“Which way?”
“The back.”
Marshall spun. An employee’s-only tunnel led out to the rear of the mall, into a dingy concrete space littered with cigarette butts and broken glass, loud with the buzz of generators. They burst into the rain, hearing sirens now, close. Jack slung the bag over his shoulder, then hit a low wall moving, grabbing the top with his free hand and hoisting himself up. The move opened up the slash on his arm, but the pain felt far away.
There was a cop on the other side, hurrying down a short alley from a group of three-flat apartments. For a moment, they looked at each other. Then the cop reached for his gun and started yelling to freeze.
Jack had been in before, wasn’t going back. Without removing his left hand from the wall, he brought his right up.
The gun was quieter out in the open space. The cop staggered. His legs gave, and he fell to his knees in a puddle. Water splashed murky and silver.
“Jesus,” Marshall said from beside him. “Jack.”
The cop rocked back and forth. He looked at his hands, bloody and shaking. Jack raised his pistol again. Took time to aim.
18
EAST WAS AS GOOD AS WEST. It didn’t seem to much matter. Moving was the point, staying mobile. Driving minute after minute, mile after mile, with no goal but keeping away from everyone, from the whole world, while they figured out what to do. How to make this right.
The thought almost made Tom laugh. Make it right? What would that look like, Einstein?
He shook his head, filled with a terror and loneliness he’d never known. The world he used to believe in had imploded, and the new one was a horror show inhabited by monsters. Everything he loved was at stake. And there was no one they could trust. They were all alone.
Anna shivered in the passenger seat, arms clutching her chest, and Tom leaned forward to turn up the heat. He punched back and forth between AM 720 and 780. A commercial for volunteer teachers, an overdubbed voice saying that positive role models could dramatically lower drug usage amid blah blah blah.
Nothing so far. It wouldn’t be long now, though. It couldn’t be. Your average shooting didn’t make the news in a city like Chicago, but a firefight in a Lincoln Park mall would. How had things gone so wrong? He still couldn’t understand it, couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened.
An announcer came on and they both held their breath. Waited to hear their own names, that they were fugitives. Prayed that they might hear about a known criminal, Jack Witkowski, gunned down by police while fleeing the mall. Instead, the announcer started in on the economy, the expected fall in the real estate market. People had been talking about how Chicago was overbuilt for a year or two, and coupled with a shaky mortgage industry, it seemed a recipe for imminent disaster. Once, that had really worried them.
From up ahead, Tom heard sirens. His fingers tightened on the wheel. In a blur of red noise, an ambulance blew past.
“Do you think-”
“I don’t know.”
There was a gap, dead air, and then the anchor came back on, his voice different, harried. Tom leaned forward to turn up the volume.
“-early reports of a shoot-out in a Lincoln Park mall. According to our information, at approximately ten o’clock this morning, shots were reported at Century Mall. Witnesses say that perhaps as many as ten people were involved, with gunfire wounding several and possibly killing others, including, it is currently believed, at least one police officer. We, ahh…” He stalled, and Tom could picture the host trying frantically to read. “We understand that police have evacuated the mall and may be in a standoff with the shooters. The identities of the men involved are currently unknown, as is whether they have been captured. There are only preliminary details at this time, but we will obviously be keeping you posted as more information becomes available on this story. Again, this took place at the Century Mall, an upscale center in Lincoln Park, not an area known for…”
Tom turned the volume down.
“Do you think they know we were there?” Anna clicked her thumbnail against her teeth.
He blew a breath, shrugged. His cheek itched, and he went to scratch it with his left hand, caught himself, reached around awkwardly with his right. “If they do, they’ll be after us.”
“Along with Malachi, and Jack, and the cops that work for him.”
“Yeah.”
They rode in silence. Lightning blew the sky like a bulb. Eventually she said, “What are we going to do?”
A light turned red ahead of them. He braked. Sat with the rain bouncing off the roof, the radio announcer muffled in the background. After a moment, he turned sideways. “Baby,” he said, “I don’t have the first clue.”
HALDEN HAD BEEN turning down Tom and Anna’s street when the reports started coming over his radio. Like most detectives, he let the thing run when he was in the car, just kept the volume low and listened subconsciously. Chicago was a big city, with plenty of badness. You got used to the rhythm, the steady call and response of mayhem and tragedy.
This had sounded different. The calls were faster, the voices strained. He’d coasted to a stop outside the brick two-flat and turned up the volume.
“-10-1, all available units, shots fired at Century Mall…”
“-ambulance, we need another ambulance…”
“-Jesus, it’s a war zone…”
“-officer down, repeat, officer down…”
He didn’t understand the situation, but it was clear what he should do. The mall was in his area, which made it his problem. What he was supposed to do was hit flashers and haul ass.
Instead he parked and got out of the car. Climbed the steps to Tom and Anna’s. He rang the bell, leaning on it, holding it down. Banged on the door. Nothing.
Halden walked around back, to a small yard with a picnic table and untended flower gardens. He looked up at the window, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled. “Tom! Anna! This is Detective Halden. I need to talk to you right now.”
Nothing.
He yelled louder for the benefit of the neighbors, hoping embarrassment might drive them out. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, this is the police. Come out right now.”
Nothing.
Damn it. Where were they? The house had been a long shot, but worth a try. Had they spooked somehow? Could they have talked to another cop, found out that he hadn’t told the lieutenant after all? He chewed on his lip, fought the urge for a cigarette. Finally he turned and walked back to the car. Until they turned up, may as well do his job.
It took him ten minutes to get to the mall, and he barely recognized the place once he did. The front glass was broken out onto the concrete. An ambulance and at least a dozen squad cars blocked the street and sidewalks, light bars spinning blue. Sirens wailed from every point of the compass. As he watched, EMTs raced out with a gurney, a tech running alongside to keep pressure on a chest blooming red. Two hundred citizens clustered behind yellow tape, watching the show. A reporter screamed obscenities at a cop trying to hold her back.
Halden left his car on the sidewalk, badged the guys at the door. “Who’s the detective in charge?”
“Detective? You kidding?” The cop shook his head. “Half the brass is here. The security office.”
Inside, the mall had a surreal quality, chairs and benches overturned, glass broken from store windows, pop music playing over the sound system, but instead of shoppers, there were crime techs and tactical officers and photographers. Most of the action seemed to be concentrated a couple floors up, but Halden wanted to find out what had happened before looking at the scene itself.