Deadline(134)

            “It’s not a half-million,” Shrake said. “He’s way, way on the other side of that. The question is, say the guy is worth something like the rumor says he is. What the hell is he doing working for the BCA? Why’s he going mano a mano with some psycho fruit in the basement of a torture castle? What the fuck is he doing? He could be living in . . . LA. Or Paris, if he likes cheese.”

            “If he likes cheese, he could be living in River Falls, Wisconsin,” Jenkins said.

            “You know what I mean, man.”

            Virgil said to Shrake, “You know why he does it.”

            Shrake said, “No, I don’t. I really don’t. Not if he’s got forty million . . .”

            Virgil said, “Shrake, you’ve got a fuckin’ shotgun between your knees, you’re wearing an armored vest, and there’s a chance you’re about to shoot it out with a psycho killer in the dark. Why is that?”

            Jenkins laughed, and said, “Yeah, why is that, putter boy? How come so many guys, including you, try to get on SWAT squads? Come on, admit it.”

            Shrake tried to hold out: “It’s my job.”

            “Oh, bullshit,” Jenkins said. “You do it because you like it, because you get that feeling in your balls like you’re in a falling elevator, and you like it. We all like it. We get all grim and warriored-up about it, but the bottom line is, we like it.”

            “That’s somewhat true,” Shrake admitted.

            “That’s why Davenport does it: it’s better than money,” Jenkins said.

            “You guys bum me out sometimes,” Virgil said.

            “Getting that feeling in your balls?” Jenkins asked.

            “I’ve had it for about three days now,” Virgil said.

            “Attaboy.”

            —

            AS THEY CAME UP to the school, Jenkins said, “The question is, is he inside waiting for us, so we get hosed the minute we go through the door, or is he planning to come in after you have a chance to find the memory card?”

            “Or is he home eating fried chicken and trying to decide what to watch on TV?” Shrake added.

            “I got a key from the crime-scene crew that’ll let us in the back door, all the way around by the ball diamond, where he won’t be expecting us,” Virgil said. “We go around there right quick, and in through the doors. Once we’re inside, we’ll be even.”

            “What are the chances he’s got night-vision glasses?” Jenkins asked.

            “Unlikely—no reason for him to have them. Besides, right inside the door there’s a whole bank of switches. I’m going to light up the halls all the way down to the auditorium. Then, inside the auditorium, there’s another bank that’ll light that place up.”

            They thought about that for a minute, then Jenkins said, “Most likely hiding inside a classroom. Hard to know exactly where, but probably between the auditorium and the door he thought you’d come through. He’d make sure you’re alone, then he’d watch you go in there, and maybe peek to see if you were finding anything . . . and then, boom.”

            “Or he could already be stashed in the auditorium. There are quite a few places on the stage, or in the projection booth, at the back, that’d give him cover,” Virgil said.

            “So we go in, with full lights, and we watch for any classroom doors that are cracked open. Then we go into the auditorium in a regular clearance formation, ready to hose him. If he’s not there, we wait.”