Don't Get Caught(65)

“Awesome,” Ellie says, and returns the gesture.

Tim gives us the one second finger and starts down the hall. There, outside the noise of the loading dock, he says, “Man, that felt good.”

“Nice job, Sluggo!” Ellie says.

“Stranko had no idea what hit him. I shoved him from behind, and it sent him into the tunnel. But I think something broke on the door when I slammed it shut.”

“Will it hold?” I ask.

“I think.”

“Did he see you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Excellent. Get to position two.”

? ? ?

“Should I text da Vinci?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, but here, use the burner.”

You’re up.

“Do you think the Chaos Club is somewhere nearby, watching?” Ellie says.

“They’re here. They have to be.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we’re doing all this for nothing.”

“Well, not nothing. It’s fun. That’s something.”

Across the lawn, Officer Hale remains planted in his chair on stage. Stranko’s been gone for twenty minutes, and I wonder at what point Hale leaves to check on him. No, he’ll probably call or text first. Not that it’d help. No signals can escape the concrete tomb Stranko’s currently buried in.

Across the parking lot, the flashers on Hale’s security car suddenly blaze to life, spinning red-and-blue lights in the dark. Hale jumps to his feet and is quickly down the stage steps.

Then the lights shut off.

“What’s she doing?” I say. “He was coming.”

“She’s messing with him.”

“But that’s not the plan.”

“Relax, Kate knows what she’s doing.”

Hale stares at his car, probably worried he’s hallucinating, then climbs back up the stage steps. But as soon as his butt hits the chair, the light bar explodes again into red-and-blue disco lights. You can practically hear Malone laughing as she does it.

“And there he goes,” Ellie says.

You’d never use the word running for what Hale does as he heads for the parking lot—his weight makes running impossible—but it’s faster than a walk and slower than a jog. It takes him thirty seconds to get to his car, and as he walks around the front to the driver’s side, Malone’s shadowy figure creeps around the back. At least I assume it’s Malone. The ski mask she’s wearing makes positive identification impossible.

Hale opens the driver’s door and shuts the lights off. He looks around the parking lot, but there’s no one to see. From the other side of the car, Malone, still close to the ground, reaches up and opens the back passenger door, tossing something inside. She then scurries around to the back as Hale rushes—more like lumbers—around the back. By the time he gets to the open door, Malone’s circled the car. She’s flat against the trunk, only a few feet away from Hale. He stands at the open door, looking inside the car, presumably at what’s on the seat.

“Get it,” Ellie urges.

Malone risks a peek around the trunk and sees Hale move into the back, his fat body climbing across the seat where he had all five of us sardined after the water tower and me after my arrest in Stranko’s office.

I dig my fingers into the dirt.

“Come on,” I say.

When Hale disappears into the backseat, Malone springs out, slamming the door and trapping Hale in the back of his own patrol car—or, more accurately, the patrol car with no door handles in the back and the unnecessary bulletproof glass that makes it impossible for him to get to the front seat. Or even more accurately, the patrol car with the cell phone jammer in it that Hale was once so proud of that now makes it impossible for him to call for help. But at least he has the lunch bag Malone threw inside that he couldn’t resist. Inside the bag: A Chaos Club card.

And a plastic doughnut.

Wheeler’s idea—“A fake doughnut for a fake cop.”

Hale pounds on the window. Malone’s just below him, and there’s no doubt he can see her. She’s supposed to run, but of course being Malone, she doesn’t. Instead, she points her phone at the screaming Hale and takes his picture.

So much for keeping evidence to a minimum.

Malone sprints away from the car, coming our way fast. But when she reaches the steps on the curb, her body goes rag doll. She falls, rolling and tumbling in the grass like her legs have gone boneless. Before I can react, Ellie breaks from cover. When I catch up, she’s helping Malone limp to the trees.

“Are you okay?” I say.

“That stupid curb,” Malone says. “I didn’t even see it. I’ll live.”

“What do you think?” Ellie says to me.

I look at Malone, who gives me a yes, duh look.

“Do it, Puma,” I say.

Puma stands up and puts on her backpack. From her pocket, she pulls a box cutter and holds it up.

“My weapon of choice,” she says.

Then Ellie grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me in, kissing me hard.

“For luck,” she says.

? ? ?

At Puma speed, Ellie covers the distance to the statue in seconds. From where he’s trapped, Hale can’t see Ellie approaching, but she stays on the opposite side of the patrol car anyway and drops at the base of the curtain. She slices a three-foot incision in the curtain and then pushes her backpack through first before disappearing inside.