The Man Who Came Uptown
- Автор: Пелеканос Джордж
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: Mulholland Books / Little, Brown and Company
- ISBN: 978-0-316-47982-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Man Who Came Uptown». Краткое содержание книги:
“I have kids too.”
“Yeah, your black kids. You white folk get all self-righteous when you taste a little of what we’ve been swallowing for almost five hundred years.”
“I know what side I’ll be fighting on if the race war comes,” said Ornazian.
“So do I,” said Ward. “But before we get all apocalyptic, why don’t we just handle what we got right here tonight?”
“Y’all finished?” said Michael.
“I reckon,” said Ward.
Michael released the trunk lid as Ornazian disabled the dome light of the car’s interior then opened his door. He and Ward got out of the car and went around to the open trunk. Ward had transferred many items from his Crown Vic to the Impala when they picked him up in the parking lot behind his shop. They had already removed the trunk’s light. Ward took a mini Maglite from his multipocketed jacket, turned it on, and put its ass end in his mouth. They gloved their hands and worked by that light.
Ward checked the load on his Glock, holstered it behind his back, and put several sets of plastic restraints of varying lengths in his pockets. Ornazian broke open the wheel of the .38 Special, saw rounds fitted in its chambers, and slid the revolver into the dip of his jeans. He took the Remington 12-gauge out of its blanket and hefted it.
“Tipped slugs,” said Ward. “Don’t rack it yet. They’ll piss their drawers when they hear that sound.”
Ward unzipped the duffel bag, brought out the battering ram, and laid it on the floor of the trunk. He then opened a case and produced something that looked like a gun but was not. Ornazian knew exactly what it was. He had bought one himself on the black market. Ward found an extra cartridge in the case and fixed it to the end of the butt.
“What’s that?”
“Speed load,” said Ward.
Ward slipped the weapon into a plastic holster and clipped the rig to his belt. Then he and Ornazian pulled stockings down over their faces. Before Ward picked up the ram and closed the trunk, Ornazian grabbed the retractable steel baton and walked it around to the driver’s side of the SS. He handed it to Michael Hudson.
“You might need this,” said Ornazian. Michael put the baton on the seat beside him.
Ward was standing next to Ornazian, squinting, looking across the road at the house.
“Can you see them?” said Ornazian, whose night vision was poor.
“No,” said Ward. “But I’m guessin they ain’t watching TV. You saw to that.”
“Back door?”
Ward nodded. “We busted it in good. They probably haven’t had time to fortify it yet.”
“Let’s go.”
They crossed the road, walking low, avoiding the gravel driveway. They went to the side of the house and pressed themselves against it. They allowed themselves to calm their nerves and steady their breath, and then they went to the back of the house, where Ward ascended the concrete steps to the back-door landing. He cautiously peered into the kitchen. Ornazian came up behind him in a crouch, giving him room to make his play. Ward looked at him once, held up two fingers, and nodded, then gripped the ram by its top and left-side handle. He swung it into the jamb and the door crashed open. Ward dropped the ram onto the landing and drew his Glock. Both of them stepped into the house.
“Don’t nobody move,” said Ward.
Richard Rupert and Tommy Getz, startled, were seated at the small table. There was a semiautomatic on it. Richard stood and reached for it as the invaders entered the kitchen. He stopped at Ward’s command and the sound of the rack of the shotgun in Ornazian’s grip. Tommy had not gotten up from his seat. His hands were visibly shaking.
Ward jacked a round into the Glock as he moved forward. Ornazian leveled the 12-gauge on the young men. The one who was standing had the pretty-boy haircut, shaved sides, long on top. The seated one’s hair was down to the scalp. Their shirts were off and they were barefoot and wearing jeans. They were both cock-strong but had no lines or beard shadows on their faces. Ornazian had to remind himself that they were violent men. They looked like kids.
“Put your hands up,” said Ward.
They did it. There was hate and embarrassment in the standing one’s eyes.
“Say your names,” said Ward.
“Fuck you is my name,” said Richard Rupert.
Ward stepped forward so fast he blurred. He swung the barrel of the Glock, and Richard went down to the floor. He rubbed at his jaw and worked it. Soon it would be swollen and blue.
“Mind your tongue and stand up,” said Ward. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Richard.”
“You?”
“T-T-Tom,” said the other.
We have a stutterer, thought Ornazian. He knew what Ward would do with that. It was his show.
“Take the rest of your clothes off,” said Ward. “Not just your blue jeans. Everything. Your panties too.”
Richard began to take off his clothes. Tommy Getz hesitated.
“You too, T-T-T-Tom.”
Richard and Tommy were cuffed to the table chairs, hands and feet secured by plastic ties. They were naked and sweating. The room smelled of their rank perspiration.
“Y’all motherfuckas stink,” said Ward.
“What do you want?” said Richard.
“We’re here for the Tiffany bracelet. The one you stole from that house in Potomac. Don’t waste my time and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I got rid of it,” said Richard.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You already tossed our house. That was you who broke in, right? So you know it’s not here anymore.”
“Yeah? Where’s the money you made from the sale?”
“I put it in the fucking bank.”
“You’re too stupid to have a bank account.”
Richard stared defiantly into Ward’s eyes. Tommy looked down at his lap.
“Tom,” said Ward. “Look at me.” Tommy looked at Ward. “Where’s the bracelet?”
“Don’t say nothin to him, Tommy,” said Richard.
Ward drew the Taser from its holster. He flicked off its safety and stood directly in front of Tommy.
“The company made some improvements on this model right here,” said Ward. “Lawmen complained that it wasn’t powerful enough. Used to be twenty thousand volts, so they upped it to fifty. The darts were smooth, but now they got barbs on ’em, like little fishhooks. According to a video I watched, if the Taser is sighted just below the sternum, the lower dart kind of harpoons the genitals.”
Ward sighted the Taser. A red dot appeared below Tommy’s sternum. “That’s where the top electrode gonna hit. The bottom one will hit your privates.”
“Don’t,” said Tommy.
“Fifty thousand volts to your p-p-penis and scrotum, Tom. You gonna feel that up into your spine. If I hold down the trigger long enough, it’s gonna burn you too. Leave you — what’s that word... nonfunctional. Nerve damage, all that. You ain’t never gonna be the same down there again.”
Tears broke and ran down Tommy’s face.
“Leave him alone,” said Richard.
“Okay,” said Ward.
He stepped over to Richard Rupert. He trained the laser on the area of Richard’s solar plexus where a tiny swastika had been inked into his skin. “It was you who raped that girl. Wasn’t it, Richard? You don’t look like much, but I’m guessing you fancy yourself a real rooster.”
Richard held Ward’s stare.
“Where’s the bracelet, Richard?” said Ward.
“It’s up in your fat ass.”
Ward triggered the Taser, igniting its gas cartridge. Two conductive wires shot out of the muzzle. The electrified darts found their marks and invaded Richard Rupert’s nerves. His muscles contracted violently. He bucked and writhed in his chair. His hands flopped in their cuffs and he toppled over, convulsing, as the smell of burned hair and flesh permeated the room. Tommy Getz turned his head and vomited.