Chapter 4 #2
Her expression relaxes and she brushes her hand over his hair, before stepping back.
I go back to walking the floor and Linsey goes back to the kitchen.
I can’t get the little boy, Noah, out of my head.
He seems like a good kid, he reminds me of myself when I was that age and my head was always in a book.
The way Linsey was flirting with me at the class—at least I think she was flirting—made me think she was single.
I wonder if her son’s father is in the picture or not.
Talon’s voice comes through my earpiece, “I saw that, Sabre. What part about gettin’ back to work involved meetin’ her kid?”
“Why the fuck are you wastin’ your night watchin’ me? You’ve got a section to watch yourself.”
He’s quiet after that and then the speeches start up.
Quiet settles over the room as individuals take turns speaking.
The mayor’s assistant thanks everyone for coming and then announces the mayor himself.
He makes a little speech and calls up the fire captain to get a nice plaque.
He says a few words. One of the officers from the Special Victims Unit at the Las Salinas PD gets tearful when she accepts an award for twenty-five years of service.
Tex was right about this event being a snoozer.
It’s just an endless round of people getting plaques and certificates, each of them saying a few words about how honored they are.
Occasionally, someone cracks a joke but even the jokes are boring.
The food comes out in waves, and it looks classy as hell. People take bites, they look pleased and they begin whispering to each other. Waiters bring around bottles of wine and keep refilling glasses.
We’re about twenty minutes into dinner and forty minutes into the awards when the hair stands up on the back of my neck. My hand goes to the radio on my shoulder.
“Talon, something’s wrong.”
“What do you see?”
“Nothin’ yet. I feel somethin’ goin’ on in the back of the room.” Someone stands and I begin moving in that direction. “It’s table eleven. The man standing doesn’t fit. His suit doesn’t fit and he’s got an angry expression on his face. Something is wrong. I can feel it.”
The closer I get, I realize he doesn’t have a gold ribbon on his badge, like the others. Memories of the night flash through my mind. I recall that he didn’t eat his food, clap for anyone or pay attention to the stage when the speakers changed over.
In the here and now, I quickly realize that his gaze is on the head table, more specifically, the prosecuting attorney. He’s a white-haired man sitting two seats down from the mayor who is totally unaware of what’s headed his way.
Then the man’s right hand comes up to touch his jacket over his left ribs. The movement is quick and precise, like he’s double-checking something. No man on earth keeps a wallet there, but some keep a holster there.
I speak into my radio as I rush forward, keeping my voice low.
“All team members, trouble at table eleven. There’s a white, middle-aged man in a gray suit.
He’s on the move. No gold ribbon, no visible name on his tag.
There’s a subtle bulge under his left arm and he’s bearing down on the prosecutor. ”
There’s a moment of silence before Tex’s voice comes back. “Zen, tell me what you see.”
“On it,” Zen says. “Rollin’ back the security cameras now. Stand by.” I keep my eyes glued to the man, pausing because he’s stopped near a large potted plant to scroll on his phone.
It doesn’t take long before Zen comes back. “He entered through the service hall at nineteen forty. Not the front entrance. There’s no badge scan on him anywhere in the system.”
“Tusk, take the west doors,” Tex orders. “Talon, drift down the left wall. Sabre, hold until we’re in place and do not spook him. We need to triangulate on his vector.”
We move smoothly into place because we’ve done this before. Talon walks slowly along the wall with a water pitcher in his hands. Tusk stands in front of the west doorway, shooing off someone trying to enter. Tex slips in through the front door and makes eye contact with us.
We’re maybe thirty seconds from boxing him in when the applause starts up again, for I don’t even know who because all my attention has been riveted on the man in the gray suit. The man begins to move again. Only this time his hand goes inside his jacket. It does not come out holding a phone.
“Gun,” I say into the radio, and put on a burst of speed. The room learns it half a second after I do.
“Merrick!” he screams the prosecutor’s name with the gun out and up, and the applause turns into panic. Several people rush past me, slowing me down. Chairs scrape and several get turned over. The police officers in the room draw their weapons but no one can get a clean shot.
“You took everything from me!” the man shouts. “You put me in jail for a crime I never committed, and I lost ten years of my life, my wife, and my kids. You took everything from me and tonight they gave you an award for it.”