Cross

Chapter 86

"MR. MAGGIONE SENT US," called one of the toughs who was headed Michael Sullivan's way, walking with plenty of strut and attitude from the entrance into the alley on Wisconsin. The hoods were moving fast now, and they had him pe

No way in hell he could take out four of them, not with a blade. Probably not even if he had a gun on him. So what could he do? Take their picture with his camera?

"He misspoke, Butcherman. Mr. Maggione doesn't want to see you," said an older guy. "He just wants you to disappear. The sooner the better. Like today. Think you could do that for Mr. Maggione? I'll bet you can. Then we'll find your wife and three kids and make them disappear too."

Michael Sullivan's brain was reeling through all the permutations and possibilities now.

Maybe he could take the one guy out, the loudmouth; then it wouldn't be a total loss anyway. Shut his ugly hole once and for all. Cut him bad, too.

But what about the other three?

Maybe he could get two of them, if he was good and lucky. If he could get them close enough to use his blade, which wouldn't happen. They were probably stupid, but not that stupid. So how could he make something happen? He didn't want to go down without a fight.

"You man enough to take me out yourself?" he called to the bigmouth. "Ay babbo?" He used the mob term for idiot, for some useless underling. He was trying to get under his skin if he could. Hell, he'd try anything right now. He was going to die in the next minute or so, and he just wasn't ready to go yet.

The killer's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "No doubt about it. I could take you out myself. But guess what, guess who's the babbo today? Give you a hint. You probably wiped his ass this morning."

The Butcher reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and he kept his hand there.

The bigmouthed hood immediately had second thoughts and put his free hand up. The others stopped walking. They all had their guns out, but they weren't coming any closer to the legendary Butcher.

The big talker gestured for the men behind Sullivan to move to the right, while he and the fourth man moved left. That gave everybody a clear line of fire. Smart thinking.

"You stupid Mick. Messed up this time, didn't you? Question for you: You ever think it'd end like this?"

Sullivan had to laugh at that one. "You know what? I never thought it would end. Never occurred to me. Still hasn't actually."

"Oh, it's go

Which was obviously the truth, no doubt about it – but then the Butcher heard something that was hard for him to believe.

It came from behind, so he had to turn around to check it out, to see if it was real or some cruel joke being played on him.

Somebody was shouting at the far end of the alley – this had to be some kind of seriously messed-up miracle.

Or it was the luckiest day of his life.

Maybe both.

The cavalry had arrived!

Look who was here to save the day.

Chapter 87

"DC POLICE! Everybody put the guns down. Do it now! We're police officers. Guns down on the ground."

Sullivan saw the cops, and they looked like detectives, two buff-looking black guys in street clothes.

They were coming up behind the Mafia hoods who were standing near Thirty-first Street and trying to figure out what the hell to do next, their next move.

So was he.

What a sight the two cops were, though, and Sullivan wondered, Could they be part of the task force put into Georgetown to catch the rapist, to catch him?

Hell, he'd bet a bundle that's what they were, and if it was true, he was the only one in the alleyway who had figured it out so far.

One of the cops was already calling in for help. Then the two mob guys near Wisconsin just turned around – and they walked away.

The detectives had their guns out, but what were they going to do? Realistically, what could they do?

Sullivan almost began to laugh as he turned slowly and walked toward Wisconsin too.

Then he began to run, a full-out sprint toward the busy street. Madman that he was, he started laughing his ass off. He'd decided to brazen it out, just run. Like in the old days back in Brooklyn when he was a kid making his bones in the game.

Run, Mikey, run. Run for your life.

What could the DC metro cops do? Shoot him in the back? For what? Ru

The cops were yelling, threatening him, but all they could do was watch him get away. Fu

Huge mistake.

Theirs.

Chapter 88

HALF A DOZEN UNIFORMS were moving in and out of the station house on Wisconsin when Sampson and I got there that afternoon. A detective named Michael Wright had finally made the co

Sampson and I passed inside a ten-foot-high bulletproof partition and headed for the interrogation rooms, which were beyond the detectives' cubicle area. The work space looked familiar – scarred, badly littered desks, old computers and phones from another era, overhead storage bins filled to overflowing.

Before we entered the interrogation room, Wright told us that the two men in there hadn't said a word so far, but they'd been armed with Berettas, and he was sure they were killers. "Have fun," Wright said; then John and I walked inside.

Sampson spoke up first. "I'm Detective John Sampson. This is Dr. Alex Cross. Dr. Cross is a forensic psychologist involved in the investigation of a series of rapes in the Georgetown area. I'm a detective on the case."

Neither of the men said a word, not even a wisecrack, to break the ice. Both of them looked to be in their early thirties, bodybuilder types, with permanent smirks on their faces.

Sampson asked a couple more questions; then we just sat there in silence across the table from the two men.

Eventually an administrative assistant knocked on the door and entered. She handed Sampson a couple of faxes, hot from the machine.

He read the pages – then handed them to me.

"I didn't think the Mafia was active in the DC area," Sampson said. "Guess I was wrong. You're both soldiers in the mob. Either of you have anything to say about what was going down in that alley?"

They didn't, and they were a

"Dr. Cross, maybe we can work this out without their help. What do you think?" Sampson asked me.

"We can try. It says here that John 'Digger' Antonelli and Joseph 'Blade' Lanugello work for Maggione out of New York City. That would be Maggione Jr. Maggione Sr. was the one who hired a man named Michael Sullivan, also known as the Butcher, to do a hit in DC several years back. You remember that one, John?"

"I do. Took out a Chinese drug dealer. Your wife, Maria, was also murdered right around that time. Mr. Sullivan is now a suspect in this case."

"This same Michael 'the Butcher' Sullivan is also a suspect in a series of rapes in Georgetown, and at least one murder co