A second was all Reardon needed.
He knew this holster, knew this pistol, this holster and pistol were old friends, almost lovers, he knew them intimately. The left hand grabbed for the familiar leather, the right hand closed around the walnut grip, and pulled, and the pistol came up out of the holster and into his hand, and Reardon leveled it immediately at the fucking charging bull who was only three feet away from him now, and he said, “Freeze, shithead!” and the big guy kept coming for a moment, almost as if he hadn’t heard Reardon, and Reardon thought This one goes to the morgue, but he said, “Freeze!” again, louder this time, and the big guy stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes looked suddenly bewildered.
Anger draining out of them.
Reason returning.
Run.
Get out of here.
Escape.
“No,” Reardon said, and waggled the gun at him. “Turn around. Now! Do it!”
The big guy turned.
“Hands behind your back,” Reardon said. “Fast!”
The big guy put his hands behind his back. Reardon cuffed them at once.
“All right, who are you?” he said.
“Am I bleeding?” he asked. “My cheek?”
“I hope you bleed to death, you cocksucker,” Reardon said. “Who are you?”
“Get an ambulance!” the big guy said. “I’m going to sue you, Reardon! I’ll sue the city! I’ll...”
“Oh, you know who I am, huh?” Reardon said. “Okay, let’s see who you are. Sit!” he said, and shoved the big guy into the chair over which his jacket and the empty holster were still draped.
“These handcuffs are too tight,” the big guy said.
“Aw, gee,” Reardon said, and patted him down till he found the pocket with his wallet. “You know what assaulting a police officer’s gonna net you?” he asked. “Attempted murder? Do you know? Huh?” He opened the wallet. “Here we go,” he said, and began flipping through the celluloid inserts. “Arizona driver’s li...” His eyes opened wide in surprise. “Robert Sargent Kidd, well, well!” He lifted Sarge’s chin with the barrel of the gun. “Who are you, Mr. Kidd? Her husband? Her brother? Were you there when I dropped in on her?”
“Get me something to put on my cheek.” Sarge said. “I’m bleeding, can’t you see I’m bleeding?”
“Yes, I see that,” Reardon said, “what a shame. Why’d you try to kill me?”
“I didn’t.”
“No? You sure coulda fooled me.” He lifted his chin again with the gun barrel. “How’d you find me here?”
No answer.
“Did you follow me here?”
No answer.
“From your sister’s place? Is she your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Were you there when we were talking?”
No answer.
“Okay, Mr. Kidd,” he said, “I guess I’m going to shoot you.”
“No, you’re not,” Sarge said.
“Yes, I am,” Reardon said. “And then I’m going to take those cuffs off you, and I’m going to tell all the friendly cops who come up here that you attacked me and tried to kill me and I had to shoot you in self-defense. Cops don’t like people who try to kill other cops. Neither do judges.” He smiled pleasantly. “What do you say, Mr. Kidd?”
“Go ahead, shoot me,” Sarge said.
“Happy to oblige,” Reardon said, and cocked the hammer.
“I’ll be better off dead,” Sarge said.
“Oh?” Reardon said. “Why? Is someone apt to be annoyed by your little goof, Mr. Kidd? Assaulting a police officer?” He put the gun under Sarge’s nose, just over his upper lip, centered on it. “Who sent you here after me?”
“I came on my own. It was my own idea. Go ahead, shoot me.”
“Don’t rush me.” Reardon said. “Why do you look so familiar?”
Sarge said nothing.
“Robert Sargent Kidd.” Reardon said, staring at him. “How do I know that name?” He kept staring at him. “Are you a painter or something? Do you have something to do with painting?” Still staring, puzzled. “No, wait a minute, you sold some paintings. I saw you on television. You and your sister. Not Jessica, another one. What’s her name?”
“Olivia.”
“Right, Olivia. And I saw her on television again Sunday night. Your father just died, didn’t he? A stroke. You’ve been all over everything these past few days, haven’t you? Including me. Why’d you jump me, you son of a bitch? What are you afraid of? Did you hear what I said about Phelps? Is that what brought you here? The silver schedule?”
Sarge shook his head.
“Okay, pal. so long,” Reardon said, and looked down at the gun barrel. “One shot should do it,” he said. “Clean and...”
“Wait a minute,” Sarge said.
“I thought you were in a hurry,” Reardon said.
“I had nothing to do with any of it.”
“Any of what, Mr. Kidd?”
“Either one of them.”
“Are you talking about D’Annunzio?” A nod. “And Dodge?” Another nod. “You had nothing to do with ordering their murders, is that what you’re telling me?”
Yet another nod.
Followed by another, this one from Reardon.
“All right,” he said. “Who did?”
On the street outside, Reardon went into the first phone booth he found and dialed the squadroom. Hoffman picked up.
“Chick,” he said, “this is Bry. I’ve got a guy cuffed to the radiator in an apartment on First Avenue. Here’s the address,” he said, and read it off. “Have you got that? His name is Robert Sargent Kidd, pick him up, will you?”
“For what?” Hoffman asked.
“Try attempted murder. That may not stick, but he beat the shit out of me and it looked damn close, believe me.”
“I’ll run right over,” Hoffman said.
“Anything from Phelps yet?”
“Diarrhea,” Hoffman said. “All we had to do was start hinting at the three counts of homicide, he’s ready to trade us his mother. He’s been telling us some very interesting things, Bry.”
“Like what?” Reardon said. “Let me hear.”
He listened.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
He kept listening.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Very nice. Good work, Chick. Very nice. I’ve been hearing some interesting things myself, we should have a full house down there in a little while. I’m heading for the Park Lane, I’ll be in Olivia Kidd’s suite, if you need me. Have you got that? Olivia Kidd. I’m not expecting any trouble, but give me a half-hour, and then send the Marines. Listen, don’t forget that guy chained to the radiator, huh? And be careful when you take off the cuffs, he’s a fuckin’ grizzly bear. See you, Chick.”
He hung up, felt in the coin chute for his quarter, shrugged, and then began walking toward where he’d parked his car.
13
When the knock sounded on the door, Olivia said. “There he is.”
“Are you positive I should be here?” Rothstein asked.
“Why not?” Olivia said. “You’re a business associate.”
“But he’s here about Joe. Your sister said...”
“All the more reason for your presence. Your partner absconded with three and a half million dollars worth of...”
There was another knock at the door.