Sudden Prey (42 page)

''I don't believe them.''

''You can't tell what a person'll do when he's hurt bad enough. I've had all kinds of weird confessions when I was working in an emergency room. A person thinks he's going to die in the next couple of minutes . . . something changes,'' Weather said. She looked at his gun. ''I wish you wouldn't keep that pointed at me. I'm not going to beat you up.''

He shifted the muzzle of the gun, just slightly, and she said, ''Thanks,'' and thought, Maybe .

THE ERU TEAM INCLUDEDAYOUNGBLONDIOWANWHO was carrying a Sako Classic .243 with a fat black Leupold scope. Lucas stepped away from the medical people, who were working out a floor plan, and said, ''How good are you?''

''Very,'' he said.

''You ever shoot anyone?''

''Nope, but I got no problem with it,'' the Iowan said, and his flat blue eyes suggested that he was telling the truth.

''You'll be shooting just about sixty feet, close as we can tell.''

''At sixty feet I won't be more than a quarter-inch off my aim-point.''

''You're sure?''

The kid nodded. ''Absolutely.''

''We need him turned off. He may be pointing a gun at Weather or me.''

''I got a low-power, wide-view scope. I'll be able to see his move--if he's got the gun right at her head, if the hammer's down, I can take him, and your wife's okay. If the hammer's cocked . . . then it's not so good, maybe fifty-fifty. If he's got the gun at her head, if you can get him to take it away, I'll be able to see it and I'll take him. You need to get him to take it away just a second, just an inch.''

''He can't have any time to recover--not even a millionth of a second.''

The kid shook his head. ''I'm shooting Nosler ballistic tips--I didn't want anything that'd go through and ricochet around the halls. So all the energy'll get dumped inside his skull. If I hit him anywhere on the face--and I will--he'll be gone like somebody turned off a switch. That fast.''

Lucas looked at him for another long moment, and said, ''I hope you can do it right.''

''No problem,'' the kid said, and he stroked the rifle like he might stroke his girlfriend's cheek.

Lucas nodded and went back to the medics and to look at the floor plan. Basically, the suite was one long hall with double doors in the middle, dividing the operating rooms from the support offices. He'd put the sniper at the far end of the hall, open the doors himself and talk to LaChaise, who was in one of the offices at the other end of the hall.

''We'll put the gun on a gurney,'' Lucas said. ''We're gonna need an office chair . . . and then I'll call, and go through the doors. . . . Will the doors stay open?''

''You've got to push them back hard,'' one of the doctors said.

A cop said, ''Lucas, the chief . . .''

''Tell her to call back,'' Lucas said. He looked back at the sniper and said, ''Let's do it.''

''. . . PEOPLE DON'T UNDERSTAND THAT,'' LACHAISE SAID. ''People don't understand how country folks get ripped around by the government. Christ, you start out just trying to get ahead . . .''

Weather was quietly amused at her own reaction: in some way, she liked the guy. He was like two dozen high school classmates back in Wisconsin, kids who didn't have much to do if they stayed around home. You'd see them trying to put together lives with part-time jobs in the resorts, out in the woods, trying to guide . . . willing to work, but without much hope, afraid of the cities.

LaChaise was like that, but gone down some darker, more twisting trail. He hated his father; didn't much like his mother. Idolized his younger sister, and even his wife.

''Candy sounds like trouble, though,'' Weather said. ''Sometimes people push too hard.''

''Yeah, I guess. But she was so damn lively . . .''

LUCAS GOT THREE BIG STACKS OF SURGEON'S SCRUB suits, all green, from the laundry. The sniper took off his jacket and pulled one of the scrubs on, and tied a pair of pants around his head. They put one stack of scrubs in the middle of a low stainless-steel instrument gurney. The sniper sat in an office chair behind the gurney, and dropped the rifle across the top of the stack, and put a couple more scrubs on top of it. The other two stacks went on either side of the center pile.

Lucas walked down the hall toward the double doors and looked back. He could see the glass of the scope and the riflebarrel, but they made no visual sense. He couldn't tell exactly what they were, and LaChaise would be twice as far away. The sniper himself was invisible with the green scrub pants tied around his head.

''Good,'' Lucas said, hustling back. ''If we can drop one more suit right here . . .'' He spread one across the barrel.

Lucas and another member of the ERU walked down the length of the hall again, and looked back a second time. The other cop said, ''This scares the shit outa me.''

''Me, too,'' Lucas said. He nodded at the sniper. ''But can you see him?''

''I can only see him because I know he's there. LaChaise . . . no chance.'' Lucas walked back. ''All right,'' he said to the Iowan. ''I hope to God you haven't been bullshitting me.''

The kid said, ''You wanta quit fuckin' around and get the show on the road? And stay to the right side of the corridor. The slug'll be coming right past your ear.''

THE PHONE RANG AGAIN, AND LACHAISE BENT OVER to pick it up: pain shot down his leg and he grunted, almost stumbled, caught himself, and lifted the phone.

Lucas said, ''I'm right down the hall from you. If you look out, I'll open the double doors, and you'll see me.''

He was that close? LaChaise put his eye to the door crack and looked at the double doors. ''Let's see you.''

The first of the two doors opened, slowly at first, and then quickly, pushed against the wall; it stayed open. The man who'd pushed it open was standing behind the other door. He peeked out at LaChaise.

''All right, here I am,'' Lucas said. ''We got a lot to talk about.''

''You killed my goddamn wife and sister,'' LaChaise said. ''And I say, 'Eye for an eye.' ''

''When your sister was killed, she was firing a gun at us,'' Lucas said. ''She went down shooting. We didn't just shoot her out of hand: we gave her a choice to give up.''

''Bullshit, everybody says it was over in one second, I saw the TV . . .''

''Doesn't take long to have a gunfight,'' Lucas said. '' Anyway, what're we going to do here?''

''Well, we've been talking about that, your old lady and me,'' LaChaise said.

THE SNIPER COULD FEEL JUST THE LIGHTEST SWEAT start on his forehead, just a patina. Through the scope, he could see the crack in the door, and even, from time to time, LaChaise's eye. He thought about taking the shot, but he didn't know what Weather's situation was. He'd seen training films where the crook's gun was taped to the hostage's head, the hammer held back on the gun with thumb tension. Shoot the crook, the hammer falls, and the hostage is gone.

He wouldn't take it, yet. Not yet. He moved his eye a bit farther from the scope: he didn't want the glass to steam up.

''I DON'T WANT TO TALK ON THE PHONE ANYMORE,'' Lucas said. ''I want to talk face-to-face. I want to see if Weather's okay, what you've done to her . . .''

''I haven't done nothin' yet,'' LaChaise growled.

''I'm gonna push open this other door. I won't have any cover. I'm gonna keep my gun in my hand. You shoot her, you're a dead man. But come on out here--talk to me.''

Lucas pushed the second door open, and stood in the center of the hall, his gun by his side, the phone still by his face.

''Trick of some kind,'' LaChaise called down the hall.

''No. We're just trying to get everybody out of here alive,'' Lucas said. ''Your friend Martin would probably tell you to give it up. He went down shooting, but he seemed happyenough to be alive on the way to the hospital.''

''You swear that's true--man to man,'' LaChaise said.

''Yeah, I do,'' Lucas said. ''Now let me see your face.''

After a moment of silence, LaChaise said, ''We'll come out to talk. Your old lady'll be in front of me and the gun'll be pointing right at her head. Anybody tries any shit . . .''

''Nobody's gonna try any shit,'' Lucas said.

LaChaise looked at Weather. ''He is a tough guy,'' La-Chaise said. ''Let's go out there. You just stay right ahead of me.''

''Don't hurt me,'' Weather said.

''Let's see what happens. Maybe this'll work out.''

She touched him with her fingertips. ''You should give yourself a chance. You're a smart man. Give it a chance.''

Then she stepped in front of him, and felt the cold steel of LaChaise's gun muzzle touch her scalp just behind her ear. They edged into the hall together, and LaChaise nervously looked behind him--nothing but a blank wall--and then down at Davenport, who loomed large and dark standing in the double doors. He held the gun at his side and LaChaise again thought, ''Cowboys.''

If he got out of this--he was thinking that way, now--if he got out of this, it'd be a long time before he played any cowboy games again.

''I'm here by myself,'' Davenport said from the doors. ''And I'm pleading with you. Weather takes care of little kids . . . that's what she's doing. For Christ's sake, if you gotta shoot somebody, go for me; let her go.''

''You killed my Georgie . . .'' But now Georgie was a bargaining chip.

''We didn't want to. Look, for Christ's sake, don't shoot her by accident, huh? Look, here is my gun.''

Weather could feel the muzzle on the bone just behind her ear. But she wasn't thinking about it. She was listening toLucas's tone of voice, and she thought, Oh, no, something's going on . She opened her mouth to say something, but LaChaise, behind her, said, ''This one time, I'm going to take your word for it . . .''

Now there was a pleading tone in LaChaise's voice, and Weather felt the pressure from the gun muzzle move away from her ear.

THE SNIPER COULD SEE WEATHER FROM THE SHOULDER up, and all of LaChaise's head, and the muzzle of the pistol. He could hear what LaChaise was saying, but was mentally processing it in the background. Everything else was focused on the muzzle. He saw it start to move, mentally processed the words, going to take your word for it , realized that the muzzle was about to come away from Weather's head, and then the muzzle lifted out of Weather's hair and the sniper let out just a tiny puff of breath and squeezed . . .

THE DISTANCE WAS SIXTY-TWO FEET. IN TWO ONEHUNDREDTHS of a second, the slug exploded from the barrel and through LaChaise's head, his skull blowing up like a blood-filled pumpkin.

LaChaise never sensed, never knew death was on the way. He was there one instant, moving the muzzle, ready to quit, even thinking about jail life; in the next instant, he was gone, turned off, falling.

WEATHER FELT THE MUZZLE MOVE, AND THE NEXT INSTANT, she was on the floor, blind. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she was covered with something--she was covered with blood, flesh, brains. She tried to get to her feet but slipped and fell heavily, tried to get up, then Lucas was there, picking her up, and she began to scream . . .

And to push him away.

Chapter
Thirty.

THREE DOCTORS, PHYSICIANS AND FRIENDS, BENT OVER Weather, trying to talk with her. She was disoriented, physically and psychologically. The explosion of blood, bone and brain had done something to her. The doctors were talking about sedatives.

''Shock,'' one of the cops said to Lucas. The doctors had pushed Lucas away--his presence seemed to make her worse. ''We'll get her cleaned up, get her calmed down, then you can see her,'' they said.

He went reluctantly, watching from the back of the room. Roux showed up, looked at the body, talked to the kid from Iowa, then came over to see Lucas.

''So it's done,'' she said. ''Is Weather all right?''

''She's shook up,'' Lucas said. ''She freaked when we shot LaChaise.''

''Well, look at her,'' Roux said quietly. ''She looks like she was literally in a blood bath. A bath of blood.''

''Yeah, I just . . . I don't know. I did right, I think.''

Roux nodded: ''You did right.'' She asked, ''Did you talk to Dewey?''

Dewey was the shooter. Lucas looked across the room at the Iowa kid, who had the rifle cradled in his left arm, like a pheasant hunter with a shotgun. He was chatting pleasantly with the team leader. ''Never had a chance,'' Lucas said. ''I need to thank him.''

Roux said, ''He scares the shit out of me. He seems to think the whole thing is very interesting. Can't wait to tell his folks. But he doesn't seem to feel a thing about actually killing somebody.''

Lucas nodded, shrugged, turned back toward Weather. '' Jesus, I hope . . .'' He shook his head. ''She acts like she hates me.''

THE PHONE IN HIS POCKET RANG AND LUCAS FUMBLED for it. Roux said, ''What about Darling?''

''We've got some guys trying to find her over at the dome.'' Lucas got the phone out--his own phone. The ringing continued in his pocket. ''Uh-oh,'' he said, as he dug out the second phone. ''This could be bad news.''

He turned the phone on and said, ''Yes?''