Part 43 (2/2)
Holman wasn't holding the weapon. It was on the money bag directly under his nose. He didn't move. He was too scared to move.
People had spilled out of the bank. They pointed at Holman as they shouted to the officers.
”That's him! It was him!”
Cecil staggered to his feet, crabbing away as he waved his credentials.
”I see his hand! I see it, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! He's reaching for the gun!”
Holman saw the young men s.h.i.+ft behind their weapons. He closed his eyes, held himself perfectly still, and-- --nothing happened.
Holman looked up, but now the four young officers had their guns in the air, surrounded by milling officers. BHPD tactical officers with rifles and shotguns ran toward Cecil, shouting for him to get down on the ground. They tackled him hard, p.r.o.ned him out, then two of them peeled toward Holman.
Holman still didn't move.
One of the tactical officers stayed back with his shotgun up and ready, but the other approached.
Holman said, ”I'm the good guy.”
”Don't f.u.c.kin' move.”
The near officer lifted away Cecil's pistol, but he didn't slam down on Holman or p.r.o.ne him out. Once he had the gun he seemed to relax.
The cop said, ”You Holman?”
”He killed my son.”
”That's what they tell me, buddy. You got him.”
The second cop joined the first.
”Wits said there was shooting. Were you shot?”
”I don't think so.”
”Stay down. We're getting a medic.”
Pollard and Leeds shoved through the growing crowd of officers. When Holman saw Pollard he started to rise, but she motioned him to stay down so he did. Holman figured he had come too far to take any chances.
Leeds went to Bill Cecil, but Pollard came directly to Holman, breaking into a trot as she came. She was wearing a blue FBI Windbreaker like the first time he saw her. When Pollard arrived, she gazed down at him, breathing hard, but smiling, then held out her hand.
”I'm here now. You're safe.”
Holman slipped out of the money bags, took her hand, and let her help him up. He stared at Cecil, still spread-eagled on the street. He watched the officers fold Cecil's hands behind his back to bind his wrists. He saw Leeds, his face livid and twisted, kick Cecil in the leg, whereupon the Beverly Hills cops shoved Leeds away. Holman turned back to Pollard. He wanted to tell her why everything that happened here and everything that led up to it had been his fault, but his mouth was dry and he was blinking too hard.
She held tight to his hand.
”It's okay.”
Holman shook his head and toed the bags. It wasn't okay and never could be.
He said, ”Marchenko's money. This is what Richie wanted.”
She touched his face, turning him.
”No. Oh, no, Max, it wasn't that way.”
She cupped his face in both her hands.
”Richie wasn't doing what we thought. Listen--”
Pollard told him how his son died and, more important to Holman, how Richie had lived. Holman broke down, crying there on Wils.h.i.+re Boulevard, but Pollard held on tight, letting him cry and keeping him safe.
PART FIVE.
32 DAYS LATER.
Chapter 57.
WHEN HOLMAN came downstairs Perry was at his desk. Perry usually called it quits by seven o'clock to hole up in his room to watch Jeopardy!, but here he was. Holman figured Perry was waiting for him.
Perry wrinkled his nose.
”Jesus Christ, you smell like a wh.o.r.ehouse. What in h.e.l.l are you wearing, perfume?”
”I'm not wearing anything.”
”My d.i.c.k may not work as well as it used to, but there's nothing wrong with my nose. You smell like a G.o.dd.a.m.n woman.”
Holman knew Perry would keep hammering at him, so he decided to fess up.
”I bought this new shampoo. It's supposed to smell like a tropical garden.”
Perry leaned back and cackled.
”I guess it does. And what flower would that be--pansies?”
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