himself over yet again. He was wearing a heavy army jacket over a pullover. Inside the jacket was a crowbar; over his shoulder, a backpack. His hands were fitted with black leather gloves, and his radio was secured in his front jacket pocket. They had tested the clarity in Alex’s backyard and been satisfied. Nick had remembered to remove the van’s license plates before they had set off for Hudson.
“You look like Rambo,” said Alex with a nervous little laugh.
“Let’s hope I pull this off like Rambo,” replied Nick. He grasped the door handle, hesitated, and looked back at her. “You all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
“Ask again and I may say no. Get your butt moving before I start thinking too much.”
“Okay. If all goes well, you’ll hear from me in less than ten minutes on the radio. If anything goes way wrong, I could be back here real quick, so just be ready to gun it.”
“I’ll be ready,” replied Alex. “Be careful.”
Nick stepped to the curb, closed the door gently, and disappeared around the corner.
John Malloy slouched behind the wheel of the car and listened to his partner gurgle. The breathing was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. With every wheeze and snort, he felt himself grow drowsier. He pinched himself and glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes after one. Another forty minutes and it would be his turn to be annoying. His partner would hear some real snoring then.
They had parked at the end of Michael Drive, beneaththe long shadow of a tree. Their vantage point was completely perfect. It was boring, simple work, but at least the money was right.
Malloy was almost glad to see the pedestrian. Watching him would kill a few minutes. He reached for the binoculars and raised them. The solitary figure was moving quickly down the dark sidewalk of Michael Drive. He immediately felt suspicious. The stranger wasn’t jogging, didn’t have a dog by his side. Malloy studied him and wondered what the hell he was up to.
Nick walked briskly along the sidewalk toward the Jacobs home, feeling every thump of his heartbeat. Despite his reconciliation with the plan, he couldn’t purge a distinct uneasiness in his gut. The Jacobs case was about to become unique in more ways than just money. He had always respected the law, and despite his and Alex’s rationalizing, he
Similar Books
