rolled up past his wrists. He was about twenty-five, clean-shaven, and damn good-looking.
I walked up to his table.
“Good evening, officer,” he said.
“What makes you think I’m a cop?” I said.
“You don’t exactly fit the profile of the neighborhood clientele.”
“Neither do you,” I said.
“Point taken,” he said. “And what can I do for New York’s Finest this evening?”
He may just as well have said “Checkmate.” He had made me for a cop, he understood the laws of probable cause, and he knew there was nothing I could do except stand there like a rookie and ask him questions he didn’t have to answer. The smug look on his face said it all. I was his entertainment for the evening. I hated him.
“You look hungry, officer,” he said. “You know what you might like? Goody’s Barnyard Platter.” He flashed me a self-satisfied smile. “It’s all
white-meat chicken.
”
That did it. I snapped. My brain hadn’t come up with a plan, so my testosterone took over. I grabbed him hard and pulled him from his chair. It shocked the hell out of both of us.
“You have no right to grab me like—”
“Shut your mouth, D bag.” I bent his left arm back and pulled the gold watch from his wrist.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I’ve been trained to deal with people who are rich, famous, and used to getting their asses kissed. If a cop wants to make the cut at Red, he’s got to be even-tempered, self-disciplined, emotionally stable. Kylie can sometimes cross the line, which is why Cates teamed us up. I was the voice of reason. But suddenly, without warning, I had become Dirty Harry.
I flipped the watch over and read the inscription. “Who’s Kylie?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“The back of your watch says she loves you always,” I said, twisting his arm.
He yelped. “I bought it in a pawnshop.”
I shoved him back down in his chair. “Let me see the receipt.”
By now most of the people in the restaurant had looked up from their food and were watching the angry white guy push around the preppy-looking black kid. None of them looked like they were contemplating getting involved, but I flashed my shield just in case, and they quickly went back to the all-important task of filling their bellies and hardening their arteries.
Then I held the shield up to Baby D. “Detective Zachary Jordan,” I said, sitting down directly across from him.
“You just broke every rule in the Boy Scout handbook, Jordan.”
“Well, now you know what kind of cop you’re dealing with. Where’s Spence Harrington?”
“I already told the lady cop—”
“Her name is Kylie. Like it says on your watch.” I handed it back to him.
“I already told her. I don’t know where her old man is.”
I unsnapped my handcuff holster and pulled out the cuffs.
“What’s that for?” Baby D said.
“I’m arresting you for selling drugs.”
He laughed. “Dream on, Detective. Do you think I’m stupid enough to be holding?”
“I haven’t quite figured out how stupid you are yet, Damian, but I’m the one who’s holding. I’ve got a baggie with an eight ball of booger sugar right here in my jacket pocket, and when I take you in, I’m going to say you sold it to me.”
“Bullshit. That’s a goddamn lie.”
“You’re right.” I leaned forward and whispered, “I borrowed it from the evidence clerk at my precinct, but I’m going to swear you sold it to me. So either step outside and talk to my partner, or an hour from now your pretty little baby face is going to bring joy to the hearts of a lot of lonely men in a holding cell at Central Booking.”
Drug dealers don’t give up their customers’ whereabouts to the cops. It can be bad for their business. Or their health. Damian stared at me. Was I lying? Or did I really have cocaine in my pocket that I’d say was his?
I gave him my best Clint Eastwood stare back, but I didn’t have the balls to say, “Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya,
I walked up to his table.
“Good evening, officer,” he said.
“What makes you think I’m a cop?” I said.
“You don’t exactly fit the profile of the neighborhood clientele.”
“Neither do you,” I said.
“Point taken,” he said. “And what can I do for New York’s Finest this evening?”
He may just as well have said “Checkmate.” He had made me for a cop, he understood the laws of probable cause, and he knew there was nothing I could do except stand there like a rookie and ask him questions he didn’t have to answer. The smug look on his face said it all. I was his entertainment for the evening. I hated him.
“You look hungry, officer,” he said. “You know what you might like? Goody’s Barnyard Platter.” He flashed me a self-satisfied smile. “It’s all
white-meat chicken.
”
That did it. I snapped. My brain hadn’t come up with a plan, so my testosterone took over. I grabbed him hard and pulled him from his chair. It shocked the hell out of both of us.
“You have no right to grab me like—”
“Shut your mouth, D bag.” I bent his left arm back and pulled the gold watch from his wrist.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I’ve been trained to deal with people who are rich, famous, and used to getting their asses kissed. If a cop wants to make the cut at Red, he’s got to be even-tempered, self-disciplined, emotionally stable. Kylie can sometimes cross the line, which is why Cates teamed us up. I was the voice of reason. But suddenly, without warning, I had become Dirty Harry.
I flipped the watch over and read the inscription. “Who’s Kylie?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“The back of your watch says she loves you always,” I said, twisting his arm.
He yelped. “I bought it in a pawnshop.”
I shoved him back down in his chair. “Let me see the receipt.”
By now most of the people in the restaurant had looked up from their food and were watching the angry white guy push around the preppy-looking black kid. None of them looked like they were contemplating getting involved, but I flashed my shield just in case, and they quickly went back to the all-important task of filling their bellies and hardening their arteries.
Then I held the shield up to Baby D. “Detective Zachary Jordan,” I said, sitting down directly across from him.
“You just broke every rule in the Boy Scout handbook, Jordan.”
“Well, now you know what kind of cop you’re dealing with. Where’s Spence Harrington?”
“I already told the lady cop—”
“Her name is Kylie. Like it says on your watch.” I handed it back to him.
“I already told her. I don’t know where her old man is.”
I unsnapped my handcuff holster and pulled out the cuffs.
“What’s that for?” Baby D said.
“I’m arresting you for selling drugs.”
He laughed. “Dream on, Detective. Do you think I’m stupid enough to be holding?”
“I haven’t quite figured out how stupid you are yet, Damian, but I’m the one who’s holding. I’ve got a baggie with an eight ball of booger sugar right here in my jacket pocket, and when I take you in, I’m going to say you sold it to me.”
“Bullshit. That’s a goddamn lie.”
“You’re right.” I leaned forward and whispered, “I borrowed it from the evidence clerk at my precinct, but I’m going to swear you sold it to me. So either step outside and talk to my partner, or an hour from now your pretty little baby face is going to bring joy to the hearts of a lot of lonely men in a holding cell at Central Booking.”
Drug dealers don’t give up their customers’ whereabouts to the cops. It can be bad for their business. Or their health. Damian stared at me. Was I lying? Or did I really have cocaine in my pocket that I’d say was his?
I gave him my best Clint Eastwood stare back, but I didn’t have the balls to say, “Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya,
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