“We’ll check the sting later,” Davis said, his adrenaline pumping. He checked the service revolver in his snap-on belt holster. His .38 was there and ready. In his back pocket he felt his cold piece.

The unmarked police car stopped near the warehouse. A cruiser was nearby. The two cops in it grinned when they saw Davis. He nodded at them. They had each earned an envelope with fifty dollars in it.

“Captain, we saw some dude start out of the warehouse with a sack over his shoulder,” the first uniformed cop told him. “The guy saw us and ran back inside like a jackrabbit.”

“Right, Officer. You cover this door. Send your partner around to that side entrance down there. Paulson and I will go in and rout him out.”

They jumped on the nearest loading dock, and slid into shadows.

“We’ll work straight down the main aisle,” Captain Davis said. It was a general storage warehouse. “You check to the left, I’ll keep to the right.”

They worked slowly forward with their revolvers out. They were halfway when Davis motioned Paulson to follow him into the aisle on the right. No direct overhead light shone on the narrow alley between the tall stacks of boxes containing television sets.

“You watch at this corner,” Davis whispered to Paulson. “I heard something over there.” As Paulson looked around the boxes, Davis took from his pocket a .38 with the serial numbers filed off. He backed up six feet and shot Paulson in the temple.

He died instantly.

Davis drew his own service revolver and fired four times into the ceiling.

“Down here!” Davis screamed. “Down here! I think Paulson is hit!”

Davis wiped his prints off the cold gun with his handkerchief, then slid it thirty feet down the aisle. He mopped sweat off his forehead, ran three more aisles over, then saw a uniformed cop coming.