inch he shouted, “Mallow! Now!” and yanked the it open. The man on the other side—skinny, gray-faced, with dark bags under his eyes, and startled—followed the door out into the sales area.
Mallow was coming fast for a man with a build like a bowling ball, and he jammed past the gray-faced man and yelled over his shoulder, “Shut the door!”
Lucas stepped inside and pulled the door closed and hurried after Mallow into a brightly lit room lined with built-in metal filing cabinets and with a couple of tables, a half dozen chairs, and an oversized television looming down from a wall. Four bulky men were standing around one of the tables, looking at something Lucas couldn’t see.
Mallow spread his arms, his pistol in one hand, and cried out, “Hi, guys! What do we got going here?”
One of the bulky men shouted, “Fuck!” grabbed a plastic Office Depot bag off the table, and ran at Mallow and stiff-armed him. Mallow went down, and two of the other men jumped over the supine cop, the three of them then heading for the alley door. Lucas swung at the lead man, who put the plastic bag up to take the blow, and what looked like candy exploded from it. The man hit Lucas with his shoulder and Lucas went down and smacked his head on the concrete floor. One of the men stepped on his arm and Lucas hooked him by the pant leg, but the man pulled free. And Lucas could hear Mallow shouting for them. And then . . .
And then they were gone.
Mallow was on his knees, a drip of blood running out of his nose, and he croaked, “You okay?”
“Whacked my head,” Lucas said. He got to his knees and almost toppled over, and Mallow came over and helped him get to his feet.
“You don’t look so hot,” Mallow said. He turned to check the fourth man, the one who hadn’t run but who was now edging toward the exit. “Hey now, Tommy, stay put,” he said. He pointed at a chair. “Sit.” The man sat.
Lucas knelt down again, and Mallow asked, “You want me to call the meat wagon?”
“Nah, I’m looking for . . .” Lucas was patting the floor and came up with one of the candies that had exploded from the bag. Except that it wasn’t a candy; it was a pill.
He stood up and tipped the pill into Mallow’s hand. “OxyContin. Pure Purdue Poison.”
Mallow turned to the man in the chair. “Tommy, what is this shit? Dope? What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’d already told them to take off when you busted in,” the man said. “We don’t deal no dope.”
Mallow looked at all the pills scattered on the floor. “You’re gonna have to tell it to the narcs, my friend.” To Lucas he said, “Keep an eye on him. I gotta make a couple of phone calls. Don’t fight him. If he tries to run, go ahead and shoot the motherfucker.”
The man on the chair said, “Bart, goddamnit, you know me.”
“I thought I did,” Mallow said. There was a compact bathroom with a toilet, and a sink off to one side. Mallow stepped in, pulled a handful of toilet paper off the roll, wetted it in the sink, and wiped the blood off his face. After checking himself in the mirror, he walked down the hall to the back door and started talking into his phone.
They waited some more, not talking much, watching Eli squirm.
Fifteen minutes later, two narcs walked through the black steel door. Mallow pointed out the pills. The narcs checked one, and then the older of the two said to the man in the chair, “We’re gonna need a lot of information from you, Tommy. You know, to keep you outta Ely. We wouldn’t want to send a couple of Elis to Ely.”
Ely was the state prison.
While the narcs were talking to Tommy Eli, Mallow pulled Lucas back into the hallway. “I’ve got a search warrant coming. Should be here in a few minutes,” he said quietly. He tipped his head toward the metal filing cabinets. “If they bought that Indian jewelry, it’ll be in one of those drawers.”
“Okay. I think I’ll sit down for a while,” Lucas said.
“You’re still looking shaky,” Mallow said.
Lucas shrugged. “I’m all right . . . Maybe not ready to take on a couple of linebackers.”
“Knocked both of us right on our asses,” Mallow said.