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“A celebrity party in the middle of the Melrose section of the Bronx?” Arturo said.
The lar
ge, pudgy cop smiled, rolled his eyes.
“I guess the upper crust are slumming or something tonight. Who knows?” he said. “It’s all legit, so don’t worry. Where are you guys from? You’re not out of the five-two.”
“Your boss know about this? You moonlighting?” I said.
The guy frowned.
“Now, come on. Why you gotta be busting my horns, man?” he said. “You know the drill. My precinct captain knows but ain’t gonna say so. Hell, you didn’t hear it from me, but the job actually came through him. Somebody who knows somebody in the mayor’s office, probably. Do I ask questions? I just pocket the cash.”
“Well, that’s funny, chief,” I said. “Because I don’t pocket the cash, I only ask questions. I need you to open the gate.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” said a voice from behind him.
A new guy walked over. Taller, neat brown hair, clean-cut, about fifty. He showed a badge as well.
“Homeland Security?” I said.
“He reads. Bravo,” the fed said, eyeing me with disdain. “This is a private function. All you need to know is this is an issue of national security, and you can’t come in. I suggest you call your boss.”
“The only thing I’m going to do is arrest Gabe Chayefsky for murder. I know he’s in there, because that’s his car. Now, open this gate.”
“Gabe Chayefsky? Who the hell is that? Where are you getting your information?” the fed said coldly, not moving an inch. “What’s your name?”
“He’s Detective Open This Fucking Fence,” Doyle yelled, shaking the chain-link, “and I’m Sergeant I’m Going to Kick Your Fucking Ass. Open this fence now!”
That was when it happened. There was a bunch of yelling; then several figures came out of the side of the building. One had a coat over his head. We watched open-mouthed as half a dozen men piled into the SUV and the SUV screeched across the lot to the other side of the construction site. A man got out and unlocked another fence, and then the SUV peeled out into the street.
“Arturo! Go around and block that gate! And call in backup now!” I yelled as I drew my gun.
I pointed my Glock at the cop’s chest. Doyle drew and aimed his between the fed’s eyes.
“Open this gate or I’ll shoot you where you stand,” I said. “I won’t say it again.”
CHAPTER 109
THE MOONLIGHTING COP AND the fed looked at each other and then turned and ran for the front of the building.
Doyle and I hopped the fence. We could see Arturo screech into the breach of the other gate as we landed on the other side.
We heard the roar of an engine as we were running for the steps, and around the back of the building came the Maybach. A tall black guy behind the wheel gave us the finger as he gunned it straight toward us.
I raised the Glock in my hand and fired at him. The windshield in front of the driver’s face starred, but only barely. It was bulletproof.
I emptied the Glock at the car anyway as it kept coming. Doyle joined me. We stood there shoulder-to-shoulder shooting until the windshield was a huge spiderweb. Still the car kept on coming. Doyle actually threw his empty gun at it as I pulled him to the left and out of the way at the last second.
The speeding Maybach went past us and ripped through the construction site fence like a sprinter through finish-line tape. Tires screeched as it braked and tried to turn at Third Avenue’s sharp corner. It didn’t make it. There was a tremendous smash as it slammed against and then through the parked cars on the opposite side of the street. Then the tanklike beast flipped as it crashed into the front wall of a pizza parlor.
“Doyle, take Arturo and get inside the building! Find the girl!” I said, running at top speed across the street toward the crashed limo.
The long Maybach had landed on its side halfway inside the pizza parlor. There were glass and debris everywhere. The whole front wall of the pizza joint was caved in. Beyond the destruction, a Mexican guy behind the counter stood in slack-faced shock as a soccer game continued to play too loudly on the battered TV above him.
“Call nine-one-one!” I screamed as I climbed over the rubble and shoved aside the shattered bench from a booth, trying to peer through the cracked glass of the tipped car. Its wheels spun stupidly, the engine still roaring.
I was up on the side of the car, reaching for the handle, when there was a muffled pop from inside. I immediately hopped back down. It was a gunshot! It was followed quickly by another.
