“Oh sure, just like that,” Thomas said, still pacing. “Sure.”
“Yeah, just like that,” Dyche sneered. “Man, I don’t know where you found this one, Baird, but he’s more gutless than a jellyfish at low tide.”
“I should go,” Baird said. “If I go before he gets here, it’s breaking and entering, maybe, and you’re a cop who just happened to be passing, saw a disturbance…”
Dyche shook his head. “They’ll never buy that I previously just happened to have dealt with the guy who just happened to break into your house when I just happened to be walking by, even though I live across the city. That’s not going to work.”
“Then what do you propose?” Baird said.
“Easy: we ambush him,” Dyche said. “I got his phone number off Merry while he was unconscious. You call him, tell him you’re waiting in your study if he wants a face-to-face. We wait until he enters, guarding front and back, and put a bullet behind his ear the moment he walks in.”
“He’ll be expecting a trap.”
Dyche nodded. “Sure. That’s why we funnel him through the back door. Lock the front and back, but give him a window of opportunity—literally. Leave one of the back windows unlocked. He’ll check those adjacent to the door and use what we give him…”
“And if he doesn’t? If he suspects that it’s too easy?”
“Then he’ll find another route in… but it’ll make a noise, whatever it is, and we’ll be right here. Right, Greg?”
Thomas kept pacing and said nothing, his doubt writ large.
“I said, right, Greg?” the sergeant stressed.
“Hmm? Sure. Sure, right.”
Baird waited until his assistant was halfway back to the door before speaking up quietly. “He doesn’t sound confident.”
“You know him,” Dyche said. “Should he be?”
“Point taken.”
Dyche nodded towards the stairwell. “Go on, go get ready. Lock the study door. You still have that .357 I gave you?”
Baird nodded.
“Keep it handy, just in case. He could be the most determined lunatic on the planet; still won’t stop a bullet. He’ll come. But we’ll be ready for him.”
53
It took less than twenty minutes before Baird heard the first gunshots.
And then the house went silent again. He stood away from the study door and held the pistol aloft, pointed at it, his hand shaking slightly.
Can’t miss from this range… right?
He looked down the iron sights. Just like Dyche showed you. Breathe in for two seconds, then hold it and squeeze naturally.
After another few quiet moments, his curiosity kicked in. He moved over to the door and opened it a crack.
The move was well timed. He could see just enough of the staircase to catch Dyche backing up it. The veteran cop turned back towards the downstairs and fired two shots, then a third. Then he checked over his shoulder and saw the crack in the office door.
“GET INSIDE!” Dyche bellowed, a second before his chest plumped at the impact from a pair of bullets, blood spraying from the wounds as he collapsed onto the stairs.
“Oh fuck!” Baird exclaimed. He slammed the door and locked it, then backed up several feet, the pistol extended.
The door lock had no chance, the force of the kick sending the door flying open.
“BAIRD!” Bob bellowed.
Baird closed his eyes as he squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, the blast from each deafening. He opened his right eye, his left held tight in a terrified squint, and looked down.
Bob was lying just ahead of the door.
Is he—
In answer to the silent question, Bob labored to turn himself over, so that he was lying prone on his back.
Baird walked over to him and pointed the gun at his face. He had a seeping chest wound, based on the spreading blood stain on his shirt.
I did it.
I actually did it.
I actually got the sum’bitch.
Another bloody patch was growing near Bob’s shoulder, another on his left thigh. It wasn’t exactly clean, Baird figured, but it had done the trick.
Arrogant bastard, Baird thought. Thought he could come into my town, hassle me and mine.
