"Come on,
do it. I'll blow your brains out." The voice crackled with desperation. He sniffled wetly.
Soldier, do professionals threaten?
Sir, they do not. This man is an amateur. Should we immobilize him?
Not yet. He still represents a threat.
Sir, yessir.
Stephen dropped his gun on a cardboard box.
"Where . . . ? Come on, where's your radio?"
"I don't have a radio," Stephen said.
"Turn around. And don't try anything."
Stephen eased around and found himself looking at a skinny man with darting eyes. He was filthy and looked sick. His nose ran and his eyes were an alarming red. His thick brown hair was matted. And he stank. Homeless, probably. A wino, his stepfather would have called him. Or a hophead.
The old battered snub-nose Colt was thrust forward at Stephen's belly and the hammer was back. It wouldn't take much for the cams to slip, especially if it was old. Stephen smiled a benign smile. He didn't move a muscle. "Look," he said, "I don't want any trouble."
"Where's your radio?" the man blurted.
"I don't have a radio."
The man nervously patted his captive's chest. Stephen could have killed him easily--the man's attention kept wandering. He felt the skittering fingers glide over his body, probing. Finally the man stepped back. "Where's your partner?"
"Who?"
"Don't give me any shit. You know."
Suddenly cringey again. Wormy . . . Something was wrong. "I really don't know what you mean."
"The cop who was just here."
"Cop?" Stephen whispered. "In this building?"
The man's rheumy eyes flickered with uncertainty. "Yeah. Aren't you his partner?"
Stephen walked to the window and looked out.
"Hold it. I'll shoot."
"Point that someplace else," Stephen commanded, glancing over his shoulder. No longer worried about slipping cams. He was beginning to see the extent of his mistake. He felt sick to his stomach.
The man's voice cracked as he threatened, "Stop. Right there. I fucking mean it."
"Are they in the alley too?" Stephen asked calmly.
A moment of confused silence. "You really aren't a cop?"
"Are they in the alley too?" Stephen repeated firmly.
The man looked uneasily around the room. "A bunch of them were a while ago. They're the ones put those trash bags there. I don't know 'bout now."
Stephen stared into the alley. The trash bags . . . They'd been left there to lure me out. False cover.