Page 21 of Crosshairs

Trilling wondered briefly if the man would show him his right biceps if he asked nicely. That was the most efficient way to handle this situation.

The suspect growled, “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Trilling kept a positive attitude. “Yes. Yes, I have an idea that you’re Lou Pershing.”

“Who?” The man stepped closer.

That was helpful, but Trilling wished the suspect would comeanother foot closer. He decided to make use of his training both from the Army and the NYPD. He wanted the man distracted. Thinking about something other than shooting him. Trilling said, “Are you saying you’re not Lou Pershing?”

The man shook his head and started to say, “I’m not—”

As soon as he started speaking, Trilling lunged forward, slapping the pistol away, then pivoted and swept the man’s legs with his right leg. The bigger man seemed to levitate for a moment then hit the floor with a tremendous thud.

By chance, the man’s arm swung past Trilling’s face. A metal snap on the cuff of the jacket caught Trilling under his eye, causing a moment of pain. But it was outweighed by the satisfaction Trilling felt as he casually leaned across the man and snatched the pistol, disarming him. He dropped the magazine, pulled the slide of the pistol, and ejected a single hollow-point .380 bullet. It made almost no sound when it hit the thin carpet.

Trilling looked up at the girl again and said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you or anyone else. I just need to check something with this man.”

The girl nervously nodded. Her right hand trembled.

He looked back down at the man on the floor. He said in a casual tone, “I need to get a look at your right arm. Slip off your jacket?”

The man looked up at him and grunted. “I ain’t taking off nothing.”

Trilling shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” He reached into the front pocket of his Wrangler jeans and pulled out the Gerber pocketknife he’d carried with him since he was twelve. Including his time in Afghanistan. He flicked the three-inch blade open with his right thumb.

The suspect’s eyes were wide with terror. He didn’t say anything. A slight mewling sound creeped out of his throat.

Trilling wasted no time stabbing the knife near the man’s right shoulder. With two quick movements, he severed the sleeve without leaving a scratch on the man’s arm. He yanked the sleeve off and stared at the man’s biceps, partially covered by a T-shirt.

Trilling jerked the sleeve of the T-shirt all the way up even though he now knew he wasn’t going to see anything. He stared at the man’s arm, which had no tattoo at all. In frustration, he rolled the man to one side and pulled out a wallet from his rear pocket. He checked the man’s ID. Albert Craig from Jersey City.Shit.

Trilling stepped away from the man on the carpet. His hand came up and touched his cheek under his eye where the man’s jacket had struck him. It was a little tender but nothing serious. Then he turned his attention to the girl, now sitting in the single chair.

Trilling said, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

Trilling gave her a good look. The way he’d looked at his sister when he’d catch her coming in late and she’d given some lame excuse.

Without further prompting, the young woman said, “Eighteen.”

“Is this meeting consensual?”

The girl said, “What does that mean?”

“You agreed to meet this man voluntarily?”

This time she nodded. “Yeah, for two hundred bucks.”

The man on the carpet said, “You going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, building security. I’m going to take your gun and youcan get it back from the doorman when you leave. You might not want to mention this to anyone since you’re carrying an unlawful firearm within the city limits.”

The man nodded but didn’t say anything.

Trilling took the elevator to the lobby. It was still empty as he calmly ambled through, disassembling the pistol in his hands as he walked. He dropped the slide into a garbage can on the sidewalk. He dropped the main body of the pistol down a storm drain and kept walking.

He’d find another way to locate Lou Pershing. He had the name of a Pershing associate who might even be a decent suspect in their sniper case.

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