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Marcus then made a sliding right turn at the corner.
Approaching the next block, Payne saw that he and Byrth were slowly closing the gap. Payne then saw Marcus look back, then cut across the street. Then he saw at the far corner two human shapes standing beside a dumpster. Marcus, looking back again, ran right toward them.
One of the pair pulled something from his coat pocket. As it was raised, it glinted.
“Sonofabitch! Gun!” Payne said, and quickly crouched, motioning for Byrth to get down.
The pop-pop-pop of gunfire immediately followed, the muzzle flash reflecting on the icy street. The big Jamaican tried to change direction but lost his footing. He went down, striking the base of a metal utility pole headfirst.
Payne was trying to get a good aim on the shooter when there was another series of three shots. And then the firing stopped and there was a clunk as the gun hit the concrete.
The shooter and his partner bolted toward an empty lot beyond the dumpster.
Payne was about to kneel beside the Jamaican when Byrth called, “I’ve got him. Don’t let those other fuckers get away!”
Byrth, sliding to a stop at the Jamaican, pulled handcuffs from his coat pocket. He smoothly slapped a cuff on the man’s big right wrist, then pulled him in place so that he was hugging the metal pole and clipped his left wrist.
Then Byrth took off after Payne.
—
“Over here!” Payne called in a loud whisper from the shadows at the back corner of a line of row houses. He was breathing heavily, the cold air feeling like ice picks to his lungs.
When Byrth came up, Payne said, “They’re in here. They tried wrapping the cable back but didn’t get it locked.”
Payne pointed to a gate in the chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Hanging from the gate was the loose end of heavy-gauge steel cable that had been threaded around a metal post.
In a crouch, his pistol close in at chest level, Payne slowly swung the gate open. He cleared the immediate area, then entered the backyard, signaling with his left hand for Byrth to follow.
Suddenly, the cold air carried a chemical-like stench. It burned his nostrils.
What the hell is that? he wondered, and had to clear his throat.
He heard Byrth grunt, then cough involuntarily.
They moved quickly toward what was the back porch of the completely darkened house, snow crunching with each step. Once across the backyard, they came to another gate. It was wide open. They cleared it and went through.
Then from the far side of the next yard came the clanking sound of another chain-link gate opening, then the fast crunching of feet running on snow and the whine of an engine starter engaging. A big motorcycle rumbled to life—and almost instantly roared off.
“Damn it!” Payne said.
After a moment he felt a nudge on his right shoulder and he saw Byrth pointing at the back door. The porch light was on.
They could see that the door had a piece of torn fabric from an overcoat, and what looked like its insulating filler, caught in the jamb right above the dead bolt.
And that the door was cracked open.
XI
[ONE]
Office of the General Manager
Lucky Stars Casino & Entertainment
North Beach Street, Philadelphia
Monday, November 17, 8:53 P.M.
