He hung up and went to the window to check on his view of the car. A police cruiser was rolling down the street, beyond the parking lot, away from the rental car. Devlin had arrived at the window just seconds too late to know if the police had spotted the car. The cruiser turned the corner and disappeared behind the building. Devlin couldn’t take chances, not in this jurisdiction. Being a New York cop cut no ice in New Jersey. If he were caught, he’d be booked and jailed until bail could be set, and without any real property, he might not be able to find a bondsman to cover him. He started dressing as he reached for the telephone again. He dialed 4.

“Front desk.”

“Hello down theyah. Ah’m upstayuhs heah on the thud floah and man lady saw the po-lice goin’ ovah this lil ol’ cah out in the pahkin’ lot. Is theyah gonna be a shoot-out o’ somethin’? Should we stay in owah room?”

“The police just pulled up in front now. Do you want me to ask them?”

“No, thass quaht aw rat.” Devlin hung up and grabbed his shoes, socks, pants, and jacket. If he’d known the desk clerk was going to be so loose-lipped, he wouldn’t have bothered to struggle through an Alabama accent. He didn’t finish dressing until he was between the second and third floors on the fire stairs. Unless these cops were completely stupid, they would learn from the desk clerk that Devlin was on the fourth floor, and then they would call for backup. He had to be considered armed and dangerous. For the next few minutes, Lederer’s car would be unattended—maybe. Devlin had the keys. He also had two guns, but in all likelihood, the cops didn’t know about the second. The .25 was small enough to fit inside Devlin’s sock. The wise guys wouldn’t have volunteered to the Paterson police that they had been carrying a gun in their glove compartment. They had probably explained the bullet hole as more of Devlin’s craziness.

The fire door opened onto the side street. The car was only about a half a block away. If Devlin had calculated the time correctly, and if these cops were doing their jobs properly, they were in their cruiser. Was Devlin supposed to run? He was walking so fast he was breaking into a trot. Good enough.

The air in the car was oven-hot. His eyes on the outside rearview mirror, Devlin started the engine. He wasn’t going to be able to take the car through the tunnel. All he wanted to do was get a mile or so distance, near a bus stop. Another problem: the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It was crawling with cops, many of them in plainclothes, and they were almost certainly on the lookout for him.