The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,84
her feet when she saw him coming, but he motioned her down, and pulled up a nearby chair.
“Sit down, Nancy.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Her eyes were dark as black forest chocolate, but wide as demitasse saucers. She probably thought he was going to chew her out, which he did, often, but now he wanted to teach her.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. I fucked up bad. That FBI asshole who came here, Straw? He had the credentials, he knew what to say, but he’s a fake. The real Jack Straw is sucking crawfish heads down in New Orleans right now. I should have checked the guy out, but I didn’t. That was a stupid, bush-league mistake, and it may have put a woman’s life in danger.”
Futardo stared at him as if one or both of them might have a stroke.
“You will never make this mistake, Nancy. For the rest of your career and beyond, you will question everything anyone tells you and you will always check out what they say. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Promise me.”
“Jesus, Jerry, what are we going to do?”
Button didn’t answer. He returned to his desk, and got the real Jack Straw back on the line. Button explained the situation and provided a detailed description of the fake Jack Straw to the best of his ability. When the real Jack Straw started telling Button how he wanted Button to handle the imposter, Button hung up. He took one deep breath, let it out, then dialed the number he had for the fake Jack Straw.
“Jack Straw.”
“Jerry Button here. We caught a break, man. We’re rolling to bag Rainey in five. You wanna go?”
“You found him?”
“A motor cop spotted the Prius. I am rolling in five, brother. You want to go or not?”
“All right. Sure. Where do I meet you?”
“Where are you?”
“Santa Monica.”
“Okay, that’s close. I’ll pick you up on my way.”
Button gave a location, then stowed his phone. He checked his pistol, then clipped it to his belt. Not many dicks still carried the old .38 Snubbies, but Button saw no reason to change. It was small, light, and he had never fired it against another human being.
Button slipped on his jacket and headed out. He saw Futardo grab her purse and jump up to intercept him
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna bag the fucker, Nancy. That’s my job.”
“I want to come. Can I? Please?”
Like a kid. All anxious and eager, and maybe a little afraid.
Button considered letting her come, but finally shook his head.
“Finish your reports.”
He left to bag the fake Jack Straw, and did not see when she followed.
Straw was leaning against his car at the edge of a Ralph’s parking lot on Wilshire Boulevard. Button saw the fake prick as he put on his blinker to turn, and gave a little beep. Straw stepped away from his car, all ready to go.
Button wondered what the guy was up to, pretending to be a federal agent, but figured it probably had something to do with Rainey’s money.
Button turned into the lot and pulled up by Straw with the passenger door on the far side of the car.
Straw started around to the passenger side, but Button stopped him.
“Hang on a sec. I gotta give you a vest before we split. It’s in the trunk.”
Straw hesitated as Button climbed out.
“I don’t need a vest.”
“LAPD rules, man. I know it’s stupid.”
Button held up his hands to measure Straw’s shoulders, and grinned as if he was making a joke.
“It’s one size fits all, but it oughta do. I hope it doesn’t have too many bullet holes in it.”
The business with measuring Straw’s shoulders let Button get close. He grabbed Straw’s wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and shoved him against the car.
“Stay there. Stay on the car.”
Button cuffed his right wrist, then hooked up the left. When the fake Straw was secure, Button stepped back and checked him for a weapon.
“Stay on the car, fucker. You’re under arrest. Do not turn around.”
“What is this, Button? What are you doing?”
“Jack Straw, my ass. I know you’re not Jack fuckin’ Straw. I just spoke to the sonofabitch.”
Detective Jerry Button glimpsed movement between two nearby cars, but did not see the man in time even when a blowing horn drew his attention. It sounded like a long, anguished wail.
Something hard punched him twice, so hard he staggered, which was when Kenny shot him again. Button fell to a knee, fumbling for the Snubbie as a tan Crown Victoria