5

Wind drove the rain before it in blinding sheets. Swearing, Garreth dived down the steps and across the lawn toward his car. But even that short a distance left him soaked. In the car he pushed dripping hair back out of his eyes with a grimace and peeled off his jacket, tossing it into the back seat. With his broadened temperature tolerance, the chill of the rain did not bother him, but water running down his neck did, and he hated the feel of the sodden trousers plastered to his legs.

None of which improved at the Gibson store. His slicker and hat did nothing to protect his cuffs and Wellingtons from further soaking while he walked around the building checking doors amid the crash of thunder and the shrill clamor of the store alarm. For a wistful minute he considered how much drier and more comfortable it would be searching the building from the inside, but with regret discarded the idea as too risky and waited outside until Mel Wiesner, the manager, arrived to shut off the alarm. If Weisner had found him inside, it would be impossible to explain how he had managed that with all the doors locked.

The shift wore on . . . two bank alarms, both, like the Gibson's alarm. apparently set off by lightning; power lines pulled down by a fallen branch, where Garreth sat until a KPL truck and crew arrived to take care of them: fights in two bars; opening a car for a woman who had locked her keys inside the Shortstop, Bauman's single convenience store. None of the activity could quite make him forget about the writer or the bloodmobile, however. Through everything, both problems gnawed in the back of his mind.

Lightning and thunder eased. The rain settled into a steady drizzle.

Toward midnight the cruisers along Kansas Avenue had thinned to a last stubborn few. But the closing bars had begun emptying their customers onto the street and the combination of alcohol and wet pavement produced two minor fender benders and several near accidents. One of the latter erupted into a fight as the drivers, both big, burly men, piled out of their cars, enraged by the damage almost inflicted.

Garreth broke up the fight by stepping between them and while they stared down at him, astonished at being pushed apart by someone so much smaller, caught the eyes of each man in turn. "Don't you think that's enough? There's nothing to be upset about."

Rage faded from the men's faces. "I guess you're right:" They eyed Garreth with puzzled frowns, clearly aware that something had happened to them, but not sure what or how.

Garreth gave them no time to figure it out. "Then why don't you both go home?"

With pats on their shoulders, he steered the two sodden men toward their cars and stood in the street watching until they drove away.

Someone chuckled behind him. "The Frisco Kid strikes again. I'd sure like to know how you make them roll over and wag their tails for you."

Garreth glanced around. It was after midnight already? Ed Duncan grinned at him from the other patrol car. The grin made the Morning watch officer look strikingly like Robert Redford, a resemblance Garreth knew Duncan cultivated. Garreth sent him back a wry smile. "It's a gift that comes with me blood."

"Okay, if you don't want to share with—hey, podner, we've got a live one!"

Garreth followed Duncan's gaze to a car weaving its way down the lane line on the far side of the tracks.

The light bar on Duncan's car flashed to life. "I'll pull him over. You test him and breathalize him."

Garreth frowned. "Me? It's your stop. You do it."

Duncan grinned. "But you're already drowned and I just got a trim and blow-dry this afternoon."

Usually Duncan did not bother him, but tonight the remark scraped the wrong way across Garreth's nerves. He said shortly, "Tough nuts. You want the fucking DUI, you haul your pretty blow-dry out of the car into the rain and write him up yourself."

He turned away.

"You got an attitude problem, you know that, Mikaelian?" Duncan snapped after him. "You think you're so goddamn much better than the rest of us, a real hotshot, because you were a detective and worked in a big city department! But I never froze and let a partner get shot."

The jab hit dead center. Garreth stopped short, pain twisting his gut.

"And I wonder about you . . . skinny like that and coming from San Francisco. Maybe we ought to warn Maggie to watch you for night sweats."

With that parting shot, Duncan gunned the car away across the tracks, lights flashing.