Eleventh Hour

“Stuckey had a gun for me, and a silencer, and said the shooter had to be me, it just had to. When I asked him why, he laughed and said, ‘You look just right, Milt,’ that’s what the guy said. ‘You look just right, maybe even perfect for the role.’ Whatever the fuck that means.”

He really did look just right, Dane thought. A good physical resemblance. Damn, nothing was ever easy.

“You really expect me to buy this?” Savich said, lounging back in the uncomfortable chair, looking bored.

Milt sat forward, clasping his hands in front of him, like he was ready to pray. “Look, Inspector, like I told you, I had to have the money. I had to pay off Stuckey or I was in really deep shit. Then there’s my disability and that jerk of a landlord is nearly ready to throw me out. Hey, I was just three days away from sitting on Union Square, leaning against the Saint Francis Hotel, begging for money. I had to take the job. A man’s gotta survive, you know? A man’s gotta pay off his bad investment decisions.”

Delion had sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, a sneer on his face. “You want us to believe that this guy specifically told Stuckey it had to be you because you just looked right? You were perfect for the role?”

“I swear it. Hey, Stuckey told me the LA guy’s name was DeFrosh—weird name—you’d never forget that stupid name.

“Stuckey said the guy faxed him a photo of the lady I was to give scare to, you know, shoot her just a little bit but not kill her, I wouldn’t ever do that. Yeah, the guy told Stuckey that the broad was homeless, but hey, she sure didn’t look homeless in the church, but what do I know? How would the guy in LA know about that? Stuckey didn’t tell me nuthing else, I swear it.”

Dane looked down at Nick, who was as white as the bra he’d watched her pick out in their marathon shopping spree. It was just this morning. Amazing.

Savich said, “What did you do with the photo he faxed of the lady?”

“Stuckey has it, just showed it to me, then took it right back.”

“What did it look like?”

“She was coming out of this police station with that guy who’s standing beside her out there, you know, that dead priest’s brother. It didn’t look like no police station I’ve ever seen in San Francisco. Yeah, Stuckey’s got it. She’s a looker, I wasn’t about to forget her. Like I said, she sure didn’t look homeless in the church so for a while there I wasn’t sure it was really her.”

The bastard took the photo in LA. Dane couldn’t believe it.

“So you recognized the priest’s brother?”

“Oh yeah, heard people talking about how he and Father Michael Joseph looked identical and it really shook some people up. Everybody was real quiet, you know? Everyone was focused on that guy and what he was saying. Lots of them were crying just listening to him. Then she had the nerve to move—no reason that I could see, she just lowered her head right when I pulled the trigger. Jesus, I could have killed her, but thank the good Lord that it went just like it was supposed to. Yeah, the bullet just grazed her.”

“Tell us more about this guy from LA.”

“I don’t deal with people I don’t know, at least usually, and neither does Mickey Stuckey. He said he knew the guy, knew he was good for the money. Hey, he gave me five thousand up front. He told me his name was DeFrosh—I already told you that. Really weird, man.”

Milton McGuffey put his head down on his folded arms and began to cry again. Everyone heard him say over his sobs, “I don’t want to go to jail, but now I’ll have to do time just because I put a little crease in the broad’s forehead.” He raised his head. “I want Stuckey to go down. I never should have agreed to do it in the church.”

Delion said, “You didn’t realize there would be cops there?”

“Stuckey told me there’d probably be a couple there, but if I got my timing right, I’d get away, no problem. Damned bastard, that Stuckey. I really want him to go down, he set the whole thing up.”

Savich said as he himself smiled down at McGuffey, “Yes, he’ll go down, all right, Milt, just as soon as we catch him.”

McGuffey’s jaw literally dropped open. He stared at Savich for a very long time.

He said, “Shit, man.”

Then he yelled at the top of his lungs, “I want a lawyer!”

Delion looked over at Savich, who was speaking to Lieutenant Purcell. They heard her say she’d already put out an APB on Mickey Stuckey, aka Bomber Turkel, the most creative of all his aliases. Delion said, “That guy is something else, Dane. He’s your boss?”