The October List Read Online Free PDF Page A

a hard-earned tan, but his suit, unlike his partner’s, was wrinkled and – he now noticed – bore an embarrassing stain on the sleeve. In the shape of Mickey Mouse ears.
    He sat forward in the truly uncomfortable orange fiberglass chair, and thought: So is this how it ends? I’m balls-deep in an operation where people may get dead and no one knows exactly what’s going on. And if it goes south, the brass’ll need a scapegoat. Hello, Detectives Surani and Kepler.
    There are of course a thousand different ways an operation can go bad, but in the end you don’t need to worry about a thousand different ways because it only takes one to fuck everything up. And usually it’s the one you never see coming.
    The two men didn’t jump to attention when Captain Paul Barkley strode into the room – NYPD detectives didn’t jump at much of anything. But Kepler lifted his feet off a neighboring chair and Surani put down the coffee he was loudly slurping. For detectives with the kinds of lives they had and the cases they ran, this was about all they could muster in terms of respect.
    Especially today, in the throes of the FCP Op.
    ‘You have her location?’
    Surani said, ‘Yep. And she has no clue we’re on to her. ESU’s in position. They’re assessing risk exposure.’
    The captain uttered a snort. ‘“Risk exposure”? Forget bad cop movie – that sounds like something a banker’d say. Now, you seen the latest?’ Barkley snapped, turning to a computer, logging in. ‘I saw it ten minutes ago. Jesus.’
    What was the old man referring to? Kepler had enough miles to show impatience with his boss and he did so now, though silently and in the form of a frown, his tan brow V’ing severely.
    Kepler thought an official document or report or surveillance CCTV video was going to appear. But what they were looking at on the screen was the New York Post online edition, updated recently. Kepler sighed as he read the story, a follow-up of an earlier one. The first headline had included the word ‘injured.’ This one featured the verb ‘died.’
    Both articles included this sentence: ‘Crushed beneath a delivery truck.’
    Surani said, ‘It’s out of hand, I know.’
    ‘And that’s not acceptable. I want to move in. I want perps being processed in Central Booking now . It could turn into a bloodbath if we don’t move fast.’
    ‘It already is a bloodbath,’ Surani muttered, looking at the photo of the body.
    Gesturing angrily at the computer screen, Barkley muttered, ‘Look at the press. Fucking mobile phone cameras. That’s the problem nowadays. They’re everywhere. Assholes with a Samsung or iPhone are on the scene faster than first responders. Shit. Crime Scene’s on it?’ he asked.
    ‘Yeah, but they’re not getting much.’
    They all stared at the screen. Blood’s pretty vivid in high definition.
    ‘And Gabriela’s with that guy?’
    Surani said, ‘Yeah.’
    ‘That woman,’ the captain intoned, ‘has a lot to answer for.’ The comments, devoid of obscenity, seemed particularly ominous. Barkley debated, or at least he cocked his head as if he was, and stared out the window.
    Bank, City Hall, pigeon shit.
    ‘Okay, I’m making the call. Send ESU in. Now.’
    ‘That could fuck everything up,’ Kepler said. ‘I think we should wait, find out who the players are, what the risks are. What—’
    ‘Send ESU in now ,’ Barkley growled, as if he wasn’t used to repeating himself. Which, Kepler knew, he was not. ‘We’re not waiting any longer. Whatever else she’s done in the last couple of days, if she ends up like –’ A nod to the truck crush article. ‘– it’s gonna be bad for a lot of people.’
    Meaning him, meaning us, meaning the city.
    Especially bad for Gabriela, too, Kepler wanted to say but refrained.
    Surani snatched up the phone. He leaned forward, tense, as he said, ‘It’s Surani. Your teams’re green-lighted. You can—’ His gray-brown face froze. ‘What? What?’
    Kepler