shaking finally under control, bleeding all bandaged up, and wearing a new fresh dry pair of slacks and a business blouse, Detective Bollier emerged from the women’s locker room and went looking for Captain Branden. Castillo found her first and smiled through his walrus moustache.
“ Heeeeey, Leslie. How’s it goin? Man we were worried about you.”
Castillo gave her an amiable hug. Bollier did an admirable job of hiding the squirming feeling crawling up her spine. Castillo had hounded her for a date for weeks when she first arrived at the precinct, and even though he eventually backed off when she told him she preferred seafood to sausage, he still gave her the creeps. She patted him awkwardly on the back.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m fine. I’m looking for the Captain.”
“Oh he had to go home, personal business or something.”
“Alright. Where’s Ross? I have to go over some stuff with him.”
“Ross? Oh the Rambo guy. Heh. Yeah we sent him on his way already.”
Bollier had been steadily hiking up the hallway, but she stopped at that and stared uncomprehending at Castillo, her jaw nearly dragging on the floor.
“You did what?!”
“Hey, I figured this guy’s a hero and he’s had a really long day already. Why not just let him go home and have a shower? He can always come back later and take care of…”
“Let me get this straight you inconceivable fucking idiot.... This guy just got attacked in broad daylight by a Russian hit squad while riding in a car with an NYPD detective. He needs to be in protective custody. You let him walk out the front door?”
Castillo started to protest but he caught himself and muttered whatever and walked away. Bollier sprinted back down to the locker room, strapped on a new shoulder holster, and prayed that she wouldn’t be too late.
…
Something had been nagging Jordan in the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. As the taxi cab rolled to a stop a half a block away from his home, he replayed the events of the day in his head, trying to make sense of it. There was a piece that he had missed somewhere. Everything that had transpired since the accident rattled around in his head like an assortment of marbles in a machine wash cycle.
“You alright sir?”
The Punjabi looking cab driver had been waiting patiently for five minutes while Jordan was brainstorming.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. How much?”
Jordan paid the driver and walked steadily up the sidewalk. The moon was half visible through a tangle of clouds moving east towards the Atlantic in a hurry. At his front door Jordan stood still with his back to the street, keys jingling in hand. After an interminable pause he shook his head and went in.
Flipping the living room light switch on, Jordan tossed his keys into a basket he kept on the piano bench. He sighed and removed his jacket, freeing both sleeves at the same time in a jerky motion. He let the jacket slide to the floor, an unpardonable sin when Sarah had her run of the house. Slowly Jordan made his way into the kitchen where he poured himself a double Glenlivet on the rocks. He sipped at the glass and wandered through the empty rooms trying to decide what to do with the rest of his evening. Common sense said he should call it a day, but his mind was racing from all the action and the coffee the detectives at the precinct had offered him. He should have said no, it was too late in the day.
The detectives at the precinct weren’t like Bollier. Maybe it was an accumulated tension turning into paranoia, but Jordan felt like Castillo had hidden something away in that absurd moustache of his.
The detectives. Something was there.
Jordan strode back into the living room, savoring his scotch slowly. He paused at the window facing the quiet terrace. Then it came to him.
How did the detectives know that Bollier had picked him up in Manhattan?
The realization came on in a sudden panic but Jordan forced his movements to stay slow. His
“ Heeeeey, Leslie. How’s it goin? Man we were worried about you.”
Castillo gave her an amiable hug. Bollier did an admirable job of hiding the squirming feeling crawling up her spine. Castillo had hounded her for a date for weeks when she first arrived at the precinct, and even though he eventually backed off when she told him she preferred seafood to sausage, he still gave her the creeps. She patted him awkwardly on the back.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m fine. I’m looking for the Captain.”
“Oh he had to go home, personal business or something.”
“Alright. Where’s Ross? I have to go over some stuff with him.”
“Ross? Oh the Rambo guy. Heh. Yeah we sent him on his way already.”
Bollier had been steadily hiking up the hallway, but she stopped at that and stared uncomprehending at Castillo, her jaw nearly dragging on the floor.
“You did what?!”
“Hey, I figured this guy’s a hero and he’s had a really long day already. Why not just let him go home and have a shower? He can always come back later and take care of…”
“Let me get this straight you inconceivable fucking idiot.... This guy just got attacked in broad daylight by a Russian hit squad while riding in a car with an NYPD detective. He needs to be in protective custody. You let him walk out the front door?”
Castillo started to protest but he caught himself and muttered whatever and walked away. Bollier sprinted back down to the locker room, strapped on a new shoulder holster, and prayed that she wouldn’t be too late.
…
Something had been nagging Jordan in the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. As the taxi cab rolled to a stop a half a block away from his home, he replayed the events of the day in his head, trying to make sense of it. There was a piece that he had missed somewhere. Everything that had transpired since the accident rattled around in his head like an assortment of marbles in a machine wash cycle.
“You alright sir?”
The Punjabi looking cab driver had been waiting patiently for five minutes while Jordan was brainstorming.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. How much?”
Jordan paid the driver and walked steadily up the sidewalk. The moon was half visible through a tangle of clouds moving east towards the Atlantic in a hurry. At his front door Jordan stood still with his back to the street, keys jingling in hand. After an interminable pause he shook his head and went in.
Flipping the living room light switch on, Jordan tossed his keys into a basket he kept on the piano bench. He sighed and removed his jacket, freeing both sleeves at the same time in a jerky motion. He let the jacket slide to the floor, an unpardonable sin when Sarah had her run of the house. Slowly Jordan made his way into the kitchen where he poured himself a double Glenlivet on the rocks. He sipped at the glass and wandered through the empty rooms trying to decide what to do with the rest of his evening. Common sense said he should call it a day, but his mind was racing from all the action and the coffee the detectives at the precinct had offered him. He should have said no, it was too late in the day.
The detectives at the precinct weren’t like Bollier. Maybe it was an accumulated tension turning into paranoia, but Jordan felt like Castillo had hidden something away in that absurd moustache of his.
The detectives. Something was there.
Jordan strode back into the living room, savoring his scotch slowly. He paused at the window facing the quiet terrace. Then it came to him.
How did the detectives know that Bollier had picked him up in Manhattan?
The realization came on in a sudden panic but Jordan forced his movements to stay slow. His
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