Depraved Indifference Read Online Free PDF

gray epoxy all over the bottom. That’s it, Sarge. It’s a pot with a brick glued into it. The city can sleep safe tonight.”
    â€œA fake?”
    â€œNo question, Sarge. Come see for yourself.”
    â€œYou sure about this, Doyle? You want me to get Luke or somebody to suit up and take a look?”
    â€œHell yes, I’m sure. It’s a phony. No soup, no detonator, no batteries, no primer, zilch. It’s a pot with a brick in it.”
    â€œOK, hold on, we’re coming over.”
    In a minute or so, Doheny and D’Amato were climbing down the ladder. When they came around the vestibule wall, they found Doyle leaning against the wall, helmet off, cigarette in his mouth. “Don’t smoke on the range, Doyle” was the first thing Doheny said when he came in.
    â€œShit, Sarge, it’s a fuckin’ brick,” Doyle complained.
    â€œDon’t ‘shit, Sarge’ me, sonny. You want to live a long time in this game, you follow the rules. And it’s not a brick until I say it’s a brick.”
    Doheny went over to the table and looked into the pot. He picked up a pair of pliers and rapped the brick sharply. It gave out the solid, metallic clunk of metal hitting brick.
    â€œWell, is it a brick, Sarge?”
    Doheny looked at the younger man sourly. “Yeah, Doyle, it is a goddamn brick. Jesus, what a fucking waste of time! OK, you bring that thing along, Doyle. It’s evidence. Luke, help him clean up all his crap. I gotta get a handful of aspirin. What a pain in the ass!”
    Doyle picked up the pot and put the lid back on loosely as Doheny started to enter the vestibule. Luke knelt down and began to close up the tool kit.
    Doyle said, “Well, there’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, Sarge—”
    But Sergeant Doheny never found out what that one thing was. At that instant he felt a terrible heat and a crushing force. Luke D’Amato felt it too. Terry Doyle did not, in all probability, feel anything, since his head had disintegrated in the first instant of the blast.

3
    T HE SEATBELT LIGHT shone its little cartoon and the people on Flight 501 heard the whisper of static. It was nearly one o’clock; the plane should have landed in Milwaukee by now and the passengers were glancing at their watches and buzzing for the flight attendants.
    â€œThis is Captain Gunn here on the flight deck,” said the voice in the static. “We have a—a little difficulty here, folks. We will not be landing in Milwaukee at this time. I have been ordered to read the following message to you. ‘This plane has been appropriated by the forces of Croatian national liberation. The plane is being diverted to Canada for refueling, after which it will continue to European points to continue the mission of the Croatian national forces. No one aboard the plane will be harmed in any way, but all passengers are warned that efforts to interfere with the mission of the Croatian national forces will be severely punished. There is a powerful bomb aboard this airplane. The Croatian national forces will not fear to detonate this bomb should their mission be opposed in any way.’”
    There was a moment of stunned silence into which a woman’s voice said clearly, “Oh my God.” Then screams, babies crying, shouts of outrage and fear, the familiar chorale of the late twentieth century. Hearing it in the cockpit, Gunn went on, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his folksy drawl.
    â€œFolks, we, ah, have obtained clearance from Montreal to land the aircraft, and we will be landing shortly. We’ll have to see what happens then, but these people have told us that they don’t want to hurt anyone on the plane, so let’s all try to stay calm and cooperate.” He snapped off the cabin intercom switch and said sourly to his copilot, “And next time your plans include flying, we hope you’ll think of