Kurtz nodded agreement. "I'll help you tie it off. As soon as you tell me why you're doing this. Who are you working for, and how did you know I'd be here?"
Hathaway shook his head. "The precinct knows I'm here. This place will be crawling with cops five minutes. Give me your belt." He held his detective shield higher, his hand shaking.
Kurtz realized that he wasn't going to get an explanation from the wounded man. He took his foot off Hathaway's chest and took a step to the side, aiming the.38 at the detective's forehead.
Hathaway's mouth dropped openhe was breathing raggedly and loudlyand he swung the shield up in front of his face again, holding it in both hands the way someone would hold a crucifix to drive off a vampire. He was gasping, but his voice was very loud in the empty mill, as was the sound of Kurtz clicking the hammer back on the.38.
"Kurtz you fucking don't kill a cop !"
"I've already had this discussion," said Kurtz.
In the end, the detective's gold shield was no shield at all.
CHAPTER 32
"Get the fuck off my desk," said Malcolm.
Doo-Rag got off, slowly, sullenly, and moved to the leather couch against the wall. He played with the Mac-10 in his hands, clicking the safety on and off repeatedly.
"You click that one more time, motherfucker, and I will have to ask Cutter to remonstrate with you, Doo," said Malcolm.
Doo-Rag glared but set the Mac-10 on the couch beside him. "So where is the honky cop motherfucker?"
Malcolm shrugged and put his Bally loafers up on the desk. "Maybe Kurtz killed his ass."
"Hathaway that much of a fuckup?" said Doo-Rag.
Malcolm shrugged again.
"How come the cop didn't tell us where this Kurtz motherfucker was going?"
Malcolm smiled. "He probably knew that I'd send you and Cutter and a dozen of the boys to make sure the job was done right and then Hathaway would be out the D-mosque ten Gs."
"But he told us where Kurtz work," said Doo Rag. "That basement under the porn shop. We should be there."
"Nobody there, middle of the night," said Malcolm. "Hold your water, Doo. The cop don't kill Kurtz tonight for some reason, you and your crew can go visit the porn-shop basement tomorrow."
Cutter quit looking out the window and sat on the corner of Malcolm's desk. Malcolm said nothing. Doo-Rag glared at Cutter, then at Malcolm, then at Cutter again. Both men ignored him.
"You really gonna let the honky cop collect the D-mosque's ten grand?" Doo-Rag said after a minute.
Malcolm shrugged. "That's why Hathaway ran the tap on some gun dealer we don't know and didn't tell his cop pals. That's why he went to bust a cap on Kurtz by himself tonight. Nothing I can do if he wants all the money."
Doo-Rag smirked. "You could pop a cap up Hathaway's ass."
Malcolm looked at Cutter and then frowned. "You don't kill a cop, Doo. Only a crazy man would do that."
The three of them were in Malcolm's rear second-floor office. Outside the closed door, in the upstairs pool hall, eight more Bloods were shooting pool or sleeping on couches. Downstairs, there were about twenty more, half of them awake. Everyone was armed.
Malcolm dropped his feet off the desk and walked over to the window. Doo-Rag left his Mac-10 on the couch and came over to stand near him. They were a study in contrasts: Malcolm elegantly dressed and preternaturally still, long fingers quiet, and Doo-Rag quivering and jiving and snapping his twitchy fingers silently. There was not much to see out back: Doo-Rag's red Camaro, Malcolm's Mercedes, a few other cars belonging to the senior Bloods, and a Dumpster. Malcolm had installed a high-output crime light on a pole since his SLK was out there most of the time, but that was a wasted expense. No one was going to steal Malcolm Kibunte's car from the Seneca Social Club.
At that second, Doo-Rag's Camaro burst into flame.
"What the fuck!??! " Doo-Rag screamed, achieving an amazing falsetto.
Cutter walked slowly to the window.
Doo-Rag's Camaro was burning steadily, flames leaping from the roof, hood, and trunk. It was obvious that the gas tank had been ignited; but rather than a gigantic, action-movie explosion, it just burned steadily.
"That my car , man. I mean, what the fuck is going on?" screamed Doo-Rag, hopping around. He ran to the couch and came back with his Mac-10, although no one was in sight in the parking area or alley beyond. "I mean, what the fuck ?"
"Shut up," said Malcolm. He was poking at his molars with a silver toothpick. He checked out his Mercedes, but it was far from the flames at the opposite end of the lot from the burning Camaroalmost right at the back doorand no one was near it.
Cutter made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl. He pointed at the fire and made the sound again.
Malcolm thought a minute and shook his head. "Naww. We won't call nine-one-one yet. Let's see what happen next."
Malcolm's Mercedes exploded in a ball of flame. This time there was a movie-style explosion, rattling the caged windows on the second floor with a bone-shaking whuump .
"What the fuck? " shouted Malcolm Kibunte. "Some bastard fucking with my car?" Some of the first-floor Bloods were already out back, milling around with automatic weapons ready, but they were being driven back inside by the heat from the two burning automobiles. Malcolm wheeled on Cutter. "Call nine-one-one. Get the fucking fire trucks here." He pulled his Smith & Wesson Powerport.357 Magnum and ran down the back stairs.