So, he was being asked to invest. Cash. Good. Much better than having to bring them the head of a rival drug dealer to prove his loyalty.

‘That’s not a problem,’ Pulaski said dismissively, as if he could jump in his private jet, fly to Switzerland and pluck stacks of hundreds from his private bank.

‘What would you be willing to cough up?’

This was a stumper. It was tough to get buy-money for sting operations. The brass knew there was always a chance of losing it. But he had no idea what the limits were. What would they do on Blue Bloods? He shrugged. ‘A hundred K.’

Weller nodded. ‘That’s a good figure.’

And it was then that Pulaski thought: How did he know I’d come this way? There were three or four possible approaches to the hotel. And, hell, for that matter, how did he know I’d be on foot and not take a cab or drive? Earlier Weller had referred to parking in front of the Huntington Arms.

One answer was that Weller, or somebody, had been following Pulaski.

And there was only one reason for that. To set him up. Maybe he’d seen him come out of Rhyme’s and looked up the owner of the townhouse.

And here I am without a fucking wire and two blocks from the backup team and a gun on my ankle, a thousand miles away.

‘So. Glad this is moving along. Let me see about that money and—’

But Weller wasn’t listening. His eyes flickered past Pulaski, who spun around.

Two unsmiling men in leather jackets approached. One with shaggy hair, one with a shaved head.

When they noted Pulaski’s gaze, they drew pistols and lunged.

The young officer turned and started to sprint. He made it all of two yards before the third killer stepped out from behind the truck where he’d been waiting, wrapped his massive arm around the patrolman’s throat and slammed the officer against the window of the pet shop.

Weller stepped back. The hit man touched the gun muzzle to Pulaski’s temple while, inside the store, a colorful toucan in a flamboyant Polynesian cage ruffled its feathers and watched with scant interest the goings-on outside.

CHAPTER 54

Rhyme phoned Rachel Parker and happened to get Lon Sellitto’s son.