CHAPTER TWENTY
We scoured the city looking for the two men and the brown Chrysler 300. Men blazing away at two cops with Uzis, after they had blown to hell a sizeable river barge in their first attempt to kill us, has a way of catching the department’s attention. There was no lack of manpower in turning the city upside down looking for our shooters. But it was as if they had disappeared into concrete. Nothing was found of the men or the car.
Lieutenant Yankovich was not a happy man. He wanted answers, and he wanted them as fast as we could get them. Yank never yells or even raises his voice very much. But there is no second-guessing when he becomes mad. It’s the way he sets his lips and the way his eyes seem to bore fifty-foot diameter holes into your gut whenever he looks at you which c
