Page 70 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘You busted into the wrong house,’ said Dekker.

‘I don’t walk into any place without knowing how to walk out again,’ I said.

‘You’re an intruder. We can shoot intruders,’ said Dekker.

‘Dekker, don’t kill him. Put one in his knee, for being a prick,’ said Julian.

The alarm belted off the walls.

I stood very still. Watched Dekker reach for his side arm.

Heard that click from the quick-release holster.

The gun was in his hand in a flash. He adjusted his aim, and I watched the barrel angle down.

He smiled, relishing the moment. He would enjoy the squeeze of the trigger, the kick from the gun, the crack of fire and the delicious moment of pain and ruin as the bullet found its target.

His smile broke as his gaze flicked over my shoulder.

‘NYPD! Drop the gun! Drop the gun!’

He instantly raised his hands, let the Glock fall to clatter on the steps.

‘Down! Get down!’ came the cry.

I turned slowly, my hands in the air.

Two uniformed cops with their guns drawn. One on me, one on Dekker.

I don’t walk into any place I don’t know how to walk out of.

In this case, I might have to be carried out in cuffs, but I knew the NYPD response times in this area, especially a personal alarm in the largest private home in Manhattan.

There’s nothing like a police escort when you need it.

I got onto my knees and stared at Julian.

Rage filled his bloodshot eyes.

I lay down, put my hands behind my back and quickly felt a knee in my spine, and heard the jangle of handcuffs.

‘Glad to see you, officers,’ I said. ‘I just heard the alarm, thought it was a fire and ran in to help. You know, it’s a real piece of luck you’re here. I was about to call you. Somebody stole a tire iron out of my car.

‘What the hell is going on?’ said one of the cops.

‘I got a permit for that piece,’ said Dekker.

Nobody explained the situation. Julian said nothing. He just glared at me.

‘This isn’t finished,’ he said.

The cop hauled me to my feet. I stared at Julian and said, ‘You got that right. I’m just getting started.’

28

The Journal

The first time I met Patrick Vanderpool I wanted to throw up.