Authors: Janey Mack

Time's Up (34 page)

BOOK: Time's Up

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Peterson leered. “Not laughing now, are ya?”

“Nh-nn,” I said into his hand.

“That's right. You're gonna shut the fuck up. About everything. Or else I'm gonnaâ”

A human bullet knocked Peterson off me.

My brother Rory was on his knees beside me, pulling me upright, shaking my shoulders. “Maisie? You okay? Maisie?”

The unpleasant squelching sounds of fists hitting flesh filled my ears.

“Jaysus, you're bleeding.” Rory felt around in his jacket pocket. He removed a handkerchief and pressed it to my head. It smelled of gun oil. “Oy!” He shouted at Flynn, “Don't croak him.”

I looked over.

My brother had Peterson in a chokehold, face stop-sign red. Flynn slackened his hold and forced him to the ground, cuffed him, and removed the Springfield Armory service pistol from Peterson's holster. “I'm thinking attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, battery . . .”

Peterson started swearing. Flynn dug his knee into his spine. Peterson groaned and stilled.

Rory helped me to my feet.

“Where's his backup?” I asked.

Flynn frisked him and found a Smith & Wesson K-Frame revolver in his ankle holster. He grinned at me. “Give her a pair of gloves, Rory.”

Rory, who'd been in the process of putting on his own gloves, waited until I jammed his handkerchief down the front of my dress. He tossed me a pair, then picked up and bagged the switchblade.

I snapped them on. Flynn handed me the gun and I opened the cylinder. Five Buffalo hardcast lead wadcutters. “One short,” I said.

“I'm betting the one I have at the station is from the same lot.” Flynn hauled Peterson to his feet.

“Doesn't prove anything,” Peterson snuffled through his broken nose.

“True, but the morgue still has the ones you left in the mayor's staffer. I'm guessing a mutt like yourself is too goddamned cheap to have bought a new piece. Or even changed the barrel.” Flynn grinned at me.

Peterson blanched.

“Nice feckin' police work, Snap,” Rory said. “Want to come downtown with us and book him?”

Not really, no.

“Uh . . .” I glanced at my watch. Only twenty-three minutes had passed. “I think I'm going to stay. I'm pretty sure I'm getting an award.”

“For what? Blowing Coles?” Peterson spat a mouthful of blood on the carpet. “Have a nice ride on your knees in the limo.”

Rory walked over and punched Peterson so hard in the stomach he fell to his knees and started to retch.

Flynn stepped around him. “Get a couple of Band-Aids from the front desk and don't drink too much.” He kissed my cheek. “Trust me, there's nothing worse than a comedown and cocktail hangover.”

Chapter 48

The concierge of The Jake took one look at me and marched me straight into the office. After two minutes of swearing I did not want an ambulance and would not be filing charges against The Jake, he had one of the sous-chefs clean me up and apply four pieces of barely noticeable skin-colored stitch-tape from the first aid kit.

I walked into the lobby exhausted and jittery. Goddamned Peterson.

There was no way I was ready to go back into the ballroom. Hoping to take the edge off my adrenaline in the dank Chicago air, I pushed through the heavy wood front doors.

A red-jacketed valet sat at his empty station, playing with his phone, back conspicuously to the drive.

Fifty yards away, at the far side of the circle, parked tail-up on the curb, in front of a fire hydrant and blocking the egress, was Coles's black Lincoln limo.

Of course it was.

I walked over to it, angling for a peek into the illegally darkened driver's-side window.

Empty.

I turned on my heel. Dozen came around the outside of the hotel, cigarette pinched between his lips, zipping up his jodhpurs.

“They have bathrooms inside, you know,” I said.

He spat. “No pissing on the Tallywacker's dime.” Dozen took a long drag on his smoke and waved the cigarette in the general direction of my head. “Mixin' it up again, Bluebird?”

I dropped into a three-point boxer stance and threw a couple quick punches. “That's me.”

He shook his head. “Yo, that shit go dumb last week.”

“You're telling me.”

“I laid that whacked-out sumbitch all nice and cozy at the Local #56.” Dozen smacked his lips and smiled. “Shoulda seen the office girl. Man, did she lose her shit
.
”

“I'll bet.”

“Yo, well that's what a mutherfucker gets for interfere'n.” He sucked the cigarette down to the filter, plucked the burning tip from his lips, and flicked it in a graceful arc toward the rear tire.

The glowing ember fell like a fading firework. A tiny reflection glimmered in the wheel well. A glint of something that didn't belong there.

Dozen moved toward the door.

“Freeze!”

His hands shot up. “Christ, you sound like a fuckin' cop!”

“Step away from the vehicle,” I said, feeling equal parts ridiculous and scared.

Arms still up, Dozen stepped back onto the curb. “Now what?”

Praying I was wrong but full of the gut-twisting foreboding I wasn't, I fished a compact out of my clutch.

“You lookin' a lil' pale,” Dozen said.

“Catch.” I tossed him my bag. Compact in one hand, I hiked my Halston cocktail dress high on my thighs with the other and dropped gingerly to my knees. I peeked up under the rear wheel of the limo. Nothing.

“Damn, girl, I could break you off something proper.”

Nice. On my hands and knees in the gutter and you're checking out my ass.

I opened the compact and reflected The Jake's lights up into the wheel well. Three galvanized pipes with caps, cable-tied together.

Jaysus H.

My hand began to shake.

Hank's Law Number Six: Don't fear fear.

Fighting the urge to drop the compact and get the hell out of there, I slowly moved the mirror closer to me. A woven strand of black, yellow, and red wires protruded from the cap of one pipe. The wires ran into a small plug at one end of a glass vial with a shallow puddle of silver fluid at one end, duct-taped to a magnet. A mercury switch. Motion activated.

Ballsy, stupid, and goddamn serious.

If Dozen slammed the driver's door hard enough, it might've gone off. Probably could've when he closed the door behind the mayor. Definitely would've when he pulled off the curb.

I tilted the mirror to a different angle and ran the back up the length of the bomb. Scrawled across the bottom pipe in black Magic Marker was the ultimate “screw you.” A messageâ
Courtesy of the #56
.

Only cocksure idiots would sign a bomb. But how could they be so sure with a mercury switch?

I adjusted the mirror again.

A tiny red light blinked at the opposite end of the mercury switch. They'd doubled down with a remote.

I slowly removed the compact.

Dozen loomed overhead. “You a'ight, Bluebird?”

The three words I learned at the Police Academy blared front and center in my brainâ
recognize, retreat,
and
report.

Dozen held out a hand and my clutch to me. I took them both, and he pulled me to my feet. “Car bomb,” I said. “A whomper.”

I surveyed the deserted cobblestoned courtyard, hotel entrance, and tiny slice of street visible through the gates. Depending on what the pipes were loaded with, it could take out more than the front of the hotel.

I opened my clutch and closed it. Stupid phone was
still
in the dining room.

Dozen marched in place without lifting his feet. “Goddamn motherfucker sonsofbitches assholeâ”

“Give me your phone.”

“It's in the goddamn ride!”

I grabbed him by the arms. “Look at me.”

He stilled and I let go. “Don't let anyone out of the hotel.”

I sprinted across the courtyard to the valet station. “Hey, you!” I shouted, startling the red-jacketed kid off his stool. I grabbed a silver luggage cart and pushed it over. “Give me your phone. Now.”

Startled, he handed me his phone. I dialed 911, hustled behind the station, and tossed orange road cones onto the cart. The phone kept ringing. The valet stared at me. “Car bomb,” I said. “We've got to block off the drive.”

The valet kept staring.

“Now!” I shouted. “Move!”

The kid jumped as if stung and started loading sandwich boards and wet floor signs onto the cart.

The operator answered. “Nine-one-one. What's the address of the emergency?”

“The Jake Hotel. Car bomb in the front drive.”

“Please repeat,” the operator said.

“Car bomb at The Jake Hotel. This is Maisie McGrane. My father is Captain Conn McGrane. Homicide. The bomb's on a mercury switch and on remote.... Pretty sketchy handiwork.”

“A-course
it's sketchy!” Dozen shouted. “Some janky-ass fool rigged my ride!”

“Please stay on the line.”

“I can't. But I'll give you to someone who can.” I handed the phone to the valet and waved Dozen over. “You twoâblock off the drive and sidewalkâhell, block off the whole street. Do not come back to the hotel.”

Dozen took hold of the cart with a running start. The valet sprinted alongside, phone at his ear. “What you gonna do?” Dozen called over his shoulder.

“Keep everyone inside the building.”

Chapter 49

Lee and Cash shot out the massive lobby doors with guns drawn and Talbott Cottle Coles sandwiched between them in full protective bodyguard detail. A TV crew complete with a couple of photographers were tight on their heels. Sterling, Bliss, and Daicen brought up the rear.

Cash and Lee halted at the pillars on either side of the door, pinning Coles between them, scanning the courtyard.

I sprinted toward them, arms out wide. “Stop!” I shouted. “Freeze!” The limo was twenty yards behind me. The hotel twenty yards ahead. “Car bomb!”

“This?” Talbott snorted. “This is my so-called assassination attempt? Let go of me!” He jerked his arm from Cash's grip and shoved past Lee. He stormed toward me with fierce brows and flared nostrils. “You.” He pointed. “It's always you.”

“Hey!” Cash shouted.

“Sir,” I said. “There's a bombâ”

“Sure there is. The ad campaign's not enough, eh?” He jostled past me, knocking his shoulder into mine, heading straight toward the limo.

You stupid son of aâ

I launched myself at Coles and took him down in a flying tackle that would've done J. J. Watt proud. We hit the cobblestone drive with a heavy thud.

I lay there, on top of the mayor of Chicago, listening to the faint chatter of camera snaps from the front door.

At least I'm not wearing a thong.

Mind bending, really, how thirty underwear-flashing seconds can feel like thirty thousand.

Finally, Coles grunted and pushed himself onto his forearms. “There better be a fucking car bomb, you stupid little publicity slut. This is a six-thousand-dollar Versace tuxeâ”

White lightning burst through the limo.

Whoomph!

The blast wave whip-slammed us into the drive.

It felt like a giant spoiled child had stomped on me, wanting every concussed inch of my flesh to know exactly how furious he was.

And then it was gone.

Dust and grit misted over everything. Thick black smoke turned the mist to noxious fog.

Coles and I lay facedown on the cobblestone drive. My ears were ringing, pulsing with blood. My entire body loose-limbed and numb.

I lifted my head and looked back at the hotel.

Cash and Lee were on their feet, shaking themselves like a couple of big dogs after a swim.

“Remote!” I yelled. “It was set off by remote!”

Cash lifted his chin and hit Lee in the chest. The two of them took off at a run, sprinting down the drive, scanning the area for the triggerman.

Daicen and I exchanged thumbs-ups and then he and Sterling began to untangle the mayor's unhurt and terrified entourage.

Coles struggled beneath me.

I was still on top of him. “Sorry.” I rolled off and knelt beside him. My body throbbed like I'd been strapped to the speaker at an AC/DC concert.

I put my hand on his back. “Are you okay, sir? Can you hear me?” My ears were ringing so loudly I couldn't even hear myself.

With the smallest of purposeful motions, Coles scooped handfuls of dust and grit off the ground before clenching his head as if in pain. Camera-ready trauma testimony, disheveled but not distressed.

Oh, he's fine, all right.

I supposed he deserved it. The bomb was under his limo, after all.

Bright lights glared from the hotel doors.

Cameras rolling. Nifty.

I sagged and sat back on my heels. Coles got up on all fours, opening and closing his mouth wide, trying pointlessly to pop his ears.

“Sir?”

He rose up on his knees and stared me right in the eye. “You saved my life, McGrane.” He put his hands on my face and kissed me hard on the mouth.

Bleah. I need a wet wipe and Listerine.

“I owe you,” he said, in full-on Mobster. “A big one.”

“I'm sorry?” I said.
For cripes' sake. He's looped.

“Jesus! You do thisâthing. You save my life.” Coles shrugged a single shoulder, complete with moue, and looked to the heavens. “Now I do for you.”

Do what, exactly?

He grabbed my arms and the both of us struggled to our feet. It would have been a lot easier if I hadn't had to lift him.

Coles pulled me in tight to his chest.

Ugh.

But instead of pivoting toward the TV crew, he faced us toward the limo. A hulking shell, the bulletproof windows of the warped armored doors were crisscross crackled, bulging outward like glowing spiderweb balloons. Bright yellow flames tongued the edges of the melted roof as the viscous black smoke roiled into the air.

“We're going to wait,” he said.

“For what?”

“The patriotic backdrop of flashing lights and scores of Chicago's finest.” He tipped his head until it was touching mine. “Hear the sirens?”

I stood there, waiting for the convergence of EMTs, hating him. The limo continued to burn.

“Fucking armored car.” Coles gave a derisive snort. “I bought the thing to save my life.”

“It did,” I said. “Without the armor, we'd be a pile of shredded beef shrapnel in a puddle of blood.”

Coles's face tightened. “Let me do the talking.”

“Yessir.”

The Jake was ablaze with sirens and lights and men and women from every possible city service: police, fire, ambulance, gas and electrical, building inspectors, and of course, more news crews. It was like someone had shaken open an ant farm and every ant immediately set to work to rebuild their city.

A full-staged press conference in less than thirty minutes after the explosion.

Look out, Domino's.

Satisfied, Talbott Cottle Coles stepped forward and raised his arms, revival preacherâstyle, basking in the tension while giving the news reporters time to set the stage. “It is moments like these that define us as Americans. As Chicagoans.”

He took a deep breath, held it, and released it with a serious nod. “I'm here tonight because an ordinary personâa humble meter maidâspotted something unusual and did something about it.”

He smiled down at me. “Allow me to introduce my Irish angel, Maisie McGrane.” Coles put his hands together and, like a bunch of trained seals, the crowd started clapping.

Slicker than a scuba diver in a sea of lube.

“Her quick thinking and fast action turned what could have been a life-ending tragedy into an inconvenience.” Coles put his hand to his heart. “It is for this reason that I am meritoriously promoting parking enforcement agent Maisie McGrane to Chicago police officer on my personal security detail, effective immediately.”

I stood there, dumb.

My brass ring.

Slathered in an indelible layer of political grease and bat shit.

At least I didn't wince.

“Miss McGrane!” shouted a reporter. “How do you feel?”

Coles's fingers crushed my shoulder.

“Uh . . . flattered.” I glanced down at my skinned knees.
Did he think my baby butt just fell off the milk truck?
I smiled. A syrupy one full of treacle. “And . . . filthy.”
In more ways than one.

The reporter and crowd laughed. Coles let go of my shoulder and stepped slightly in front of me. “I promise you, Chicago, we will catch the perpetrators of this horrific and senseless act of violence.. . .”

The news crews gushed righteous starlight and gumdrops all over his brave self.

Time to take a powder.

I cut around the rear bumper of a CFD fire engine. My skin was cold and tight, and my mind was a blur.

I need a phone. I need to get out of here. I need . . . Hank.
My legs trembled like a newborn fawn's.

“Maisie?” Ernesto laid a hand on my shoulder. “Where you think you're going,
chica?
” He wrapped me in a foil shock-protection blanket. “I'm checking you out.”

Daicen was waiting at a nylon camp stool in front of a paramedic truck. I sat down and he put his hand on my shoulder. “Heroic, Snap. Truly.”

Ernesto took my pulse. “How you feel?”

“Fine,” I said. “A little drifty, maybe.”

Ernesto flashed a light in my eyes. “Follow my finger.”

He went through a laundry list of checkpoints. I complied, not fully paying attention, floating instead as I listened to Daicen on the phone, reassuring the family. He walked across the courtyard, palm against his open ear.

Antiseptic stung my knee. “Yikes! Take it easy.”

Ernesto moved to another palm-sized abrasion I didn't recall getting.

“Could you call Hank?” I asked.

He took his phone from his jacket pocket and held it out to me. I shook my head. Ernesto looked at me sideways, wondering if I was concussed. “You want me to let him know you're okay?”

I nodded.

“Okey-doke.” He smiled and handed me a bottle of Gatorade. “Drink this and don't move. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

I nodded and he took off, cell to his ear. I rubbed my eyes with my dirty hands, making my eyes itch even more.

I'd pretty much sell my soul to take a shower.

Leticia sashayed up next to me and surveyed the scene. “Damn, McGrane, what a mess.”

“How'd you get out here?”

She threw her chest out. “I am a supervisor with the TEB. Ain't no one gonna tell me I can't check on my weebles.”

I nodded and pulled the foil blanket tighter, not feeling so hot.

“So tell me, that out-of-pocket TV shit true, McGrane?”

“What?”

“You're gonna slave for that fascist peckerwood?”

I'd rather hit every red light for the rest of my life than work for a sleazoid like Coles.
“What?” I said. “And leave all this?”

“I didn't think so.” Leticia laughed. “Dhu West opened the bars. The party's gonna be sick!”

In more ways than one, I'm sure.

“Don't go letting my Ernesto babysit you all night, hear?”

I nodded and she reached in her banana-yellow satin bag and handed me my iPhone. “You owe me. Obi was tryin' to pocket it. And I
know
you don't want that little perv trifling in your private business.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hit the Home button. The screen lit up with an unopened text from Hank from an hour and forty-six minutes ago.

Hank:
Wire live. Leave NOW.

“Whassup?” Leticia frowned, with a nod at the phone. “You lookin' ghosty.”

“Nothing. Just a message from my . . . electrician.” I tried to swallow, but my mouth had dried to dust.

Leticia gave a little shimmy. “You hear
The Five
is considerin' me for a guest spot?”

Unable to speak, I gave her a thumbs-up.

“I gots a great agent,” she said and salsa'd across the courtyard to Daicen and Bliss.

I sat in the chair, shivering in my tin foil blanket, drinking Gatorade, trying not to think.

“Yo, Snap.” Cash plunked down on the ambulance's bumper step. “We found him. Lee and I.”

“Who?”

“The fucktard who tried to kill Coles. In an alley across the street. Dead. Remote at his feet.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Oh?” I squeaked.
Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph.

“Throat crushed, neck snapped,” he said absently, scrolling through his phone. “I know how it's done, just never seen it before.”

A one-second kill.
Small dots of light danced in front of my eyes. The very first hand-to-hand combat kill Hank had shown me.

He'd been here. And at what cost?

“What theâ? It's gone.” Cash's iPhone screen showed ones and zeros. “It's gone!”

I swayed. “What is?”

“The text. Lee and I each got one. An attempt was gonna be made on Coles, complete with a photo of the rat-faced, one-eared skell in the alley. Jaysus, why else do you think we came crashing out of the hotel with Coles? Lee thought for sure he'd be a shooter.”

I put my head between my knees and sucked air.
Hank tried to warn them, too.

Cash squatted down next to me. “You okay, Snap?”

No. Not even a tiny bit.

Lee said, “She all right?”

“Sure.” Cash patted me on the back, none too gently.

“Can I have a minute with her?”

Lee took the seat Cash left. “SWAT doesn't run investigations. Still, an encrypted text and a murdered and guilty perp sets a guy to thinking.” His brown eyes narrowed. “Somehow I'm guessing you'll tell me it's just one of life's little mysteries, right?”

“Yeah.” My mouth lifted up at the corner. “I mean, who could possibly want to kill Talbott Cottle Coles?”

Lee nodded, thinking it over. He shrugged, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. “One of these days we're going to have a real date, Maisie. And that guy of yours will be nothing but a hazy memory.”

That guy of mine.

I wish.

BOOK: Time's Up

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