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“One of you block the Chevy.”
“You got it.”
Officer Prasko picked up his binoculars again. The curtains were drawn across the picture window of 138—Why the fuck do you suppose they put in picture windows? Nobody ever looks out of a motel room, and if you did, all you would see is the other part of the motel—and there was no sign of activity. The blonde in the front seat of the Hertz Chevy was lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one.
Three minutes later, the radio went off again. He couldn’t hear what was being said.
“Repeat,” he ordered.
“Turn the goddamn volume up!”
“I just did.”
“Bingo, here comes our friends. Light blue new Olds 98. Tell me when he gets inside, and we’ll come in halfway.”
Officer Prasko scurried across the balcony, keeping low so that he wouldn’t be seen.
He saw the Blue Olds 98—well enough to recognize Amos Williams sitting beside the driver—enter the motel area and drive toward the rear. And stop.
“He stopped halfway to the back,” Prasko reported.
“Being careful,” Officer Grider replied.
Mr. Williams was careful for three minutes, which seemed like much longer, and then the driver’s-side rear door of the Olds 98 opened and Marcus C. aka “Baby” Brownlee, black male, thirty-six, six-one, 240 pounds, thirty-two previous arrests, got out, looked around, and walked very quickly toward room 138.
“Baby Brownlee going to the room,” Officer Prasko reported.
He dropped his binoculars to the Chevy. The blonde was not in sight.
Probably dropped onto the seat. I would if I was a good-looking piece like that and saw that mean-looking dinge walking my way.
“Knocking on the door,” Officer Prasko reported, and added a moment later, “He’s in.”
“Wait,” Officer Grider replied.
Baby Brownlee was in room 138 for two minutes forty seconds, which seemed like much longer.
“Door opening,” Officer Prasko reported. “Baby’s coming out. Moving toward car.”
“Five?”
“Ready.”
Five was officer Timothy J. Calhoun, and he was apparently driving the unmarked police car.
“At the car,” Officer Prasko reported. “Getting in.”
Baby Brownlee was in the Olds 98 for fifty seconds, which seemed like much longer.
The blonde’s head appeared in the Chevy. She took a look around and then dropped from sight again.
Christ, I’d like to jump the bones of something like that.
“Car’s moving,” Officer Prasko reported.
“Five?”
“Car’s turning around,” Officer Prasko reported.
