Lieberman's Choice by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online

cleared out of the building yet?” Kearney said, turning to Lieberman.
    â€œThey’re running a double check now. Want some food?”
    â€œCoffee.”
    Lieberman went into the kitchen. Coffee was brewing. He found cups on a shelf, poured two, and went back into the living room, handing one to Kearney, who took it with a nod of thanks.
    â€œTraffic’s diverted off Sheridan both ways to Clark. We’re issuing warnings to the media suggesting that if anyone can see the tower, Shepard can see them and probably reach them with that rifle.”
    â€œWhat can he see from up there, Sergeant?”
    â€œA hell of a lot, Captain. A hell of a lot.”
    â€œHe can shut down half of East Rogers Park,” said Kearney.
    â€œThere are those who might think that a humanitarian act.”
    Kearney drank his coffee and continued to look out the window.
    â€œI’ve heard about your sense of humor, Lieberman,” he said. “This isn’t the time for it.”
    â€œIt comes unbidden,” said Lieberman. “Genetic. Part of the burden of my people. Can I ask you something?”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œYou know what he’s going to tell Channel Four?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œIf we don’t get him down soon, it’s going to be a long twenty-four hours.”
    Frankie Kraylaw looked up at the television set at the end of the counter of the Speed King Donut Shop. He had been stopping at the Speed King on Devon for the past few months. Before that he had gone to the Mister Donut on Broadway, but Frankie and one of the other regulars, a bread truck driver named Bratkovic, had exchanged words. Frankie, teeth gleaming, little-boy smile on his face, hair over his eye, had sidled up to Bratkovic, a quiet corner smoker who liked to read the paper in peace before he made his rounds.
    â€œNotice you in here every morning,” Frankie had said.
    Bratkovic had grunted.
    â€œYou know,” Frankie had said, looking around at the four other predawn customers, who ignored him. “Christ died for your sins.”
    â€œWho asked him?” Bratkovic had answered.
    â€œNo one had to …”
    But Bratkovic had cut him off with a call to the black woman in uniform serving coffee and sinkers.
    â€œElyse,” he said, ignoring Frankie. “Move this guy and keep him away from me, or you’ll be makin’ a 911.”
    Elyse had sighed deeply, looking at her other early morning regulars for sympathy. Three ignored her or pretended to. Two others gave little smiles of sympathy.
    â€œIt’s not that easy to deny the Lord,” said Frankie.
    Bratkovic looked up from his newspaper at Frankie, who was now about a foot from his face.
    â€œGet out of my face.”
    Bratkovic had shoved Frankie as Elyse leaned over the counter saying, “Now, listen, young …”
    But the push ended the peace and promise of salvation.
    Frankie stood up, grabbed the glass sugar dispenser, and swung it at Bratkovic’s face. Elyse’s hand had reached over in time to keep the dispenser from hitting the bread truck driver in the face. But it had caught him in the ear.
    Customers were backing out of their booths and off the stools. Coffee spilled. Bratkovic’s ear was bleeding, and since the top of the sugar dispenser had come off, the blood was mixed with white glistening flecks.
    It took two customers and Elyse to pull Bratkovic off Frankie, who wouldn’t stop smiling.
    â€œNo fuckin’ safe place to have a cup of coffee,” Bratkovic screamed. “You crazy sons of bitches are coming out of the toilets.”
    Frankie, his nose now bloody, just smiled as he wished he had something sharp and heavy he could plunge into the eye of the blasphemer, lying on his belly.
    That was two months ago. He had now become a regular at the Speed King Donut Shop and had selected another regular, an old woman who always wore a black hat, who