Part 2 (1/2)
”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.
”Just say when,” Officer Calhoun replied.
”Car's stopped. Now facing toward exit,” Officer Prasko reported.
”What are they doing?” Officer Grider inquired.
”Getting out of the car. Baby's out. Amos is out. Opening trunk.”
”And? And?”
”Baby's got a beach bag.”
”Go! Go! Go!” Officer Grider ordered.
Officer Prasko stood up and walked as far as he could toward the stairs without losing sight of the Olds 98, the Hertz Chevy, and the door to room 138.
The van came in first, tires squealing, the rear door already open and stopped in front of the Olds 98. Half a dozen plainclothes police officers, weapons-four pistols, two pump-action 12-gauge shotguns-at the ready, jumped out.
Officer Calhoun's unmarked car skidded to a stop in a position blocking the Hertz Chevy. Calhoun and another plainclothes officer, revolvers drawn, jumped out of the car.
Prasko descended the stairs as rapidly as he could, considering the f.u.c.king binoculars were banging on his chest, and he had to be careful holding the walkie-talkie, otherwise he'd drop the son of a b.i.t.c.h and have to pay for the f.u.c.ker.
As he reached the ground floor, Prasko stooped and drew his snub-nosed .38 Special-caliber revolver from its ankle holster.
This act coincided with the appearance, at a full run, of an individual black male, twenty-five to thirty, five-ten, 150 pounds, noticeable scar tissue left cheek, who had not obeyed the orders of the other police officers to subject himself to arrest.
Just in f.u.c.king time!
”Freeze, motherf.u.c.ker!” Prasko ordered.
The individual almost visibly debated his chances to evade Prasko and then apparently decided attempting to do so would not be in his best interests.
He stopped running and raised his hands above his head.
”Up against the wall!” Prasko ordered, spinning the man around, then pus.h.i.+ng him toward the wall.
”Oh, s.h.i.+t, man!” the individual responded.
”Spread your legs!” Prasko ordered, as Calhoun appeared around the corner.
”I got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Timmy,” Prasko said.
”Put your left hand behind your back,” Prasko ordered, then looked at Calhoun.
”You want to cuff him, please, Timmy?”
Calhoun placed handcuffs on the man's left wrist, then grabbed the other wrist, which caused the man's face to fall against the wall.
”s.h.i.+t!” he exclaimed.
Calhoun finished cuffing him, then performed a per functory search of his person to determine if he was armed.
”Clean,” Calhoun informed Prasko.
”Do him,” Prasko requested.