Hour Game

"We're looking at a near riot out there," said Williams. "Before we can get him out, we have to deal with it. I've ordered pepper spray and tear gas if they won't disperse on their own."

Eddie smiled. "Looks like I really lighted up old Wrightsburg's fire, Todd."

"Shut up!" screamed Williams, but that did nothing to wipe the smile off Eddie's face. It just grew bigger.

"Now, you have to protect me,Todd. You can't let them kill me or the media will be pissed. You can't deprive them of the show. Think of the ratings. Think of the ad dollars."

"I said shut up!" Williams moved toward him but Bailey got between them.

"That's stupid, Todd, don't even think it."

"Hey, thanks, Chippy. You've always been such a good friend," said Eddie.

Bailey whipped around, and his hand went toward his gun.

Now Williams stepped in. "Okay, Chip, we're not going to let him do this to us." He bellowed to two of his deputies. "Take him to the holding cage on the second floor. We'll come get him when the crowd's under control."

"Good luck," called out Eddie as the deputies led him away. "Don't let me down now."

CHAPTER 89

ONE OF THE DEPUTIES WAS BY THE outside door; the other hovered by the window.

"Itlooks like a damn riot there," said the one by the window. He was Eddie's height, well built, with curly hair. "There goes the tear gas."

"Tear gas!" said the other, a short cop with a bulldog chest, wide waist and broad hips that caused all the gear on his belt to stick out sideways. "Wish I were out there shooting some of that stuff at those sumbitches."

"Well, go on, I got things here."

"No can do. The chief said to stay put." He glanced in the direction of the holding cell where Eddie Battle sat silently watching them. "This mutha's killed a bunch of people. Dude's crazy."

"They don't riot for jaywalkers, boys," said Eddie.

They both looked at him. The big cop laughed. "That's a good one. They don't riot for jaywalkers."

The short cop looked at his partner.

"Go on," said the big cop. "This dude's going nowhere."

"Well, look here, if you see the chief coming, radio me. I'll be back in a flash."

"Roger that."

The short cop left, and it was just Eddie and the big cop.

Eddie rose and moved to the door. "You got a cigarette?"

"Right, like I'm falling for that one. My mother didn't raise no idiots. You just stay over there and I'll stay over here."

"Come on, they searched every crevice I have and some I didn't even know I had. I've got nothing to hurt you with. I really need a smoke."

"Uh-huh." The big cop kept looking out the window. He glanced back every now and then to check on Eddie but eventually kept his gaze on the goings-on outside.

Eddie Battle had massive forearms with thick, pronounced veins. One of these veins was bigger and thicker than the others, a fact probably noted by the police who searched him, but not raising any suspicion. It was a vein after all, full of blood. However, to someone as skilled as Eddie Battle, a vein was not always a vein. This vein, in fact, was made of plastic, resin and rubber and was completely hollow. In the course of his reenactment career Eddie had become very adept at makeup, disguises, costuming and creating fake wounds and scars. He sat back down in the shadows for a bit, working on the artificial vein with his fingers. It finally "ruptured," and he slid out the very slender items that had been hidden there. The risk that he might be caught had been very real, and he'd taken some very real measures to deal with that eventuality. No search of his person, however thorough, would have turned up the pick and tension tool hidden in the hollow vein.

He kept his eyes on the big cop still looking out the window. He moved forward quietly, draped his manacled hands through the bars of the cell such that they covered the lock. He inserted the instruments in the lock and slowly worked it. He'd practiced this very maneuver for hours at a time on an old cell-door lock he had salvaged from a prison that had been torn down. Finally, through the tension tool and lockpick he could feel the tumblers start to fall into place. There was a loud noise from outside, and he used that moment to cover the sound of the lock clicking open. He held on to the bars and slipped his instruments between his wrist and manacles.

"Hey, dumb-ass! Hey, I'm talking to you, you big stupid piece of flesh."

The big cop turned and eyed him. "Why don't you just stuff it! I ain't the one going to no electric chair."

"Lethal injection, you moron."

"Right, that's my point, so who's the dumb-ass?"

"From where I'm looking you are. "Come on, big guy, just step this way.

"Keep right on talking."

"What, sticks and stones'll break your bones, but words will never hurt you? How the hell did somebody like you get to be a cop? But not a real cop, just a country bumpkin. "Come on, you know you want a piece of me. Here, coppie, coppie.