Thin Line Read Free Page B

and shoved my hands in my pockets. Didn't help. The cold air had made a home there already. My hand brushed against the handle of my
    Beretta, holstered securely in my waistband.
    The worst thing the cop could do would be to show up here and now.
    Though targets were limited to those identified by the government, I had the autonomy to do whatever I deemed necessary to remain alive. Surprisingly to
    some, I'd never discharged a round at a cop. And I didn't want my first time to be today, either. It was a moot point. If taken into custody, a single call
    would get me out, no matter what I did. But it was looked down upon, and might result in me losing a fair amount of work. Too much paperwork. Too much
    cover-up. Employers didn't want to have to deal with that. Best thing to do was not get caught.
    At 8th Avenue, I traveled a half-block south, then continued east on 5th. A few minutes later, I stood on the pitted curb of Prospect Park West.
    The scene was ordinary for a freezing day, if not a little more congested than the view from the café terrace. A few people scurried along the
    sidewalk, wrapped in heavy coats and scarves and wool hats, under the skeletal branches that hung overhead. None of them were a threat. The cop from the
    café was nowhere to be seen, and it didn't appear that he had called in back-up. The thought that the officer had followed Bear lingered in the back
    of my mind. I shoved it aside on grounds of paranoia.
    I reached into my jeans pocket and retrieved my cell phone, then used it to call Bear. The big man didn't answer. A second call yielded the same results. I
    closed the phone and stuffed it inside my coat pocket for quicker access should Bear call me back. I resumed my trek, heading one block south before
    turning west on 6th Street.
    Ten minutes later, I was a block from the brownstone. I'd called Bear twice during the walk and received no answer each time. Concern grew that the cop had
    picked him up. Could have been for any number of reasons, none of which would sound pretty at booking.
    I took a chance on the front door of an apartment building situated on the opposite side of the street. The door was locked, but had been left open a
    crack. Maybe the wind had kept it from shutting. Or the cold air had bent the frame, making it hard to shut. Whatever, didn't matter.
    Warm air welcomed me as I stepped in from the cold. Light traveled through a rectangular window covered with a film of grime. Disturbed dust kicked up into
    the air and reflected the filtered light as it settled back toward the floor. A few feet past the entryway, a stairwell cut through the middle of the hall.
    I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. There, I took position at a window overlooking the road below and the brownstone's entrance.
    The sidewalks were void of life except for two women who appeared to earn their living through dubious means. They walked toward me, coming from the
    direction of the café. Despite the cold, they wore skirts short enough to reveal the goods they had to offer to potential buyers. Their worn faces
    indicated weather conditions would not dictate their work schedule. Had they passed the cop? Had the cop spotted the women while Bear and I mused about
    life as we drank bitter coffee on a frigid patio? Were two old hookers the reason the cop received the call?
    In this city? Not likely.
    Presumably, the call had no bearing on me, or the prostitutes. The cop could've been checking in. Nothing more.
    The women passed, and the only other traffic I spotted raced by on four wheels. After a quick glance around the dim corridor, I pulled out my phone and
    called Bear.
    "Hello?" a woman said.
    "Who's this?" I backed away from the window.
    "Alexis," she said. "Are you the big guy who was drinking coffee out in the cold?"
    "No. I'm the tall, good-looking guy that was with him."
    "Haven't had anyone here that matches that description today, sir." Her smile resounded in the playfulness of her