A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,64
slowly eased into view, the gun shaking in her hold. She glanced to her left and then pointed the weapon at Sam. “Drop it!”
Sam had his gun trained on her. “Point that thing somewhere else,” he said. “Right fucking now.”
Ophelia looked from Sam to Rufus, who winced and awkwardly held his hands up in submission. “Unless you’ve got a badge too, put the weapon down.”
“Badge,” Sam said; the tremors in his hands worse now. “Slowly.”
Ophelia reached into the back pocket of her jeans, yanked a black wallet free, and with one hand, she raised the badge high enough for Sam to see.
“Well?” Sam said, shooting the question toward Rufus.
“Hi, Ophelia,” Rufus said in response to Sam, but he kept his eyes trained on Ophelia.
From outside came shrieks of laughter, kids running past the front of the house, and then the grumble of a diesel engine.
Sam lowered the gun.
Ophelia was tall. Not Rufus or Sam tall, but still taller than most women, with a light complexion, sharp nose, and thin eyebrows that complemented the bob hairstyle. She stepped into the study, keeping her weapon at low-ready. “What the hell is going on here?”
“What does it look like?” Sam said. “These assholes tried to kill us.”
Rufus lowered his hands and moved around Sam. “We were considering buying the place,” he explained, pointing at the floor, “but I’ve never been a fan of blond wood flooring.”
Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “You fucking joking?”
“A little.”
“Great. Glad two guys blown to fucking chunks are such a laugh. Get down on the ground. You too, big boy. Slide the gun over here.”
Sam just looked at Rufus.
“Whoa, Ophelia, come on,” Rufus protested. “It’s me. Look the other way and I’ll scram out the back door, ok?”
“Down. Right now. And I wasn’t joking about that gun.”
“The fuck,” Rufus said, a bit more astonished. “You’d be dead if we didn’t intervene.”
“So would you. Listen, I saw what I saw. Those guys shot first. But I watched your buddy put a bullet in that guy. Old times are old times, Rufus, but you’re in some deep shit right now. This is the last time I’m going to say it: down. Right fucking now.”
“Rufus?” Sam asked.
“Hang on,” Rufus countered. “Make a call first to Detective Anthony Lampo. Tell him I’m here and he’ll know what to do. I’ll even give you his card if your happy little trigger finger will let me get my wallet.”
Ophelia’s mouth thinned, and her eyes moved to the dead men. Then she said, “Sure, you get your wallet, and let’s see what the fuck I walked into. And your big-ass action figure can put his gun right back in that fucking holster and keep his hands where I can see them.”
“Better put your G.I. Joe gun away,” Rufus whispered in Sam’s direction while he took the wallet from his back pocket. He kept the money flap closed and carefully thumbed through where a regular person would have stored credit cards. Rufus instead kept a library card, an ID with his photograph but not his name, a card for a free pizza slice he’d won last month and hadn’t yet claimed, and both Jake and Lampo’s business cards. Rufus tugged the last one free and offered it.
Ophelia took the card and fixed Sam with a gaze. Only after Sam had holstered his piece did Ophelia place the call, holding the phone to her ear as she watched them.
“Officer Ophelia Hayes,” she said before rattling off a badge number. She listened. “Yes. Yes. I understand, sir, but I’ve got an unusual situation here.” She frowned. “Yes, that’s right, he goes by Rufus. How did you—”
“Of course he knew it was you,” Sam muttered.
“I understand,” Ophelia said, “but I’ve got two dead men, and this is an officer-involved shooting. I can’t just—” This time when she cut off, she glared at Rufus like he was responsible for the whole thing. “Yes. Yes, I understand. Just a minute. You two. Bozos. Up against the wall. Spread ’em.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Rufus grumbled as he turned and put his hands on the nearest wall. “If Lampo’s so curious, tell him I dress to the left.”
Once Sam was in position, Ophelia moved behind them. She patted Rufus down in quick, efficient movements, turning up his wallet, his phone, and the pack of gum. When she repeated the process with Sam, she produced his phone, folded cash, an ID, and the gun. She held on to the gun when she backed away.
“That’s mine,” Sam growled.
“No,