Certain prey

Lucas ordered a steak, medium, baked potato without sour cream, and a Diet Coke.

He found Joseph's fifteen minutes later, just as the waiter was delivering the food to Mallard and an angular grey-haired woman named Malone. She was just about his age, Lucas thought, somewhere in the murky forties.

'Malone is our legal specialist,' Mallard said, as he went to work on the steak.

'She keeps track of the taps and the warrants and all that, and talks to the judge when we need to talk to him.'

'Are you an agent?' Lucas asked.

Malone had just pushed a tiny square of beef into her mouth, and instead of answering, opened the left side of her pin-stripe jacket so Lucas could see the butt of a black automatic pistol.

'Nice accessories,' Lucas said. Trying a little bit.

'Cop charm works really well on me,' Malone said, after she swallowed. 'I get all a-twitter.'

'You wanna stop that?' Mallard asked. 'I hate middle-aged courtship rituals.'

'What's his problem?' Lucas asked Malone.

'Recently divorced,' Malone said, tipping her head at Mallard. 'Still loves her.'

'Sorry,' Lucas said.

'Not true, anyway. I'm all done with that,' Mallard said, and for one small second he looked so miserable that Lucas wanted to pat him on the back and tell him it'd be okay; but Lucas didn't believe it would be, and Mallard wouldn't either. 'Besides,' Mallard added, 'I'm not all alone in that condition.'

'If you're talking to me, you're talking to the wrong person,' Malone said. 'I don't like any of them.'

'Them?' Lucas asked.

'Four-time loser,' Mallard said, jabbing his fork at Malone.

'Jesus,' Lucas said. 'In the FBI?'

'If it hadn't been for the second one, I'd be a deputy director by now,' Malone said.

'What'd he do?' Lucas asked.

'He was an actor.'

'Bad actor,' Mallard said.

'No, he was a good actor; he just couldn't stay away from the nude scenes,'

Malone said. 'The killer was when the Washington Post interviewed him, nude, and he mentioned he was married to an FBI agent.'

'Not the best career move,' Mallard said. 'We were all still wearing white shirts.'

'You got number five figured out yet?' Lucas asked.

'Not yet,' Malone said. 'But I'm looking around.'

'This is what it is,' Mallard said, breaking into the dialogue, 'Is that we've got nine guys here, and we're watching Lopez twenty-four hours a day. He's got diree phones, we're listening to all of them, and we've already gotten a couple of ambiguous calls. I mean, people talking in circles about something besides flowers. Nothing that would implicate him, but something's going on…'

'Could I hear them? Your tapes?'

'Sure. I've got an edited tape you can listen to tonight. Tomorrow, when he moves, we'll hook you up with him.'

'Good enough,' Lucas said. 'I don't want him to see me, though, not if he's been in and out of the Cities. I've been on TV a couple of times with this stuff… he might've caught it.'

'You must be sort of a celebrity, then,' Malone said. 'A local hero.'

'Come on, guys,' Mallard said. 'Please? Malone?'

Mallard sprawled on the bed in his motel room while Lucas sat in the single easy chair and Malone perched against a credenza. They listened while voices said, 'I thought I'd stop by today… Not much point… Really? Then when do you think would be a good time?… Gotta be by tomorrow, unless something happened on the way down. I haven't heard anything – I could give you a ring if you want. .. That'd be good, I'm getting, you know…'

Lucas said, 'He's peddling dope.'

'I already suggested that,' Malone said. 'It sorta made people unhappy.'

'Can't be sure that it's dope,' Mallard said defensively.

'Sure it is,' Lucas said. 'I can even tell you what kind.'

'Heroin?' suggested Malone.

'Yup.' Lucas nodded.

'Maybe that's the old Chicago system working,' Mallard said.

'I don't see a murder contractor trusting a junkie to kill people,' Lucas said.

'Maybe he's not a junkie…'

'That was a small retail sale you were listening to,' Lucas said. 'If he's a small retail dealer, chances are, he's a junkie.'

'On the other hand, since he had somebody coming in from a long way off… maybe not,' Malone said. 'He seems to be buying wholesale.'

Lucas shrugged. 'Could be – but it's strange behavior for a guy who's supposed to be a paranoid superkiller. I could see a killer buying cocaine or maybe speed from a good, tight retail connection, but

I can't see one actually selling the stuff. That means he's dealing with all kind of craphead junkies who'd sell him out for a dime.'

When they finished with the tapes, they all sat around for a minute and then

Mallard said, 'The Yankees are on cable.'

'I gotta get outside,' Lucas said. 'I've been sitting in a car all day.'

'Where're you going?' asked Malone.

'Maybe find a bar,' Lucas said. 'Have a couple beers.'

'I could do that,' Malone said. 'I'd like to change into something a little more relaxed.'

Mallard sighed and said, 'All right. I guess it's better than staring at a TV.'

Malone glanced at him, a thin line forming between her eyes; it disappeared in a half-second, and she said, 'So why don't we meet back here in a half hour?'

Lucas got back to Mallard's room a few minutes before Malone; when she got back she was wearing black slacks and a soft black jacket over a sheer blouse.

Beneath the blouse, Lucas thought, she was wearing a frilly black bra; and to the left, under the jacket, he could still pick out the slightly lumpy form of the semi-auto. Going out the door, Malone went first, and Lucas got the finest possible whiff of something exotic; something cool and icy.

Malone got to the front passenger door first;

Mallard got in the back. Malone looked at all the lights on the dashboard and doors and steering wheel and asked, 'How come small-town cops get cars like these, and we get Tauruses?'

'Because we fight government corruption at every turn,' Mallard said.

'Minneapolis is bigger than D.C.,' Lucas said.

Malone made a rude noise, and Mallard said, 'Stop it.' On the way downtown,

Lucas spotted a Wichita cop car sitting at a corner and pulled in ahead of it.

Mallard asked, 'What're you doing?' and Lucas answered, 'Research.'

He got out of the car carrying his badge case and when the cop in the driver's seat rolled down the window, Lucas flipped open the case and said, 'Hey guys -

I'm a cop from up in Minneapolis going through with a couple of friends. We're looking for a bar or cocktail lounge, you know, something decent?'

The driver took Lucas' badge case and studied the ID for a minute, grunted,

'Deputy chief, huh?' then handed it back and looked at his partner. 'Really aren't many places to talk… What do you think? The Rink?'

'Be about the best,' the partner said. 'Four blocks straight ahead to the second light, take a right, about four or five more blocks down. The Rink.'

'Great,' Lucas said, straightening up. 'Buy you guys one, if we're still there when you get off.'

'Thanks, but we're working the overnight,' the driver said. 'Say, let me ask you this. What's your base pay up there, in Minneapolis?'

They talked about salary, vacation and sick-leave policy for a couple of minutes, then Lucas walked back to the 740, climbed inside, tripped the hood latch, got out, slammed the hood, got back in and they drove to the Rink.

Rinker was standing behind the bar, reading a register tape, when Lucas walked in. She was so utterly astonished that she showed nothing at all, as though she'd been hit in the forehead with a hammer. When she recovered, after a full five seconds, she noticed that he was with a woman who looked like a lawyer and a dry-faced, thick-necked man who might be an academic; or maybe a college wrestling coach.