didn't lay a hand on Cruz!"
"It doesn't matter what I believe." Lieu arched his head towards the squad room. Two guys from Internal Affairs were talking with Sliran. "It's what they believe."
One of them looked like Liberace, though he dressed better. The other guy, the one who was doing all the talking, was Mr. Regulation. Shiny shoes, short hair, Disneyland employee face. Trouble.
Lieu opened his desk drawer and pulled out a package of Sugar Babies. He popped four into his mouth and offered the open bag to Shaw.
"No, thanks."
Lieu munched on the chewy gob. "I wouldn't get too attached to your victimized attitude, Ronny. You're to blame for most of this mess."
Shaw held out his hand and Lieu poured a few Sugar Babies into his open palm.
"I won't fault you, Ronny, for coming down hard on Tomas. Anyone might have done that." Lieu popped a few more caramel treats into his mouth. "But meeting that kid in an alley and not bringing Sliran in with you was stupid. That was mistake number one. Mistake two was not bringing the kid down here to make his confession. Mistake three was not arresting the kid then and there."
Lieu snapped his fingers. "Three strikes and you're out. A cop with your experience should know better."
Shaw fell into a chair. "You're right," he said glumly. He held out his hand for more Sugar Babies, chewed on them awhile, and watched the Internal Affairs boys grill Sliran. "Well, Lieutenant, what do you see in your crystal ball?"
Lieu pondered a Sugar Baby. "I'd say you're heading into a world of hurt. I'd get yourself a lawyer."
Shaw chuckled miserably. "Anyone got Dexter's number?"
# # # # # #
The streets were empty under a full moon that colored the world, through a cloud-streaked sky, with hazy blue shadows. Wind whistled between buildings and the stillness seemed palpable, thick, and uneasy. Shadows became threatening, twitching and darting between crevices and alleys, doorways and other seams in the night.
His shadow fell on the street. His footfalls echoed amidst the gutted, blackened buildings. The lone, unscorched streetlight cast its single unnatural glow on his face as he stood at the alley's mouth.
His eyes were dark, made dull by a fury that had ebbed into a deep, intense anger. He felt almost inanimate, as soulless as the night itself. His shadow lay like a corpse in front of him, stretching into the alley.
He felt utterly alone, unattached to any person, and unable to conjure any joy from the world around him. Unmoving, he stood there struggling to understand and control the changes occurring within him. He feared he might lose any humanity he ever had. It was an agony endured in silence.
He stood. Sunlight slowly burned its way through the night, and the shadows melted away.
He was at the hot-dog stand when Saul arrived at six a.m.
Saul didn't recognize him at first. Looking at the stranger warily as he unlocked the hot-dog stand, he opened the shutters over the counter. The man sat on a stool, his face unshaven, his distant eyes watching the street awaken. Saul tied on his apron and heated up the grill. "You're Brett Macklin, aren't you?"
Macklin turned.
"I didn't recognize you at first." Saul scraped the grill with a spatula. "I've only seen you twice. You didn't look like hell then."
Saul grinned at Macklin. The pilot looked ten years older than when he had seen him at the funeral.
"Listen, Brett, sit right there and I'll fix you up some of my famous eggs." Saul cracked two eggs over the grill, then reached into the refrigerator for a handful of hash browns.
"Your starch special," Macklin said.
Saul saw a hint of brightness in Macklin's eyes. "I see JD told you about my famous breakfast platter."
"And your grease burger."
Saul laughed. "We can still be friends, can't we?"
Macklin grinned. Saul's cheerfulness warmed him, and some of his emotional chill evaporated. "My father walked a beat so he could work off the extra tonnage you put on him."
Saul pointed to the eggs
"It doesn't matter what I believe." Lieu arched his head towards the squad room. Two guys from Internal Affairs were talking with Sliran. "It's what they believe."
One of them looked like Liberace, though he dressed better. The other guy, the one who was doing all the talking, was Mr. Regulation. Shiny shoes, short hair, Disneyland employee face. Trouble.
Lieu opened his desk drawer and pulled out a package of Sugar Babies. He popped four into his mouth and offered the open bag to Shaw.
"No, thanks."
Lieu munched on the chewy gob. "I wouldn't get too attached to your victimized attitude, Ronny. You're to blame for most of this mess."
Shaw held out his hand and Lieu poured a few Sugar Babies into his open palm.
"I won't fault you, Ronny, for coming down hard on Tomas. Anyone might have done that." Lieu popped a few more caramel treats into his mouth. "But meeting that kid in an alley and not bringing Sliran in with you was stupid. That was mistake number one. Mistake two was not bringing the kid down here to make his confession. Mistake three was not arresting the kid then and there."
Lieu snapped his fingers. "Three strikes and you're out. A cop with your experience should know better."
Shaw fell into a chair. "You're right," he said glumly. He held out his hand for more Sugar Babies, chewed on them awhile, and watched the Internal Affairs boys grill Sliran. "Well, Lieutenant, what do you see in your crystal ball?"
Lieu pondered a Sugar Baby. "I'd say you're heading into a world of hurt. I'd get yourself a lawyer."
Shaw chuckled miserably. "Anyone got Dexter's number?"
# # # # # #
The streets were empty under a full moon that colored the world, through a cloud-streaked sky, with hazy blue shadows. Wind whistled between buildings and the stillness seemed palpable, thick, and uneasy. Shadows became threatening, twitching and darting between crevices and alleys, doorways and other seams in the night.
His shadow fell on the street. His footfalls echoed amidst the gutted, blackened buildings. The lone, unscorched streetlight cast its single unnatural glow on his face as he stood at the alley's mouth.
His eyes were dark, made dull by a fury that had ebbed into a deep, intense anger. He felt almost inanimate, as soulless as the night itself. His shadow lay like a corpse in front of him, stretching into the alley.
He felt utterly alone, unattached to any person, and unable to conjure any joy from the world around him. Unmoving, he stood there struggling to understand and control the changes occurring within him. He feared he might lose any humanity he ever had. It was an agony endured in silence.
He stood. Sunlight slowly burned its way through the night, and the shadows melted away.
He was at the hot-dog stand when Saul arrived at six a.m.
Saul didn't recognize him at first. Looking at the stranger warily as he unlocked the hot-dog stand, he opened the shutters over the counter. The man sat on a stool, his face unshaven, his distant eyes watching the street awaken. Saul tied on his apron and heated up the grill. "You're Brett Macklin, aren't you?"
Macklin turned.
"I didn't recognize you at first." Saul scraped the grill with a spatula. "I've only seen you twice. You didn't look like hell then."
Saul grinned at Macklin. The pilot looked ten years older than when he had seen him at the funeral.
"Listen, Brett, sit right there and I'll fix you up some of my famous eggs." Saul cracked two eggs over the grill, then reached into the refrigerator for a handful of hash browns.
"Your starch special," Macklin said.
Saul saw a hint of brightness in Macklin's eyes. "I see JD told you about my famous breakfast platter."
"And your grease burger."
Saul laughed. "We can still be friends, can't we?"
Macklin grinned. Saul's cheerfulness warmed him, and some of his emotional chill evaporated. "My father walked a beat so he could work off the extra tonnage you put on him."
Saul pointed to the eggs
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