The Lightning Rule Read Online Free PDF Page A

A spray of orange flames licked the broken windows.
    “Get these men in helmets. I want a nightstick in every hand,” Sloakes barked while Plout did his best to disappear into the wall. “Give me a perimeter. Where’s the fire department? Where are the damn fire trucks?”
    A band of officers brushed by Emmett and Nolan, going toward the supply room for the helmets and nightsticks, which they passed out bucket-brigade style. Contrary to an actual bucket brigade, neither would help quell the fires outside.
    “You coming?” Nolan asked, being swept into the receiving line.
    Emmett was about to reply when he was jerked by the arm and pulled up the stairs.
    “What do you think you’re doing here, Detective?”
    Lieutenant Declan Ahern couldn’t meet Emmett eye to eye even with an extra step between them, but he made up for the height difference in sheer presence. At fifty, he had a full head of bristled silver hair and a boxer’s flat-bridged nose. Born and bred in the city’s West Ward,where the Irish gangs and the police were one and the same, Ahern had to choose at a young age between being a criminal proper and being a cop. Emmett pictured him flipping a coin.
    “The desk sergeant called me.”
    “He shouldn’t have. You’re on restricted duty for striking an officer, remember?”
    The lieutenant took a dark delight in reminding him. During an argument, Emmett had punched another detective in his division, though that infraction was not the real grounds for his reassignment. The truth behind his demotion struck harder than any right hook and hit below the belt. Emmett knew it, and so did Ahern.
    “You ready to get out of the basement and back on a regular shift? Say the word. You’ve kept me waiting a long time, Martin, and I’m not one for waiting.”
    Men shouldered past them on the stairwell, forcing the lieutenant chest to chest with him.
    “How long can you wait? Huh, Emmett?”
    Being in the basement was like holding his breath. To come up for air, all he had to do was tell Ahern what he wanted to hear. On principle, Emmett couldn’t do it. He hemmed his mouth, holding on to the words to prevent them from prying out.
    “Fine,” the lieutenant said. “You started this. Until you have an answer for me, I’m gonna forget you’re alive.”
    Entombment in the Records Room with his career on hold indefinitely was no idle threat. Ahern didn’t make idle threats, only real ones. He let go his grip on Emmett’s arm, yet Emmett continued to feel it.
    “Go home, Detective. You’re no good to me here.”
    Emmett bit down on his anger and said nothing. Disobeying a direct order wouldn’t do him any good either. At that moment, he wasn’t much use anywhere or to anyone, especially himself.
    Sloakes was furiously motioning Ahern over and shouting to nobody in particular, “Put the windows in tomorrow morning and get this place cleaned up. Return to normal and don’t treat this as a situation. Because once you start treating problems as problems they become problems.”
    The main door to the station swung open, wafting in the scent ofseared metal and the dying whine of sirens. Reinforcements had arrived. Patrolmen in yellow helmets wielding their newly acquired nightsticks went pouring outside, clubbing anyone within reach. Emmett was sucked into the swirling throng of men clamoring to get at the action, and for the first time in months, he left through the Fourth Precinct’s front entrance. The lieutenant had made it clear that this was not his problem. Emmett had problems of his own.
    Fire trucks were blocking off the end of Livingston Avenue. Lines of hoses crisscrossed the asphalt and hydrants gushed on both sides of the street. The abandoned car was shrouded in flames, its tires fuming. Several trash cans had been lit too. Emmett was pinned between the precinct and the snarl of cops flailing nightsticks to thresh back the crowd. People fled into the Hayes projects and scattered along Springfield