Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [22]
Quickly drawing a gun from a hiding place in his door, Abruzzi fired it at Davis, a sharp bang! ripping the night air. Davis instinctively went backward, the bullet from Abruzzi’s gun taking out the headlight of a car parked across the street. Twisting his ankle, Davis fell to the pavement, and lay on his side with a dazed look in his eyes.
“Throw your gun away,” Abruzzi said.
“You’re under arrest.”
“Like hell I am. Throw it away or I’ll clip you.”
Davis reluctantly tossed his Glock across the macadam.
“You’re real smart for a spade,” Abruzzi said sarcastically.
Gerry sensed that Abruzzi was going to shoot Davis in cold blood, then drive away. Abruzzi had sized them up. Davis was the threat, and Gerry wasn’t.
Gerry twisted the key in the ignition and heard the Mustang’s engine roar. Abruzzi jerked his head and stared just as Gerry threw the Mustang into drive.
Big mistake, Gerry thought.
Gerry hit the rear of the Audi doing forty-five mph, throwing it into the street. The impact, making a horrible crunching sound, buckled the Mustang’s hood, and a mushroom cloud of black smoke hung ominously above the vehicle. Getting out, Gerry went to where Davis lay, saw a dark pool of blood swelling around the detective, and gagged.
“Jesus Christ, you’re shot,” Gerry said.
“I don’t feel shot.” Davis touched his back, then brought his hand to his face. It was covered with red, and he grimaced.
“Go make sure Abruzzi’s disarmed,” he said.
“But you’re bleeding, Eddie.”
“Just do as I say,” Davis said.
Gerry ran over to the Audi. It no longer looked like a fancy forty-thousand-dollar sports car. The driver’s seat was empty, the windshield disintegrated. Twenty feet up the street Abruzzi lay on the pavement with his head twisted at an unnatural angle. He’d killed a mobster. A mobster. Gerry staggered backward.
“Gerry!” Davis yelled at the top of his lungs.
“What…?”
“Don’t pass out on me, man.”
“He’s dead….”
“Stop looking at him.”
Gerry turned his gaze from the dead man and filled his lungs with air.
“Was there a police scanner inside the car?” Davis asked.
Gerry took a deep breath, tried to collect his wits, then went to the Audi, looked inside the crumpled car. An upside-down police scanner sat on the passenger seat, the multicolored lights on its control panel flashing wildly. Frantic voices came out of its speaker. The guy’s partners inside the casino had heard the collision.
Gerry went back to where Davis lay on the pavement.
“Scanner’s there,” he said.
“Get on my cell phone, and call Joey inside the casino,” Davis said. “Tell him to grab the guy’s partners. Joey’s number is in the phone’s menu.”
The pool of blood around Davis’s body was expanding. The detective’s voice sounded perfectly normal, but Gerry knew that people could get shot and never feel it. He ran back to the Mustang and pulled the car’s radio off the dashboard while praying it still worked. There was a crackle of static and a dispatcher came on.
“Officer down,” Gerry said. “I have an officer down.”
11
Valentine was sound asleep when the phone rang the next morning. He fumbled with the receiver, a word resembling hello spilling out of his mouth.
“You up?” Bill Higgins asked.
“I was writing my memoirs,” Valentine mumbled.
“I heard what happened last night. Are you okay?”
“My neck’s a little sore, but I’ll live.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Face to face,” Bill said. “Not over the phone.”
Before going to sleep, Valentine had shut the room’s curtains and turned the air-conditioning down to its coldest setting. Snuggled beneath the blankets was the place to be, and his body was fighting to go back to sleep.
“How about lunch?”
“How about right now?” Bill snapped.
Valentine opened his eyes and stared at the imaginary face of Bill hovering on the ceiling. One of his best friends, Bill was also director of the Nevada Gaming Control Board, and the most powerful law enforcement officer in the state of Nevada. Bill didn’t have to ask nicely if he didn’t want to.
“You’re sure this can’t wait?”
“George Scalzo