Knapp’s assassination didn’t dampen anybody’s mood. The bastard killed seven women. If someone took his head off, well, that shouldn’t have happened, but nobody was going to lose sleep over it. It saved the public some money was a common view held in the Pub. Two months of built-up pressure and steam were being blown off big time. Every cab in St. Paul would be parked outside at closing time, Shamus would see to that. When Mac walked in, someone shouted out his name. Another yelled, “Hey look, it’s Ronnie Lott.” The room erupted. On his way to the bar, Mac received high fives, pats on the back and even a couple of kisses on the cheek, which he hoped were from women. When he got to the bar, Uncle Shamus was there with a warm handshake and a cold Guinness.
Mac made the rounds, shaking hands, trading smiles and exchanging wisecracks. He finally found Riley, Lich and Rock holding court at the end of the bar. Even Dot was there, her first appearance with Dick. What a way to start, Mac thought. There was already a stack of empties developing around the group. It would only get bigger. If only I owned Tylenol stock, Mac thought, envisioning the bottles of it that would be consumed tomorrow.
“Mac, my boy,” Riles said enthusiastically, acting as if he hadn’t seen him in five years, giving him a big bear hug. Riles appeared no worse for the wear from the day’s activities. If anything, having not been shot earlier made him all the more ebullient. Or perhaps it was the alcohol, of which Riles had already had plenty. Others gathered around to hear Riley tell the story about the take down on Knapp. Riles had it down pat now, probably having told it twenty times already, adding great drama, timing, if not a little embellishment to it. He stood in the middle of thirty people, his arms waving, his voice getting louder, funnier than hell.
“…Falcon’s right overhead. The lights and sirens are everywhere. Problem is, nowhere near Knapp. I can see him in the distance, between these two houses. Rock’s just ahead of me, but we’re probably seventy, eighty yards back, running as fast as our piece-of-shit bodies can go. I see Knapp running into the street between two cars, and just then this blur just comes from his left and wipes him out, takes him off his feet. It’s fucking Mac. And I mean to tell you he was going full fuckin’ throttle. He practically ran right through him. Cut him in half. I mean I think his shoes came flying off when Mac hit him. It was a yard sale. NFL films would have loved to have footage of this.” Riles took a drink. “But Mac’s kind of out of it after the tackle, and we see Knapp startin’ to get up. But then Rock kicks it down, finds a gear I didn’t know he had anymore, and he finishes Knapp off. Total pancake job.” There’s laughter all around. “I get there and check on Mac, who’s a little woozy. I think you were seeing stars weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Mac replied with a smile.
“Then I walk over and Rock looks like he’s gonna puke, he’s breathing so hard. I’m not sure if he’s holding himself up or if he’s leaning on Knapp so he won’t fall down.”
Mac listened as Riley went on, when someone put a soft, delicate arm around him, slowly walking a hand up his back, scratching lightly. He turned to his left to see Sally, who looked him in the eye and planted a big soft wet kiss on him for everybody else to see. Mac, usually not one for public displays of affection, was caught up in the moment and didn’t mind.
After the kiss and some good-natured ribbing from everyone else, he and Sally moved off to the side and out of the commotion surrounding Riley. Mac got her a beer, and they talked for a few minutes when Riles, finally done with the recounting of the take down, came over to join them.
“Case isn’t kicking your ass anymore, is it?” Mac said.
“Got that right,” Riles replied boisterously and put his arm around Sally’s neck, pulling her close and pointing his beer at Mac. “Counselor, did you hear what your boy here did last night?”
“Yes, detective. I heard your last rendition over there. Of course, I’m hoping I’ll receive a more thorough debriefing later,” Sally replied, smiling seductively at Mac. He wasn’t going to make closing time.
Riles loudly jumped all over the comment, “Ohhh, I’m sure Mac will be thoroughly debriefing later.”
Sally laughed out loud. Mac smiled and shook his head at Riles. “Hey, I’m a boxer man. I hate those tighty whitey’s you wear, Pat.” Mac added, and then in a more conversational tone, “I’ll tell you one thing new I saw today though.”
“What’s that?” Sally asked, taking another sip from her beer.
“I went out to Knapp’s place. He had the whole thing on a wall in the basement. Each murder. Pictures, maps, news clippings, the whole shootin’ match. I mean right up on the wall. Organized by victim.”
“Kind of creepy,” Sally replied.
“You ain’t kidding,” Mac replied. “But that wasn’t the really odd thing.”
“What was?” Rock asked as he lit his cigar.
“There was one victim missing.”
“Really, who was that?” Riley asked casually, taking a drink.
“Jamie Jones.”
“Really. Hmpf. Wonder why?”
“Yeah,” Mac replied, “I’m thinking I’ll take a-”
Before he could finish, Rock stopped him, “Guy was crazier than shit, Mac, killing those women. He probably left Jones out intentionally just to fuck with us. He’s dead, case is over-let’s get drunk.”
Rock was right, Mac thought, at least for tonight. They needed more drinks. “Shamus,” Mac bellowed. “Another round!”
The group talked idly for a while before Riley drifted off to tell more stories about the case to anyone who’d listen. Tonight he’d have an audience. More cops were coming in by the minute. Mac managed to stay until 10:00 p.m. when Sally finally dragged him out of the Pub. A day that started lousy was about to come to an excellent end.
Kraft had been sitting in the bar, twenty feet from McRyan, keeping a low profile, just a working stiff having a beer or two before heading home. They wanted to keep an eye on the group, just to be sure all was well. He heard McRyan mention the corkboard wall in the basement and the missing victim. Kraft finished his beer, threw five dollars on the bar and waded through the sea of cops to the front door. In his car, he grabbed his cell phone, punching up Viper.
“Yeah.”
“We may still have a problem.”
“What?”
“Apparently Knapp was cutting his clippings.”
“So?”
“Somebody’s missing.”
After a pause, “Shit.”