Lethal Rage Read Online Free PDF Page A

in
Spartacus
.”
    â€œI just run more than I lift. I figure, what good are big muscles if you can’t catch the bad guy?”
    â€œWhat good is catching him if you can’t hold on to him?” Sy countered.
    â€œTouché. Tell you what. I’ll chase them and somehow hold on to them until you get there and thump them.”
    â€œAh, the makings of a classic tag team. Speed and power. Like the Hart Foundation.”
    â€œThe what?”
    Sy lifted his hands beseechingly. “Oh, Lord, I’m working with one of those.” He pulled out of the lot and headed north on Parliament. “Seriously, though, Jack. Thanks. I owe you one.”
    Jack shrugged it off. “You would have done the same for me. Coffee?”
    â€œDamn straight. See what happens when I don’t get to have my morning cup?”
    But coffee would have to wait again and this time it was Jack’s fault.
    They were heading up Sherbourne to get Sy’s long-overdue caffeine when Jack twisted in his seat. “Hang on, Sy.”
    â€œWhat did you see?” Sy was already throwing the car into a U-turn, bouncing the wheels over the curb.
    â€œOut front of 310 Dundas. I caught a glimpse of a hand-to-hand exchange. Some money, not sure what else.”
    â€œCould be innocent, could be not.” Sy eased the car up to the corner of Sherbourne and Dundas. Jack leaned forward to see past Sy along Dundas.
    â€œThose two there. The black guy passed some money to the skinny white guy in the blue tank top.”
    In front of the short apartment building on the northeast corner of the intersection, two men had just parted company. The black guy Jack had pointed out, wearing the typical baggy white T-shirt and blue jeans, took a couple of steps in their direction but staggered when he caught sight of the police car. Recovering quickly, he dropped his eyes to the sidewalk, made an abrupt turn and started to walk up Sherbourne.
    â€œSubtle, buddy. Real subtle.” Sy unclipped his seat belt. “You make the black guy the buyer?”
    â€œYup.” Jack freed himself of his belt. Neither of them had taken their eyes off their prey.
    â€œThen that makes Whitey our dealer. Shall we?” Sy pulled away from the curb and hit the roof lights, then slipped through the intersection on the red light. Their possible dealer was ambling along the sidewalk, his back to the approaching cruiser. Like so many 51 residents, he was skinny to the point of scrawny and his dull blue tank top hung on him like a limp sail.
    Sy accelerated, wanting to cut off the dealer before he reached the laneway that ran north from Dundas along the east side of the apartment building. But whether their man heard the revving engine or some instinctual predator awareness alerted him, he looked over his shoulder as Sy cut across oncoming traffic, mounted the curb and stopped the cruiser’s front bumper inches from the skinny man’s legs. The car was a hand’s breadth from the building, cutting off access to the laneway.
    Jack expected the dealer to bolt the way he had come. Instead, from a dead stop, he bounded onto the hood of the cruiser and over the car. He landed hard on the sidewalk and staggered a couple of steps but caught his balance and in seconds was up and running for all he was worth.
    When Sy threw the cruiser into reverse, horns blared.
    â€œShit! Get out of my fucking way!” he bellowed at the cars behind him, but Jack barely heard it, jumping from the car and sprinting after the dealer.
    Skinny or not, the guy could run. He flew along the sidewalk, elbows and knees pumping frantically, and Jack — suddenly thankful he had trained chest that morning and not legs — had to push himself to keep up. The heat wrapped itself around him. By the time he hit Seaton, a little residential side street not a hundred yards from the laneway, he was soaked in sweat and every breath felt like it came through a wet gag.
    And