Paranoia (Michael Bennett #17)

CHAPTER 115

I COULD SEE Celeste Cantor do a double take when she glanced out the window and recognized Dennis Wu. She was smart and had real street experience. She didn’t hesitate to reach across and pat Doyle’s chest. Then she reached into his pocket. She pulled out the tiny microphone that was transmitting to us. She stared at the tiny mic but didn’t jerk it out of Doyle’s pocket.

Cantor flopped back in the booth like she was exhausted. She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Kevin, what have you done?”

“I had to. This whole thing just wasn’t right. I’ve made my peace with my decision.” He couldn’t look his cousin in the eye. He stared down at the table and fumbled with the microphone, trying to stick it back into his pocket. He was as disoriented as Cantor.

I glanced over at the bar to get Trilling’s attention. He was already looking at me for direction. I waited, still mostly out of sight of Cantor. The pillar gave me great comfort. I just hoped it was solid if things went bad. I kept my earpiece in. Cantor was burying herself on the recording.

Then she let out a sob. I could see her face flushed red from all the way across the restaurant. Right now, no one was noticing anything out of the ordinary. The soft clink of dishes and conversation drifted over the restaurant.

Cantor muttered something and stood up. Doyle stayed seated in the booth. She stuck her right hand into her purse. I knew what she was reaching for. Hell, everyone in this situation would know what she was reaching for.

Doyle saw her motion and started to move. I reflexively drew my Glock even as I calculated outcomes in my head. Would it escalate things? Could I talk Cantor out of it? How many civilians were left exposed? I knew I’d be too slow to react, but I managed to shout, “No!”

Then Cantor pulled out a small semiautomatic pistol.

Doyle froze in place, the gray gunmetal attracting all of his attention.

She pointed the pistol toward Doyle. He didn’t flinch. He sat back down completely and kept looking at the barrel of the gun. That was experience. Clearly he’d had guns pointed at him in the past.

Cantor hesitated for a moment.

Doyle started to speak. “Celeste, I—” He was cut off.

Cantor fired off three quick shots. Doyle was knocked back against the booth, then fell onto the seat. I couldn’t see him at all.

I was still in shock. But I had to think about all the civilians in the room. I grabbed the microphone that had been left onstage, turned it on, and tossed it toward the speaker, causing a loud and immediate feedback squelch.

I wanted Cantor to focus on me while she held a gun in her hand. And that’s exactly what I got. She turned toward the noise quickly, even as patrons were falling over one another to get out of the way. She saw me standing next to the pillar.

I motioned for her to drop the gun. I was hoping she’d come to her senses and think about all the years she’d spent in the police department. I wanted her to do the right thing more than I could say.

Trilling slid off his barstool and ducked down to take cover as he drew his pistol.

Then Cantor raised her pistol and pointed it at my face.

There was nothing I could do.