“Don’t you mean your ex-boss?” King asked.
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”
“You can tell your ex-boss when you talk to him, probably as soon as we leave, if he killed anyone, we’re coming for him.”
Eastwood moistened his lips. “I’ll … I’ll tell him.”
“One more question,” Hank said. “Did the robbers use pistols or rifles?”
“Pistols.”
“.38’s?”
“Don’t know.”
Hank looked at King. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, maybe,” King said, and looked at Eastwood. “Stay out of trouble because I might not overlook your indiscretions next time.” He paused. “But you can always get ahold of me if you find out anything else. That might earn you a get-out-of-jail-free card.” King pulled out a business card and flipped it onto the couch. “You can always reach me here.”
Eastwood glanced at the card, then back at King. “I ain’t a snitch.”
“Keep the card anyway. You never know when it might come in handy,” King said, and turned to Hank. “Shall we let this guy get back to his beauty sleep?”
Hank nodded, then turned and left the apartment. King followed, pulling the broken door closed behind him.
Hank whirled around, put a hand on King’s chest, and pushed him against the wall. He moved in close and scowled. “You can do whatever you want on your own time, but when I’m around, we do things right. Next time, we knock. We don’t go busting doors down.” He paused. “Got that?”
King nodded and said dryly, “Whatever you say, Hank.”
Hank narrowed his eyes, glared a moment longer, then straightened King’s collar and turned away. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 37
Thursday, 11:05 a.m.
JAKE SAT ON THE grass, leaning against the fence. He was half-hidden from the view of anyone who might exit the rear of the warehouse, and he waited patiently for Rocky Shaft.
If Jake’s claim to know the whereabouts of the heist money made Shaft nervous at all, Jake expected him to take steps to secure it, or at the least, to ensure it was untouched.
He rolled to one side and ducked out of sight when Shaft exited the building. Jake looked at his watch. It wasn’t lunch time yet, but Shaft was headed somewhere. He had slipped away early and was walking straight toward his vehicle.
Jake stood, keeping low, and moved to his car. He stood at the driver side and watched as Shaft opened the door of his pickup.
Jake’s eyes bulged as a man appeared at the back of the truck, an upraised baseball bat held firmly in both hands. Even from where Jake stood, he saw hostility written all over the newcomer’s face.
“Shaft,” Jake yelled.
Too late. The man stepped forward and the bat connected with Shaft’s back. Jake sprang into action as the victim went down. He heard the dull thud of the weapon striking, again and again.
Jake reached Shaft’s vehicle and the man stood straight, raised the bat, and glared at Jake. Shaft moved and groaned, then lay still again, now flat on his back.
“Put it down,” Jake demanded.
The attacker looked back at Shaft and gritted his teeth, striking the victim again. Shaft groaned and curled into a ball.
Jake stepped forward as the man backed up and pointed the club toward Jake. “Stay back.”
“Put the bat down,” Jake repeated.
The assailant swished the weapon through the air. “You’re next if you don’t stay back.”
Jake took another step forward. “Who’re you?”
The attacker pointed at Shaft. “This guy killed my cousin and I’m giving him what he deserves.”
“Who’s your cousin?”
“Michael Norton was my cousin.” He raised the bat, clenched his jaw, and glared at Shaft.
The man on the ground held his ribs and rolled to his back. He groaned. “I … I didn’t kill Norton.” The words came out amid puffs of air. “It wasn’t me.” He groaned again and pulled up his knees.
Jake took another step forward, stood by Shaft, and reached for the club. “Give it to me.”
The man poked the tip of the bat toward Jake. Jake grabbed for it and missed, the weapon connecting with the back of his hand.
The attacker swung the bat again. Jake leaned back as it whistled past his face.
The man was average height and weight, and would be easy enough for Jake to subdue under normal circumstances, but this wasn’t normal. The man held a potentially deadly weapon and Jake didn’t want to feel the wrong end of it.
He held out a hand, palm up. “You’ve punished him enough. Give me the bat.”
The assailant shook his head. Jake moved forward, stepped over Shaft, and then ducked as the weapon whistled over his head. He grabbed the angry man’s leg, pulled, and the man went down.
Jake felt the weapon connect with his ribs. Once. Twice. He grabbed for it, missed, and rolled aside as the club swung again and smacked the asphalt with a dull thud.
He felt his aching ribs. He would be okay. Fortunately, the attacker was on the ground and hadn’t been able to wind up his swing, otherwise Jake might be lying beside Shaft, unable to move.
Jake scrambled to his feet in time to see the assailant straighten up, turn around, and run behind the next car, heading for safety, the weapon still gripped in one hand.
Jake followed, the pain in his side keeping him from making his best speed. He pulled out his cell phone and called 9-1-1 as he ran after the assailant. He gave his location and asked for an ambulance as well as a cruiser ASAP.
The attacker was fifty feet away, heading up beside the warehouse, but not gaining ground. Despite the ache in his side, Jake had stamina, and the man was tiring. It was just a matter of time.
They rounded the front of the building. Jake drew closer as the man dug in his pocket, removed a ring of keys, and slid to a stop beside a pickup.
Jake put on a burst of speed as the man hopped inside and slammed the door. The locks snapped shut and the vehicle roared as the engine caught. The truck began to back out.
Jake was too late.
No he wasn’t.
He dove the last few feet, leaped up, and landed with a thump into the back of the pickup.
If the guy was going to run, Jake was going with him.
The man turned and glanced through the rear window, his eyes wild, panic setting in. Surely he knew as well as Jake did, he wasn’t going to get away.
The truck continued to back up, and then it stopped and spun forward, heading across the lot.
Jake could wait it out. The guy could run as far as he wanted to, but once he ran out of fuel, it would be all over.
But then, Jake had a better idea.
He crouched down and picked up a tire iron laying on the bed of the truck, hefted it in his hands, and struck the tempered glass of the rear window with the sharp end.
The driver and the front seat of the vehicle was sprayed with glass as the window shattered into a thousand pieces. The man hunched forward at the steering wheel, raising his arm as if to protect himself, but the vehicle kept moving.
Jake tossed the iron onto the bed of the truck, crouched down, and smiled in the rearview mirror at the man’s frightened face.
“Maybe you should pull over,” Jake said.
“Never.”
“It might be safer.” He raised his fists for the man to see. “When I wrap these around your neck and squeeze, not only will you get hurt badly, but I’m afraid your beautiful truck will be half destroyed.”
The man’s eyes darted back and forth from the front window to the rear-view mirror. Jake saw him weighing his options.
They neared the gate, when finally, the vehicle slowed and stopped. The driver put the truck in park, dropped his hands to his lap, laid his head back, and sighed.
“Good choice,” Jake said. “Now unlock the door and get out. The police are on their way, and if you surrender now, things might go better for you.”