Deadly Heat

“Text that to me,” said Agent Bell. “I’ll get it circulated to everyone

here.”


Someone with a bullhorn in the park called out, “No justice, no business! No

justice, no business!” The crowd picked it up and chanted it back. “Crap,” said

Callan. “What time are they scheduled to move?”

Commander McMains said, “In thirty minutes, at nine o’clock.” Hearing the time

nudged Heat to make a scan of the area, wondering if Glen Windsor lurked out there

and, if he did, what he had in mind. They gathered around a map as McMains unfurled

it on the hood of a nearby patrol car. “Their permit calls for a parade from where

they are now, proceeding up Broadway, and terminating at City Hall Park.”

“Side streets?” asked the special agent.

“All closed. And we have pipe barricades to keep them off the sidewalks. I’ve also

closed the Four and Five subway station to cut off new arrivals.” McMains took a

ballpoint from his uniform chest pocket and drew brackets mid-route. “Most of our

assets are set up here to keep them from getting any ideas about taking over Wall

Street or Exchange Place.” Just as the commander voiced the notion, the “No

justice, no business! No justice, no business!” chant punctuated it.

Callan closed his eyes as if having a conversation with himself. Then he clapped his

hands together once and said, “That’s where we put everything. Wall Street is the

vulnerable part of the whole circus. If that virus gets released up there, we’re

not only talking mass casualties, a quarantine would shut down the New York Stock

Exchange, maybe even the Federal Reserve Bank. Can you imagine the ripple effects of

that?”

“Let’s not,” said Agent Bell.

Since nobody had spotted the Boz Brigade fire wagon, not even the choppers, Callan

and McMains formed a plan to hustle agents and uniforms up the route of the march

and throughout the Wall Street financial blocks to check parking lots and garages

for the vehicle. All the detectives from Heat’s squad had arrived and would join

her on the search, as well.

“And do not tell me I have to wait in the car,” said Rook.

Heat replied, “I won’t. Because you’re going to stay here.”

“You really think I’m going to be in the way?”

“Not really. But I don’t want you up there if something bad comes down. We have it

covered, end of discussion.”

“I’ll be fine, I have this.” He held a gas mask over his face and breathed

loudly. “Luke, I am your fa—”

She pulled the mask away. “You’re staying here.” Then she left with the others.




Rook stood off moping to the side of the staging area and watched a contingent of

uniforms in riot gear and gas masks attempt to form a containment barrier with

orange plastic netting while a lieutenant addressed the crowd, asking them to stop

the march and disperse for their own safety. They drowned him in boos.

At nine sharp, an organizer raised an air horn and gave it a long blast. Cheers

erupted and the mob moved forward, slowly pushing past the lines of police for the

march up Broadway.