The blood was pounding in his ears so loudly he couldn't hear anything else as he grabbed the receiver and started to dial a number he knew so well he didn't even have to think about it. His hands were trembling so much he could barely spin the dial and it seemed to take forever. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, anxious to get moving, as he heard the ringing start.
After the second ring, he was shaking so badly he could barely stand still. "Come on, come on, come on, pick up the damn phone," he muttered furiously under his breath. There was a loud click at the call connected then a long pause before the sound of Jeannie's voice, which would usually make him smile, reached his ear. "Hello, you've reached the Stone household. We can't -"
"Damn it," he growled angrily as he slammed the handset down on the cradle and bolted for the door. He didn't even bother to lock it as he raced down the switchback staircase, briefly sliding on the wet steps before he raced around the LTD. He stomped on the gas, the tires slipping on the rain-soaked pavement before getting a grip and the large unmarked sedan shot away from the curb. As he slowed at the corner for the stop sign, he opened his window then leaned to his right, groping under the passenger seat for the cherry. Finally getting a grip on it, he turned the bright red flashing light on, transferred it to his left hand and slapped it on the roof over his head before he made the left turn onto Montgomery, heading south.
The fairly light traffic parted quickly when he turned on the siren. Weaving his way down Montgomery, he cast a baleful glance or two at the police radio. When he slowed down before crossing Market, he actually reached for it at one point then changed his mind. Linda's message kept repeating in his mind. "… come alone… don't tell anybody… or they'll kill me…"
'They…' He concentrated on that one word. Who the hell were 'they'? He was trying to think of anybody he had put away or confronted or just pissed off lately that would do something like this and nothing came to mind.
As he got closer to Hunter's Point, the light but consistent rain adding to his anxiety, he snapped off the siren and took the cherry off the roof, turning it off and tossing it on the passenger side floor.
He had no idea what he was heading towards. He would probably be outnumbered, and he knew he was going against everything he had been taught, both at the academy and by his mentor, but he didn't have a choice, he thought. He couldn't take the chance. They were expecting him or they wouldn't have let Linda make the call. They would be watching for his arrival, and they would know if he was alone.
He pounded the steering wheel in frustration as he began to wind his way through the abandoned buildings in an area of San Francisco that had seemed to bear the brunt of the recent economic downturn. He wished Mike had answered his phone; he knew he was going against every instinct he had honed as a detective, but he really had no choice, he kept telling himself.
Everything was dark, the only illumination the dull glow from the sporadic streetlights under the heavy cloud cover. Steve turned the high beams on as he swung the LTD onto Spear, looking for an abandoned garage but he couldn't see any signs on any of the large vacant buildings that all seemed to look the same in the gloom.
Further down the long, empty street the headlights illuminated the rear end of small, bright red car. Steve's heart sank; it was Linda's Toyota Corolla, a second-hand car she had bought to replace the one written off in the accident.
He turned off the lights as he stepped on the brakes, turning the car into a small parking lot in front of empty building a block away from the Corolla. He leaned across the front seat and opened the glove box, fishing around for the flashlight. Pocketing the keys and the flashlight as he got out of the sedan, keeping his eyes on what he assumed was the garage, he started towards the Corolla, taking out his .38 and snapping the safely off.
He was aware of everything around him, the sound of every rain drop hitting the ground and the tin awnings over the front doors of the abandoned buildings, the dull thud of rain on the flat tar roofs. His eyes darting back and forth, he slowly approached the driver's side door of the compact car and tried the handle. It was unlocked and he opened it and looked inside. On the floor on the passenger side was Linda's macrame bag.
Swallowing heavily, his heart starting to pound even more, he closed the door, staring over the roof at the large, nondescript two-storey concrete building that had once been a garage of some sort. A glass door, covered with faded stickers from various car and truck parts manufacturers, was the only entrance visible.
The garage doors must be around the back, Steve thought as he started slowly towards the front of the building, his eyes continuing to dart back and forth. It seemed there were no lights on inside, from what he could see; he wondered if the electricity was still on. He brought his face as close to the glass as he could, using his left hand to shade his eyes from the weak streetlight, straining to see something inside, but it was too dark. There was a soft glow on the far side of what looked like a single cavernous room but he couldn't make out anything specific.
He took a step back, looking quickly up and down the street. The silence, other than the constant light rain, was oppressive. Taking a deep breath, feeling his stomach tightening and his mouth going dry, he reached for the door handle and pulled. It opened.
# # # # #
His hat tipped back on his head, the collar of his topcoat pulled up, Mike cradled the paper bag against his chest as he slid the key into the lock and opened his front door. He had stood at the open door of the almost empty fridge for a couple of minutes before deciding he really didn't feel like cooking. So, after a quick trip to his favourite Chinese take-out, he was returning with his dinner and a sense of satisfaction.
There was an out-of-town Warriors game on tonight, and he looked forward to a rare relaxing evening in front of the TV. The positive report from Johnny Doan had gone a long way in easing his mind, and he had decided that he was going to keep his heretofore consternation about Linda to himself. There was no point in causing his partner any unnecessary distress.
He set the bag on the coffee table, took off his topcoat and jacket, turned on the TV, found the right channel, then disappeared into the kitchen. He returned moments later with a can of cold ginger ale, a plate and cutlery and sat on the couch. With a soft and happy sigh, he opened the bag and started to remove the cardboard containers.
Almost as an afterthought, he leaned to his right and glanced at the answering machine beside phone. It was flashing '0'.
# # # # #
The door hinges squealed. If he was hoping to keep his arrival undetected, he had failed miserably but he didn't want to use the flashlight, preferring not to be a very obvious target just yet. The huge building was very dark. The soft light he could see through the door was still diffused and seemingly far away.
He knew his hard-soled shoes would make noise on the concrete floor but he had no choice. Moving slowly but carefully, stepping down on the outside of his foot before rolling the ball to the floor to shift his weight, a technique Mike had taught him long ago, he very slowly moved deeper into the building.
It was an abandoned garage, no doubt, and from what he could see, one that had been busy and well-used. He knew that an establishment of this size would more than likely have grease pits but that they would be closer to the garage doors which, he was assuming, were more than likely lining the back wall, which he couldn't see at the moment. But that didn't stop him from testing every step he made before putting his full weight down in case one of the pits was closer to the front door and was now being used as a booby trap.
The diffused light was not getting any brighter or more focussed and his frown deepened. His mind couldn't figure out what was between him and the light or, his throat tightened, what was in that light. The urge to call Linda's name was overwhelming but he restrained himself; he needed all of his professional acumen right now if he was going to get both of them out alive.
With each painfully slow step he took, the sense that he was being watched grew stronger and stronger but he continued to press forward, trying to hear beyond his pounding heart for any sound that would tell him something, anything, about the trap he was walking into.
And he knew full well it was a trap.
# # # # #
The phone rang and he jumped then chuckled to himself. He reached over and picked up the handset. "Hello?"
"I was half-expecting you to say 'Homicide, Stone," came the warm voice with the soft laugh through the air.
"Jeannie! I wasn't expecting a call tonight. Is something wrong?" His fatherly concern was overtly evident in his voice and she laughed again.
"Why do you always assume the worst? I knew there was a Warriors game on tonight and I thought I'd take the chance you were home watching it. And I'm right, right?"
"You're right," he chuckled. "I'm glad you called. So, what's up?" He settled back on the couch, a warm smile lighting his strong features.
# # # # #
It had seemed to take forever but he finally got closer to the mysterious glow. He could finally make out what it was. Like many large garages, the 'hub' was in the centre of the building; a small office with a glass-paned door and glass walls on all sides, offering an unobstructed view of the entire facility. The glass was extra thick and double-paned to block as much noise as possible and, in this case, it was helping to diffuse what seemed to be the light from a single industrial-strength ceiling lamp on the far side, closer to the garage doors.
As he approached the office, the image that had been obscured by the glass began to coalesce and he caught his breath. He could feel the hand holding the .38 begin to shake and the blood pound in his ears again. If he was believed what he was seeing, there was someone in a chair in the small but bright pool of light.
Linda…
The urge to rush to her was crushing but he willed himself to stay where he was. It would do neither of them any good if he let his emotions override his training. He took a deep, silent breath, trying to marshal his thoughts, trying figure out his next move.
He was just about to take a step to his right when a noise to his left caught his attention and, before he could stop himself, he turned involuntarily. Before he could turn back, something fast and heavy clipped the back of his head. He was unconscious before his body hit the floor.
