Ambush (Michael Bennett 11)

I heard someone call out, “Hey, Mike.” I smiled and waved at one of the gamblers I knew from somewhere. No one was alarmed to see me. They knew I was a homicide detective and this place was as safe as any in the city.

I ducked into a corridor past a heavy curtain. Darya followed right behind me. When we entered the rear room, a blond man with tattoos smearing his upper arms and neck jumped up in alarm until he recognized me.

He said, “Jesus, Mike, a little notice would be nice. You scared the crap out of me.” Then he took a moment and didn’t hide the fact that his eyes were wandering over Darya like she was a piece of meat for sale in the grocery store. He flashed a charming smile and said, “And who is this?”

Before I could say anything, Darya gave him a dazzling smile. Better than any I had earned. Maybe she was a softy for lowlife attention and cheap compliments.

My informant held out his hand and said, “Edward Lindell, at your service.” Then he winked at her.

Darya grasped his hand and put her left hand over both of them like it was a warm greeting. Then she twisted quickly, put him in an arm bar, and drove Lindell’s head into a table that held thousands of betting slips.

To make the point that she didn’t care for the attention, Darya ran Lindell’s head down the length of the table, using his face to push everything onto the floor.

Then she released her grip and watched him sprawl onto the dirty green linoleum floor that used to be part of the kitchen.

I suppressed a smile as I watched Ed Lindell get up on his hands and knees and shake his head to clear the stars.

“I think that was her way of saying she doesn’t have time for your shit.”

From the floor, Lindell said, “All she had to say was, ‘Cut the shit.’”

“Frankly, I like her way better. But we’re wasting time. We aren’t here to watch you get the shit kicked out of you by a pretty woman. We need you to put out feelers about anything unusual related to someone trying to get out of the city or trying to buy a gun or explosives.”

Lindell slowly rose to his feet and said, “This have to do with the bombing at the parade?”

“How did you know that?”

“Because I went to Penn State and I’m no idiot. That’s all anyone is interested in right now. What will it get me?”

The universal question by informants. I thought about it and said, “Depends on what you give us. But it’ll save you more lumps from this lady and you’ll be in my good graces for a very, very long time.”

Lindell said, “That and some toilet paper means I could take a shit.”

Still without looking or acknowledging him, Darya raised a closed fist and caught Lindell across the left side of his face, kn

ocking him against the wall and back onto the floor. She walked out without saying a word.

I nodded to Lindell on the floor and hustled out after Darya.

As we walked a block toward the car, she said, “You’re not upset that I assaulted that man?”

“He’s had worse. I’ve given him worse.”

Darya said, “You don’t want to know why I did it?”

“I assume you did it to hide the fact that you stole the 9 millimeter pistol he had sitting on the table.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I just held out my hand.

She slipped the gun out of her purse and laid it in my palm. “This is America. I’ll be able to find a gun if I need it.”

All signs pointed to her being a pretty good partner. I’d be able to work with her.

Chapter 14

THE NEXT MORNING everyone was in the task force meeting rooms early. Even some of the FBI agents seemed a little annoyed at all the planning and meetings we had gone through the day before. As far as I could tell, Darya and I were part of a handful that had actually gone out and done something. Not that we were telling anyone.

And of course, we started off the day with a stupid meeting. At least I thought it was stupid, until things got rolling.

Dan Santos went over some of the information they had learned the day before, including some of the forensic information from examining the destroyed truck.