The timing was perfect, and the location-that had come about largely due to luck. Or maybe, he thought, it was fate. It was Angie looking down, guiding hands.
It would be today.
A pity, a goddamn pity, pieces of McVee hadn't flown all over Barnard Street. His slut of a neighbor had intervened there. Bastard had flown some though, he thought with some satisfaction. Oh yeah, the bastard had done a little fucked-up Superman.
It had taken all the willpower he'd had not to yank out his nine from under the windbreaker and put bullets in the son of a bitch and the neighborhood slut where they lay bleeding on the side of the road. But as satisfying as that would've been, as right as it would've been, it could have cost the rest. And the endgame was in sight.
Better if McVee died, and there was always the chance of that. Better yet if there was time and opportunity to take out the boyfriend, just for good measure. And it was a damn shame he had to abort the plans to stake out the pansy-assed brother in front of the house where they grew up-with a vestload of explosives.
Cowards, a couple of dickless cowards is what they were, hiding out in that house, behind the women's skirts. Not worth his time, Walken told himself, not worth his trouble.
He continued to load his gear with careful hands.
They'd be looking for him now. Let them look. In a couple of hours, they'd know just where to find him. And he'd be where he wanted to be, doing what he'd planned to do.
Before he was done, everyone would know Phoebe MacNamara had killed an angel, just as sure as the bullet. And when it was over, it would be fucking over.
"He turned in his papers and moved out of his apartment. He had two months left on his lease, left a check to cover it." At Dave's bedside, Phoebe went through the checklist. "He had two credit cards at that time. Neither have shown any activity in these three years. He's contacted no one, not his best friend, nor his former commanding officer.
He had a checking account, and a savings account totaling six thousand and change, and a safety deposit box. He cleaned everything out on the same day he quit the department. There was an oh-one Chevy pickup registered to him. He sold it, for eight thousand cash, to a Derrick Means, in the same apartment building. We're checking that out, but don't expect it to go anywhere. Also registered to him were a ninemillimeter Smith and Wesson and a thirty-two Remington semi. His friend knew him to own a hunting rifle, with scope, a thirty-thirty, and a twenty-two pistol which had been his father's."
"Likes guns."
"Yes, he does. He's a trained sniper, and had training in explosives during his time in the army. He also worked with our own bomb squad before he requested and received the transfer to SWAT. He's somewhere in or around Savannah, but as far as we know, you're the only one who's seen him."
She lifted her hands. "I don't know what to do. I negotiate, I don't investigate."
"A puzzle's a puzzle, Phoebe. It's all pieces."
"I have some of them. He blames me for Angela Brentine's death, maybe because there isn't anyone else to blame. He was on the team that day, Dave. He was on the incident where she died. His scope trained on the bank, waiting for the go. We didn't know the names of the hostages, or the injured. He didn't know she was in there, dead or dying, while he waited outside, while all those hours passed."
"Ineffective. Impotent." Dave nodded, then closed his eyes as the slight movement stirred pain in the base of his skull. "Lancelot didn't rescue Guinevere."
"That's what he can't live with. That he was there, waiting while she bled out. While I had them wait, while I talked her killers down so they walked out with their hands in the air. They lived, she died, because of decisions I made. That's what he believes. That's what he has to believe. But it doesn't help us find him."
"Why'd he go after Roy?"
Think it through, Phoebe reminded herself. Empathize. "The connection to me-we had a child together, we were married. Husband a symbol. Harder, much harder, to get to Brentine than to Roy. And Roy was mine. He wants to destroy what's mine, as I destroyed what was his."
"Not just the woman." Dave reached for the water glass, then settled back to sip through the straw as Phoebe picked it up, held it to his lips. "Thanks. Not just the woman," he repeated. "His self-image was destroyed. Didn't save the day. Followed orders, hung back with the rest instead of walking solo out into the street for the showdown."
"But this time, he is, he will. Moving up the line," she mused. "Roy, then you. Everyone knows we're close. And that I'm a negotiator because of you. Therefore, I was at the bank because of you.
"Do you want me to call the nurse?" she said when he shifted, when she saw pain tighten his face. "You should rest, you should-"
"No. Keep going. It keeps my mind busy. You call the nurse, she's going to come in here with a needle and take more blood. I swear, being in a hospital's like being in a den of vampires. They never get enough of your blood. Keep going."
Wishing she could do more, Phoebe tucked and smoothed his sheets as she spoke. "All right. The dead animals, to defile my house, to under mine my sense of security. Snake, rabbit, rat. He's probably based outside the city. Somebody's going to notice if you shoot a rabbit otherwise. Smarter to have a place outside the city, quiet, secluded. Nobody's going to bother you or notice you overmuch, not if you keep to yourself.
Get along," she said. "Like he got along with his teammates. A house, a bungalow. He'd need transportation. They're still checking on how he got to Hilton Head."
She turned to the window. Urban sprawl, she thought, so roads led to suburbs, and suburbs gave way to swamps and woods. Bridges ribboned their way to islands.
So many places to hide.
"Every cop in the city, every cop on the islands, has his picture. He has to know that. He has to know you lived, that you saw him, and that we're looking for him now. I see he's got two choices-to cut and run, or to finish. He won't cut and run."
"You need to be ready when he comes at you."
She nodded. "I'm trying to be." She turned back. "I never asked how you felt this morning."
"Glad to be alive."
"I've had to tie the rest of the family down to keep them from coming to see you. And I'm under orders to put you under orders to come to the house when they spring you from here so Mama and Ava can spoil you while you recuperate."
"Would that include peach pie?"
"I can guarantee it. When are you going to ask Ava out on a date?"
"Excuse me?"
"When are the two of you going to stop sending wistful glances at each other's backs? You're both grown-up, divorced people. I don't think she got any sleep last night."
"Well, I..."
"I don't know how many times this morning she asked me about you, or argued with me about coming to see you herself, or told me to tell you she was thinking of you."
"She's a friend, she's been a friend a long time."
"Dave, my mama is your friend." Exasperation eked through enough to have her fisting her hands on her hips. "Are you going to lie there on what might have been your deathbed and tell me you feel the same about Ava you do about my mama?"
"I don't think-"
"What do you want?" She approached the bed again. "I know how to find out what people want in emotional and stressful situations. If you're too flustered to tell me-and it's awful cute to see you blushI'll tell you. You want to ask Ava out for a romantic, candlelight dinner when you're back on your feet."
He stirred again, but this time Phoebe could see it wasn't about pain. "It happens I was thinking about her-about that-when I was walking home yesterday. Before. I was thinking the timing for doing that was lousy."
"Timing's lousy on most everything half the time." Smiling down at him, she brushed at his hair. "I asked Duncan to marry me. He said yes." Dave's mouth opened and closed. "You're full of surprises this morning."
"I surprise myself. I love him like I've been waiting to find him my whole life, just waiting for the rest of my life to start. You'll give me away again, won't you? I'm betting this one sticks."
"I'm betting it will, too." Reaching up, he gripped her hand. "I'm happy for you."
"So am I. You've been waiting, Dave, an awfully long time. Ask Ava out to dinner, so the rest of your life starts."
When Phoebe walked out of Dave's room, Liz pushed off the wall. "Thanks for giving me some alone time with him."
"No problem. How's he doing?"
"Well enough to settle my nerves on that score. I want to thank you again for pairing up with me today."
"Another no problem. This Walken tried to kill one of our own.
There isn't anyone in the department who isn't invested in this. He can't hide for long."
"And he's not going to run." She stepped outside into the swampy heat. "That storm didn't cool it off any. Just made it wetter."
"Summer in Savannah. Love it or go away. Go ahead and take it," she said when Phoebe's phone rang. "I'll drive."
"I think it's him." She held out the phone so Liz could read the display. With a nod, Liz stepped away, drew her own phone. "Phoebe MacNamara."
"How's Dave doing?"
"He's doing well, thanks. You screwed up there."
"No. Variables, Phoebe. You know about variables. Shit happens. I know you're looking for me."
"You don't sound upset by that, Jerry."
"Not. You won't find me until I'm ready. You wearing a vest, Phoebe?" As her heart jumped, she shoved Liz down behind the cover of the car. "It's too damned hot for a vest, Jerry. How about you?"
"I think I could've put one in the back of your head, and the brunette's. But I've got other plans. We'll be talking."
"He was here," Phoebe said. "Watched us go in or watched us come out. I don't think he's here now." Could've, not could, she thought. She looked down, saw her weapon was in her hand. The hand was shaking, but it held. "Back of the head. Going in. He's not here now."
When her phone rang a second time, her heart stuck in her throat. "It's Sykes," she told Liz. "What have you got?" she asked him. "Airport Budget rented a Toyota to a Grimes, Samuel, last Thursday. It was dropped off in Hilton Head Saturday afternoon. I'm looking at a copy of the driver's license. It's Walken. Darker hair, glasses, but it's him. Used a Visa. The license lists an address in Montana, but the credit card's got billing going to one on Tybee."
"That's the one. Relay the situation and the address to Commander Harrison. Liz and I'll join the team there." She climbed into the car. "What's the address?"
Ma Bee smiled a smug smile as she shifted the kitchen phone to her right ear. "Does this mean I'm finally going to get me some white grandbabies?"
"Technically, you'll start off with one who's already seven. Then we'll see what we can do. How about helping me out on the sparkler?"
"I do love shiny things, and my taste is world-renowned. I guess I could give you the benefit of my renowned taste in shiny things."
"Today? I've got a couple of things, then I could swing out and pick you up, then we'll swing back in and-"
"Don't I have myself a fine car sitting right out in the driveway? I can get myself where I'm going. So where am I going?"
"I figured if I didn't find it at Mark D's on Abercorn, I'm not going to find it anywhere."
"Mark D's?" She let out a long whistle. "That's the high-dollar mark."
"I got high dollars. And it happens I made a call, and Mr. D himself would be pleased to meet us and show us some of his more exclusive designs." Now she hooted. "Aren't you the one?"
"She is. I was thinking maybe I could find something for Carly. And there I'm out of my depth. Something that'd suit a little girl, but would maybe move on up with her. I figured it being a package deal, I could... you know, make it a package."
"You're going to be a fine daddy. What time do you want me to meet you?"
"I think I can get there around noon. Buy you lunch after if you do a good job."
"I'll be there. You bring those high dollars, boy, 'cause I'm itching to spend them for you."
She hung up, literally rubbed her hands together. A glance at the clock told her she had time to spread the word before fixing herself up for a trip to Mark D's.
The tactical team was already in place and moving in when Phoebe arrived. It was a good location, she thought with a look around. Well off the beach, older house, a little run-down.
For the second time that day, she drew her weapon as the team broke in the front door with a small battering ram.
"No car," Harrison commented. "No bike, no scooter."
"No Walken. He's not here, but now he's got no place to come back to." She waited, blood pumping, for the all clear.
"Lieutenant." Sykes jogged over. "DMV came through. He's got an oh-six Escalade. Got the tag number. APB's going out."
"You do good work, Detective."
"We're clear," Harrison announced.
He'd likely rented it furnished, Phoebe decided. The furniture was old, cheap but serviceable. He kept it tidy, she noted. No clutter, no fuss. The bed was made with military precision, and on the table beside it stood a framed photo of Angela Brentine and a single pink rose. Thought of himself as a soldier and a romantic, she concluded as she took notes.
"Second bedroom's locked," Harrison told her. "Window's covered. They're checking for booby traps before they take it down."
"Spartan, wouldn't you say? Military neatness. The bare bones of a field HQ. We should talk to the landlord, anyone in the houses and cottages round about." She moved to the closet. "His clothes are still here, neatly hung."
"Toothbrush, shaving cream, basic toiletries in the bath," Harrison told her. His face was hard, his eyes somber as they met hers. "He isn't running."
"No." She heard the crash of the second door going down. "But that doesn't mean he's coming back."
"Lieutenant?" A member of the tactical team came to the doorway. "I think you'll want to see this. Found his nest."
When she walked across the hall, her blood went cold. Photographs papered an entire wall. Her face, over and over, in every possible expression. Photos of her standing in front of her house, talking with Mrs.
Tiffany, walking with Carly in the park, standing with her mother on the veranda.
The whole family on what had to have been St. Patrick's Day. One of her moving into Duncan's arms the night they'd had dinner on his boat. Her sitting on the bench, like Forrest Gump, in Chippewa Park, alone, then with Marvella. Of her shopping, eating, driving.
A shudder ran through her before she looked away.
Across the room was a large head-and-shoulders shot of Angela, with candles and bud vases of pink roses crowded on the table below it. She studied the workbench, a long table, shelves. On them, meticulously arranged, were a laptop computer, a police scanner, chemicals, wires, what she thought must be timing mechanisms, tape, rope and tools. She spotted the shotgun, the rifle.
"He took his handguns."
"He's got a couple of wigs, glasses, false beards, makeup, face putty," Liz said as she crossed over. "No journal. Maybe on that," she said with a nod toward the laptop.
"Why didn't he take it? Why didn't he take what was important to him?" Because it shook her down to the bone, Phoebe kept her back to the wall of photos. "Switch locations at least. He knows we have his name, his photo, and someone's going to point us here."
"He couldn't have been sure we'd ID'd him until he talked to you."
Liz pointed out.
"He stays a step ahead. Why is he suddenly a step behind? Expensive equipment, easily portable, just left here."
She picked up a camera, turned it over, saw the painted pink rosebud. Angela's camera.
"He planned to come back for it."
Carefully, Phoebe set the camera back down. "I don't think so. I think he's done here, and that we're exactly where he wants us to be. But where is he?"
She stepped to another wall, covered with photos of Savannah. Banks, shops, restaurants, museums, exterior, interior.
"He doesn't waste anything. Everything has a purpose, even if it's thumbing his nose. So why does he take these?"
"And where are the others?" Liz wondered. "He's taken some down-you can see where he had other shots up."
"If he took them with him, he needed them. He takes pictures of places because the places have a purpose, or the potential of one. Targets. These are digital shots, aren't they?"
She turned back to the laptop. "We have to get in there, find the files, find the ones he took with him. That's the target." As it churned, she pressed a hand to her stomach. "I think he gave himself the go, the green light. Today. I think it has to be today."
She looked at her watch and felt the chill as she noted it was ten fifty-five. ". We've got an hour to find him."
Duncan shoved his hands in his pockets, jiggled loose change while the structural engineers, the architect and Jake swarmed over the warehouse. "We have to move this along, Phin."
"You set the meeting, the inspection."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but that was before."
"If you think Ma's going to mind poking around a jewelry store on her own awhile if you're running late, you've forgotten who you're dealing with."
Duncan pulled his hand out of his pocket to check his watch. Eleven-ten. "Maybe I should call her, tell her to make it twelve-thirty."
"She's probably on her way, especially since she's meeting Loo."
Phin grinned at Duncan's blank look. "If you don't think Ma got on the horn and starting blowing the news the minute she hung up with you, you're not thinking, boy. Then again, I guess a man about to buy an engagement ring's not thinking."
"You did it."
"Yeah. Working out pretty well for me, too." He gave Duncan a slap on the back. "Business, Dune. Ma and Loo can entertain each other just fine if you're late. Loo said she was taking a full hour lunch, and was prepared to make it two if need be. So God help you."
Phoebe paced outside the computer lab. One step ahead, she thought. He was still one step ahead. "Somewhere that means something to him, in association with her. It's more personal than something associated with me."
Her family was safe, she reminded herself. Inside, guarded and safe. Hadn't she checked twenty minutes ago? Hadn't she talked to Carly, to her mother, even contacted the cops on duty?
"The bank where she was killed is under heavy surveillance. If he tries to get in, we'll have him."
She glanced over at Liz, nodded. "And he'd know that. Still, if that was his target, that wouldn't stop him. He'd assume he's far enough ahead of us to hit it before we're in place. But it's the obvious target, and that concerns me. I think it's somewhere else. A restaurant where they met, a hotel, motel, even one of the parks. It needs to be a statement, Liz."
Pacing, she tried to find the pieces. "Blowing up a man in Bonaventure, that's a statement. Attempting to do the same to a police captain mere blocks from the station, that's another."
"Big, splashy. I get that. And this is the biggest, the splashiest." Like Phoebe, Liz stared through the glass walls of the lab. "I get that, too."
"City Hall, courthouse, the station itself?"
"All on alert. But if it's personal, the way you're thinking, those don't fit."
"You're right. You're right. He can't get to Brentine, and Brentine isn't his issue, either. She was leaving him, Brentine's superfluous."
"Security's stepped up at his home and office in any case."
"How long is it going to take them to find those files? Even with him deleting them the way he did, they're still there somewhere. That's what they always say. Damn it, we've only got twenty minutes till noon."
At ten to twelve, Ma Bee and Loo strolled into Mark D's, anticipating an afternoon of shopping and a celebration lunch. Ma had donned her shopping shoes and a breezy purple dress. She had put on her goingoutspecial lipstick, and had spritzed on some of her favorite French perfume.
"I could've handled this expedition, you know."
Loo gave a snort. "You think I'm letting you have all the fun?
You've done this before with all your boys. But it's my first chance to have some input on an engagement ring. Don't you love this place?" She gave Ma a little elbow bump as they stopped to look around. "All these glitters, and everything all hushed and reverent."
"So they can charge more."
"Sure, but that little black-and-silver box from Mark D's? That says something. When Phineas gave me that bracelet from here last Christmas, I squealed like a girl. And he got awfully lucky that night."
It was Ma's turn to snort. "I don't see a new grandchild for me coming out of it."
"We're thinking about it."
"Think faster. I'm not getting any younger." She looked up at the trio of crystal chandeliers. "But you're right, it sure is fine in here. Let's have a little look-see before Duncan gets here."
Arnie Meeks was bored out of his mind. He was, in his opinion, nothing more than a glorified doorman, standing around while tourists and rich Savannahians came breezing inside. The tourists were a pain in the ass, mostly, just coming in to gawk. And the rich-bitches mostlyhad their noses in the air.
Like they didn't squat to pee like the rest of their kind.
The old man could fix this. Resentment bubbled up inside his throat at the thought of it. Push the buttons, pull the strings, grease the palms, he'd be back on the job instead of standing around waiting to roust shoplifters.
And in the weeks since he'd been stuck on this humiliating duty, he'd had only a little action in that area twice.
What he needed was for some asshole to come in and try to rob the place. Now that would be a fucking dream come true. He'd take the bastard down, you could bet your ass on it. Take him down, be a hero. Get on TV.
Get back on the job where he goddamn belonged.
He saw the two black women come in and curled his lip. As if that old lady in her thick-soled shoes could afford so much as a cuff link from this place. The young one was hot-if you went for the Halle Berry type-and had a slick look about her. So maybe she could dig out a platinum card.
Probably just more lookie-loos, Arnie decided as he watched them gawk around. The way he saw it, more than half the people who came in the doors were lookie-loos.
He did his own scan.
A dozen people wandered around the store, drooling over the displays. Three clerks-who made more than he did with their fucking commissions by kissing ass and talking people into buying what they didn't need-manned counters or unlocked cabinets to take something out.
The place was manned with security cameras, with alarms. Even the back room, where he knew the man himself was planted today, in anticipation of some deep-pocketed client. Arnie had heard the buzz on that.
Deep Pockets would be escorted into the back, so the hoi polloi couldn't watch him playing with the sparklers. Or if he wanted to be seen-and some of them got off on that-they'd set him up at the special table in the corner.
Patsy, the blonde with the rack, had told him that Julia Roberts had shopped there in the back room. And Tom Hanks had, too. At the special table.
Maybe he'd move on Patsy, get a little action there. His marriage was in the toilet, and the way things were going with Mayleen-thanks to that bitch MacNamara-he wasn't getting anything there either. Time to scout the field again, pick himself a new heifer out of the herd. He knew by the way she looked at him-the way she made sure her ass wiggled when she walked away-that Patsy was up for it. Maybe he'd take her for a little spin some night after work. See how she handled in the sack.
He looked over as the front door gave its little ding as it opened. He saw the brown uniform and cursed under his breath. A pain-in-the-ass delivery.
He stepped toward the door.
Loo pulled out her cell phone when it played "Jailhouse Rock." She winked at Ma when she read the display. "Hey there, lover-boy."
"Hello, gorgeous. You there with Ma?"
"We're here admiring a whole buncha diamond rings. Where are you?"
"Running behind. On my way, though, with this leech on me I can't pull off. He insists on coming along."
"That leech about six feet tall with eyes like melted dark chocolate?"
"He's about that tall, anyway. We're just heading cross town. Probably take a good fifteen minutes yet."
"Take your time, and tell that brown-eyed man I've got my own eyes on a pair of ruby earrings that are going to set him back a bit. Another fifteen, twenty minutes, I bet I find something else to set him back even more."
"Then I'll take my time. Why should I be the only one spending money today?"
The time was clicking down toward noon when Phoebe was able to see the photos. She hung over the shoulder of the computer technician. "Some of these were on the wall. Prints were left on the wall. Some of them weren't. This motel."
"Over by Oglethorpe Mall," the technician told her. "You see he's got shots of the outside, the lobby and this room."
"They used that room for trysts when it wasn't convenient to use his apartment. And this restaurant-I know this place, little Italian place. That's out by the mall, too. Not in the heart of things, not places they'd likely run into anyone in her husband's circle. But they don't feel like the sort of places he'd target. They're not what you'd call important, like Bonaventure. Not a statement like- Wait."
She gripped the tech's shoulder as he panned through the file. "Wait, that's Mark D's."
"Inside and out, back and front. I don't think they allow photographs inside Mark D's."
"No, security, insurance. No, they wouldn't want photographs. Pictures of the back door, the front door from inside and out." In her belly, muscles tightened. "I want cars over there now. Right now. Liz, get ahold of Property, find out what jewelry was listed in her personal effects. And, Jesus, let's get his credit card records for three months back from Angela's death. Good work," she said to the technician. "Let's get the hell over there."
Six minutes, she noted as she rushed out. Six minutes until noon. Maybe they weren't too late.
"Hey, buddy, when are you guys going to get the word that deliveries are supposed to come in first thing in the morning, before the customers?"
"Just following orders." He rolled in the dolly with its three large boxes. He turned deliberately into Arnie. "Just like you're going to do, unless you want to take a bullet in the belly. Lock the door, asshole," he ordered as he clamped a hand over Arnie's weapon. "I've got an S-and-W nine shoved right into your navel. The bullet's going to make a hell of a hole out the other side of you, if you don't do now and think later."
"What the fuck do you... I know you."
"Yeah, I used to be a cop, too. Let's do it this way." Lifting the gun, he whipped it across Arnie's face and sent him down. Even before the first scream, he was turning, both weapons in his hands. And he smiled as, right on schedule, right according to plan, some good employee hit the alarms that set them shrilling. And locked the place down. "Everybody on the floor. Now! Now!" He put a series of rounds in the ceiling, shattering crystal. There was plenty of screaming as people dove for cover or simply dropped to huddle together on the floor. "Except you, Blondie."
He aimed the nine at Patsy. "Over here."
"Please. Please."
"Die there or come here. Five seconds."
With tears already streaming out of her eyes, she stumbled toward him. He hooked one arm around her neck, put the gun to her temple. "Want to live?"
"Yes. God. Oh God."
"Anyone in the back? Lie to me, and I'll know, and I'll kill you."
"I... Mr. D." She sobbed it out. "Mr. D's in the back."
"He's got monitors back there, right? He can see us right now.
You'd better call out, Blondie. Because if he isn't out here in ten seconds, he's going to lose his first employee."
"There's no need." Mark stepped out of the back room, hands high.
He was a small-framed man in his early sixties, with a dapper white mustache and a head of waving white hair. "There's no need to hurt her. No need to hurt anyone."
"That'll be up to you, for a start. Over here, cuff your boy, hands behind his back."
"He's hurt."
"He'll be dead, you don't get it done. I want everyone to empty their pockets-one at a time-starting with you." He kicked the shoulder of a man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. "Everything out, turn the pockets inside out. Anyone reaches for a cell phone, a weapon, a fucking stick of gum, I shoot. What's your name, honey?"
"Patsy. It's Patsy."
"Cute. I shoot cute Patsy in the ear. Pockets, now," he snapped.
"He needs medical attention," Mark said as he knelt beside Arnie. "I'll unlock the cases. You can take whatever you want. The police are on the way. The alarm."
"Yeah, it's handy." He heard the sirens already, cutting through the high ring of the store alarm. Quicker than he'd thought, but that was fine. "You're going to turn off the alarm, Mark, but you're not going to abort the lockdown. You got that? Screw it up, and Patsy's brains are going to be all over your nice, shiny floor. You." He kicked the first man again. "Up. Roll that dolly to the northeast corner."
" I... I don't know which is the northeast."
Walken rolled his eyes. "Right rear, fuckhead. Move! You, you, drag that worthless dick back there with it." He back-walked with Patsy, then shoved her to her knees. "Get some shopping bags, Patsy. You're going to pick up all this junk people carried in here, put it in shopping bags and put the bags on this counter. Everybody else, facedown. Oh, not you, Mark, sorry. Northeast corner. I'm watching you, Patsy. You be good, now. Pick up the phone, Mark." He nodded toward the one on the desk. "Call nine-one-one. You're going to say exactly what I tell you to say. Nothing more, nothing less. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Good." Walken tucked Arnie's weapon in his belt, ripped open the top box on the dolly. "You see what's in here, Mark?"
Mark's white face went gray as he looked in the box. "Yes."
"Plenty more where that came from. Make the call."
