Predator Concrete Jungle 3

When Schaefer didn't respond, Rasche glanced at him and saw that Schaefer was sitting motionless, staring up out the car window, the coffee untasted in his hand.

"What is it?" Rasche asked uneasily.

Schaefer had been acting weirder than usual lately, and while Rasche didn't believe in any of that psychic shit, he knew Schaef could pick up on stuff other people missed; his weird moods usually meant trouble. Worried, Rasche leaned over and
looked out past Schaefer's shoulder. All he saw was empty sky, darkening to indigo. The first few stars were appearing.

"Something's wrong," Schaefer said. "The city doesn't feel right."

Rasche snorted and straightened up.

"That's like saying battery acid doesn't taste right, Schaef. This is New York, remember? The city where we busted a satanic cow cult last month? Where good ol' Al Napolitano blew away his wife a couple of hours ago because she wouldn't change the channel?"

"I know that," Schaefer said, "but this is something else. Was that thunder a few minutes ago?"

"I didn't hear anything," Rasche said. "I was in there." He jerked a thumb at Bud's Deli and Diner.

"I thought you might've heard it anyway. Loud. Didn't sound right."

Rasche stared at his partner in disgust. They'd been together for six years, but every so often Rasche still forgot just how weird Schaefer could be when he started getting mystical, "How the hell could thunder not sound right? It was probably heat lightning or something."

"Sounded like guns," Schaefer said. "Like a fucking army. But it must've been thunder, right? Who'd be firing that much at once?"

Before Rasche could reply, the car radio crackled. "All units in vicinity respond-shots fired, corner of Beekman and Water."

That was 6 blocks away. "That was it," Schaefer said, and Rasche almost thought he could see Schaefer's face relax in relief. "Like a fucking army. Roll."-pg.21-22 chpt.2