Red rain 2.0 by Michael Crow Read Free Book Online

you do that?" Dugal says, plainly annoyed.
    "He shot deliberately, watching muzzle climb," McKibbin says.
    "Army shooting team, sir. Not all-army, just the base team. The armorer does trigger jobs, jewels the feed ramp, drops in a match-grade barrel, accurizes, puts on tritium sights. You could shoot it as good as me."
    "Yeah, well, another time maybe," Dugal says. "So is this legal and everything, McKibbin? Are we gonna have liability problems here?"
    "Shouldn't think so, sir," McKibbin says easily. "Just a regular .45. A Maryland resident could buy one off the rack at a decently stocked gun store. Well within our guidelines, sir. And he certainly knows the weapon well enough."
    "So I can carry this one, sir?" I ask.
    "I'm thinking, I'm considering," Dugal says. God, the man hates to give in. "Okay. But no cowboy crap, Ewing.
    This pistol gets fired on duty, I'll be all over you. Understood?"
    "Yessir. Thank you sir. I'll be happy if I never have to un-holster it."
    "Try hard to stay happy, Ewing," the LT says. He looks at the target again, shakes his head. He starts walking away. "Oh, all ammo's your personal expense, Ewing. We only supply standard 9 millimeter."
    "Ah, Luther, ya devil," McKibbin starts laughing when Dugal's gone and I'm cleaning my piece. "Knackered him good, you did. Hey, I've got a rare one comin', a current-production AKSU-74 in 5.45x39. Murderous piece of work, official Russian issue. Wring it out on the outdoor range with me?"
    "Just say when," I smile.
    I keep making it easy for Dugal to turn ever since that day. IB and I build the best felony-conviction record of any team on the narc squad. Squeaky clean too; never a squeal about unnecessary force, about dubious evidence, about entrapment, about even the slightest violation of strict Department guidelines. The AD As at the court just love to see me and IB coming to them with a case, 'cause they know they're gonna convict and they like looking good. Dugal likes looking good too, and we're pushing his ugly butt up the ladder for him.
    So the 180. He doesn't like me personally, he isn't clever enough to suppress that vibe, he's almost certainly aware it's mutual, but we keep it muted. More than cordial on the job, gets off acting as if he and me and Ice Box are part of the same team. A real elite team, since it includes him. Pats on the back around the HQ, throws me a bone now and then, no 'Taggert You Fuck" disrespect. I stay slick. Things go best that way sometimes, when you just stay slick and slide with the currents.
    "Hey Luther, you're early," Dugal says with a smile when I get to his office. "Left a note for IB too. He not in yet?"
    "Probably in the parking lot right now, eating a half-dozen Egg McMuffins he doesn't want us to see. We'll hear him coming." Teammates together, gives us the right to poor-mouth each other. Dugal likes this stuff.
    "Got a nice note from Detective Mason, about your help on the reservoir girl squeal. Good job. Anything in it for us?"
    "Don't know yet. Think she was doped up. With what hasn't come back from the lab yet."
    "You see any ongoing problem? Any connections?"
    'Too early."
    "You and Mason are copacetic. Keep me up to date?"
    "Sure thing, LT," I say, thinking the bastard smells, positively smells something bigger, full of photo-ops and sound bites, and he wants his talking head in the middle of it.
    The frosted-glass interior walls of Dugal's office tremble slightly. "IB." Dugal grins as the man appears at the door.
    "IB." I grin too.
    "Get enough to eat, ready to start your day?" Dugal asks.
    "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," IB huffs, fitting himself pretty gracefully into one of Dugal's aluminum chairs, which cries softly with metal fatigue and unnatural stress anyway.
    "How many today, IB?" Dugal asks.
    "Say what?"
    "Egg McMuffins?"
    "Hey, I don't touch junk food. My wife makes me a wholesome breakfast each and every morning. Uh, yogurt, cereal with two-percent milk, couple of slices of dry