Belson looked to them and said, “Shall we, boys and girls?”
Captain Glass nodded. They all walked ahead toward the gate of the old warehouse. I followed and no one tried to dissuade me. Belson reached for the radio and told the plainclothes officers to move toward the back of the building and watch the exits.
As we got closer to the landing dock, there was a cracking sound and smoke started to pour thick and heavy from broken windows on the second floor. Belson reached for his gun and ran up toward the landing. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
A large boom sounded and glass rained down from the windows just as we got under the deck. We heard two sharp cracks of gunfire.
“Holy hell,” Cahill said. “Here we go.” He reached for his radio and called in the nearest fire company, saying they may need more soon. “We got gunshots. We got fucking shots fired.”
Kevin reached for Zucco’s body, grabbed him up under the armpits, and began to pull him from the smoldering mess. Johnny yelled at him to stop as he strained and pulled Zucco backward toward the door. The air was thick with smoke, and for a moment Johnny disappeared, Kevin thinking maybe he’d run upstairs to touch off the last few fires.
He pulled Zucco to the landing, where the air choked his lungs as he dragged the body halfway through the second floor. The entire space lit up in bright flame, the heat tremendous and white hot. Kevin coughed and gagged. He wouldn’t let Zucco burn up in this shithole. He’d pull him out and let Johnny answer for his killing and for everything he’d done.
He never wanted to be a killer. He’d only wanted to help.
How many now? Three firefighters, Featherstone, and now his own friend. If Donovan wasn’t caught, Kevin knew he damn sure would be next. There was a damn good chance that if he didn’t hurry, he’d never make it out.
Just as he got to the second-floor landing, Johnny was on him. He punched him in the head and wrestled him to the ground. With his fat little hands around Kevin’s neck, he kept on yelling for him to think straight. “Get your mind straight,” he said. “Leave him. There’s cops outside.”
Kevin stopped struggling, and when Johnny’s fingers let up the pressure on his neck, gasped for oxygen in the smoky air. He rolled to his knees, the fire cracking and catching in the big old space. He got to his feet and looked through a window at dozens of cop cars with their blue lights flashing. Now he heard the whoop-whoop of the fire engines coming.
Donovan had a gun on him now. “Walk, Kevin,” he said. “Leave Big Ray and let’s get the hell out of here. Come on.”
Kevin’s body flooded with adrenaline and his hands shook with fear as he reached for the automatic in Johnny’s hands. He tried to snatch it as they fell to the ground, rolling on the puddled floor now boiling with the heat.
He kicked free of Johnny. The gun clattered to the floor.
The men both went for it at the same time, just as the ceiling began to crack and fall in big, fiery pieces.
58
This is far as you get, Spenser,” Cahill said. He slid into his fire coat and helmet, with a breathing apparatus in hand. “You won’t see shit up there. You won’t be able to breathe.”
We stood at the bottom of the first-floor stairwell. Firefighters wearing heavy coats and oxygen tanks brushed past us and raced up the steps. Cappelletti, Belson, and Glass had gone around the side of the warehouse, clearing the way for the firefighters and hoses being rushed into the building.
The building swelled and buckled, making nasty cracking noises, with breaking glass tinkling down onto the parking lot. I could hear the firefighter’s boots thundering upstairs. Suddenly the flat hose sprang to life on the landing, a fat yellow snake bucking all the way to the second floor.
In full gear, Jack McGee ran past me and caught my eye as he spoke into the radio. He nodded and kept on moving. I stepped back and let the pros work. I knew the limits of my crime-fighting skills. I may be occasionally impervious to bullets but didn’t stand a chance with fire.
Cahill followed the crew.
I walked away from the burning warehouse when I spotted three cops scaling a fire escape on the far side. Belson and Glass waited at ground level, looking as if they were about to follow the uniformed officers. Belson looked to me and said, “We got the crazy bastard on the roof. He says he’s gonna jump.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Who knows?” Belson shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
“Which crazy bastard?”
“We’re not sure,” he said. “A bad guy. Another bad guy is getting barbecued as we speak.”
Belson was sucking wind from the climb by the time we reached the roof. Four officers and Glass had leveled their revolvers over a low brick wall, trading shots with Teehan or Donovan. Or both.