"And the target is clear. Whatever it is. The commo guys start screaming about Shafer, and everybody starts running. There's panic…"

"What are they going to hit?" Shrake asked, as much to himself as to the others, looking up at the ceiling. "They do banks and armored cars. God knows there's enough cash floating around."

"We need to scout some places. Armored-car warehouses. Someplace with ' big money. Big money. We scout them, like we were going to hold them up-and then, if we find a couple of places that look particularly ripe, we set up ambushes."

They thought about it through their pie; halfway through, Shrake mumbled, "You know what? They're still here."

Letty had been lying on her bed, thinking about her next move, when they arrived, and she wandered into the kitchen as they were talking. Shrake said, "Hello, sweet thing," and Jenkins said, "The movie star."

Letty patted Shrake on his broad back and said, "If only you were forty years younger," which made Lucas laugh so hard that he choked. "A piece of chicken breading went up my nose," he said. Shrake pretended to sulk: "For Christ's sakes, I am only forty."

"And in good shape," Letty said. "For a guy that old."

"What're you up to?" Lucas asked.

"Not much going on tomorrow. I'm going to write the Mockingbird essay tonight, I guess."

"Better than messing around with hookers," Lucas said. He gave a short recap to Shrake and Jenkins.

"Sounds like a good story to me," Shrake said.

"You get better-looking by the minute," Letty said.

Jenkins squinted at her: "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

Jenkins looked at Lucas and shook his head: "Jesus Christ, Lucas, you attract trouble. You're a fuuuhhh ' trouble magnet."

"Was that a French trouble magnet?" Letty asked. "A freaky trouble magnet? A fancy trouble magnet? A…"

"Fuck off, kid," Jenkins said.

After trading a few more insults with Jenkins and Shrake, Letty got a single-serving milk bottle and walked back up to her bedroom, sat on the bed and thought about it some more.

What if Randy killed Juliet? If he did, it'd be Letty's fault. The thought went round and round like a carousel, and always came back, no matter how she twisted it up.

What if Randy did something so awful…

And yet she had the feeling that Randy was too manipulative for that. He'd fly into a rage, he'd beat Juliet, maybe, but he wouldn't kill her. She was his sexual ATM. If she timed it just right, if she listened outside the house, she could have the police there within a couple of minutes.

And the original threat remained. If Lucas found out that Randy had been stalking Letty, he'd kill Randy. If he did it with his usual intelligence, it would be taken care of quietly enough; but now, because of Letty, Jennifer knew about it. What she would do, if Randy disappeared, Letty didn't know. She really was a goody-goody.

One way or another, Letty had to make the call. Had to make it.

Chapter 1 9

They met in a BCA classroom as the sun was sliding down in the west, everyone that Lucas had managed to scrape up: two St. Paul detectives, six BCA agents who volunteered time because of the Benson shooting-more would have volunteered, but they were already on the street, working the convention-and two detectives from Minneapolis, along with Shrake and Jenkins. Two Secret Service agents sat in the back, but the Secret Service was so pressed by the night's political ceremonies that they couldn't free any men for the actual search.

Lucas unrolled oversized printouts from the county assessor's office, showing every building in downtown St. Paul. One of the assessor's men had gone over the maps and marked the buildings that had either rental apartments, or condos that somebody might rent out on their own.

"We didn't have time to write all this stuff on each individual map, so everybody take a contact sheet from Carol," Lucas said. Carol waved a stack of Xerox paper at them. "On it, you'll find the latest phone number we have for the condo association president or the apartment manager. Talk to them face-to-face."

They had too many buildings, but divided them up as well as they could, some of them getting a few large ones, some getting a bigger batch of smaller ones.

"Warn the president or the manager or the owner, or whoever you get, not to go nosing around on his own, or make any inquiries. We're pretty sure they're in there somewhere, and if we miss them, we'll either have to start over, or figure something else out. Carol is passing out updated photos of the suspects, changing hair color and other stuff according to what we've found out about them."

There were the usual questions, and reiterations, and some confusion about geography on the part of the out-of-towners who didn't know the downtown area, but they got everybody oriented and ready to go by dark.

"Listen, people," Lucas concluded. "Do not-DO NOT-TRY to take these guys. They've already killed four cops, one of them our own guy, another one who was helping us out over in Hudson. If you get a line on them-anything at all-I can pull our BCA SWAT guys off the street and go in and take them down. These guys have a reputation for hitting armored cars and other hard targets, and they have access to any kind of firearms that they want. These are tough guys and we could be talking heavy weapons. Let SWAT do their thing. We don't need any more dead heroes."

They all went out in pairs, except for Lucas, who stuck with Shrake and Jenkins. The three of them took the two largest condos.

Shrake said, "I bet they picked the biggest one they could get into. In a small one, somebody's always going to notice a stranger. Somebody'll try to make friends. In a big one, there are people coming and going all the time."

Lucas nodded: "I'll buy that."

"If that fuckin' Flowers was here, we could split up, two and two," Jenkins said.

"He's coming, but he was way the hell out in Bigelow," Lucas said.

"Where's that?"

"I don't know, but it's way the hell out."

The two condos were kitty-corner from each other in the same block, with a shopping area and offices in a mall between them. They parked underground and walked around the block to the larger of the two buildings. On the way, they ran into a walking train of people in formal wear, women with glittery icefalls of diamonds around their necks, down their breasts. They were heading up the skyways toward the convention hotels at the top of the hill.

Shrake: "She's got more money on her tits than I got on my house."

"Both our houses. Together," Jenkins said, looking after them.

Lucas's phone rang, and he looked at the screen. Del. Lucas punched him up and Del said, "It's a boy."

"You knew that," Lucas said, and "Congratulations. Jeez, whoever would have even believed it, Del." He passed the phone to the other two, who gave Del the raft of shit that he'd expect, and both congratulated him, and Lucas took the phone back and Del said, "I gotta get some sleep. I think I'm more beat up than my old lady."

"I doubt it," Lucas said.

"What're you doing?"

"House-to-house," Lucas said, deliberately discouraging him. "You wouldn't be interested."

"I'm going home," Del said.

At the apartment, another jeweled train went by, and they gawked, and Jenkins said, "These aren't even the rich ones. The rich ones are staying up there. These ones have to walk in."