A Catskill Eagle Read Online Free Page B

him in the mouth with my elbow. I hate to cut up my hands if I don’t have to. And the two gym rats get into it and I forced to quell them. And I quell one of them kind of hard with a chair and the dumb bastard died.”
    “And the cops came,” I said.
    “Yeah. About ten of them with shotguns and vests and all.”
    “And no one called them,” I said.
    “Nope,” Hawk said, “they come in the door about the time the last gym rat hit the floor.”
    “Like they’d been waiting.”
    “Yep.”
    “You were set up,” I said. “You were supposed to get roughed up and then arrested for assault. Teach us all a lesson.”
    “Figure they had her phone tapped,” Hawk said.
    “Cops or Costigan?”
    “Don’t matter,” Hawk said. “They Costigan’s cops.”

CHAPTER 6

    OFF TO THE RIGHT, CLEAR IN THE LUCID predawn stillness, I could see Candlestick Park on the edge of the bay. When I was a kid the Giants played at the Polo Grounds, and the ‘49ers played at Kezar Stadium and I didn’t even know Susan Silverman.
    “The cops take me to the pokey and last I see they giving Russell some ice in a towel to hold on his mouth. And Susan still frozen, weird little smile, and she crying.”
    I was silent.
    “There a picture of you,” Hawk said. “In her condo.”
    Ahead I could see the outline of the Transam tower on the San Francisco skyline. “Boogaloo,” I said.
    “Knew you’d like that.”
    “You broke three of Costigan’s teeth,” I said.
    “He got some left,” Hawk said.
    “I know. We’ll get to that.”
    “We surely will,” Hawk said.
    “But first we get Susan,” I said.
    “We surely will,” Hawk said.
    “And then we’ll see about the Costigans.”
    “We surely will,” Hawk said.
    “And Mill River,” I said. “Might neaten that up a little, too.”
    “While we doing all this, be better if the cops don’t catch us,” Hawk said. “Be pretty soon they figure out who you are.”
    “And then they’ll check the airlines and the rental agencies and have a fix on this car.”
    Hawk said, “How much bread you have?”
    “About two hundred,” I said.
    “Jesus Christ,” Hawk said. “Diamond fucking Jim Brady.”
    “And the American Express card,” I said.
    “That be a lot of good,” Hawk said. “Check right into the Stanford Court with it, sit around and have room service till the cops come.”
    “Not my fault,” I said, “you don’t have rich friends.”
    We went down the ramp off the expressway at Golden Gate Ave past the Civic Center and turned left onto Van Ness.
    “We need to get off the street,” I said.
    “Costigan will figure it gotta be you,” Hawk said. “Get that picture from Susan, show it to the fuzz we locked up, and they got your name on the wire. Mine too. Me for murder one, you for accessory after the fact, both of us for felonious escape from a sardine can.”
    “Up around Geary Street,” I said. “There’s a hotel with an all-night garage underneath it.” Hawk spoke into his clenched hand. “All units,” he said, “be on the lookout for gorgeous Afro-American stud in company of middle-aged honkie thug.”
    He pulled into the garage and took a ticket and cruised on down the lane looking for a slot. “Nice talk,” I said. “I gallop into Mill River and rescue you like the white knight that I am and you sit around and make honkie remarks.”
    Hawk pulled the car into a slot beside a green BMW and parked and shut off the engine. I got my Tiger sport bag out of the trunk and got a clean shirt and some Nike running shoes and changed in the car. I put the .25 in my hip pocket, tucked the Mill River .38 in my belt under my shirt, and got out. Hawk pulled his shirt out and let it hang over his belt. He stuck the big .44 in his belt in front. “Hungry,” Hawk said.
    “There’s a donut shop,” I said, “across the street. Opens early as hell.”
    “You leaving the bag?” Hawk said.
    “Yeah, less conspicuous.”
    “How ‘bout I carry it on my head and