The fire department came. And more police cars. The bomb squad, paramedics and the news media, both print and electronic.
And Captain Henry Pryce—looking especially grim.
“Can we be cashiered or are we gonna be shot at dawn?” Mickey watched the determined approach of the Captain, the clusters of official humanity falling back for their stern-faced leader.
“If we’re lucky we’ll only be shot,” Delaney said. He examined the series of neat plaster strips the EMT had applied to his arm, voiced his thanks, and stood up. Rolling down his sleeves, he waited for Pryce while the same EMT as before turned his attention to Mickey.
“You got a death wish, man?”
There was no time to answer as Pryce stopped in front of them.
“Gentlemen.” Pryce’s hooded gaze was as cold and green as his stare, long a
