amused. Facil eyed them. “Sorry everyone, I just found this piece of
shit
in my food.” One guy laughed. Smith tried to crawl away, but Facil kicked him in the ass, then kicked him through the room, upending tables and chairs. Rattan and Delmones hooked his arms, but he threw them off. The hostess fled and Facil bombed Smith through the podium into the front door, then stood over him. “Like your new job,
asshole?
” He unleashed a flurry of punches that bounced Smith’s head off the floor, opening up both sides of the man’s skull. Blood splattered. Rattan and Delmones wrestled Facil outside.
They hit the sidewalk as a squad car roared to the curb. A jogger swerved to avoid them, never breaking stride. They let Facil go. The cops looked familiar.
Carmichael and DiCenzo.
Rattan jammed a finger at Facil. “Cuff him!” They hesitated.
Delmones lowered his voice. “Don’t make it a show, Darrin.”
Rattan exploded. “Don’t make it a
show? Too late, it’s
fucking Broadway! Did you see that performance in there?!”
Then, to the rookies. “What the fuck are you waiting for, I said
cuff him!”
Carmichael slapped them on. Rattan took the gun from Facil’s shoulder holster. “They’ll collect your badge at the station, LeTour.”
The rookies eased Facil into the squad car as an ambulance pulled up behind them, siren blasting until the Chief made a slashing motion across his throat. “We have an agent down inside, possible head injury,” he barked.
The medics rushed past the hostess, who’d come out to smoke and eavesdrop. She held the door as they hustled in and huddled over Smith, who lay motionless.
Delmones approached her with his card. “If anyone from the press tries to talk to you, I’d like you to call me first, okay?”
She took a drag, then the card. “Mm-kay.”
He smiled. “What’s your name?”
* * * *
DiCenzo got behind the wheel, eyeing Facil in the rearview. “So, the legend’s true.”
Carmichael settled into the passenger seat, making sure the Chief wasn’t watching. “You gotta tell us what went down, sir. If you
can
, I mean.”
Facil leaned close to the cage separating them. “Can we make a quick stop before processing?”
“Name it,” Carmichael shot back.
“Take me in, and make sure no one gets in the elevator with us.”
The rookies exchanged a look. DiCenzo hit the gas.
Welcome to the Big Time.
9
----
A Hazmat-suited duo aimed paint spray guns at the Overlook den’s bloodied walls, squeezing the triggers and hosing the room in white. The bar, furniture, curtains, and chandelier had all been removed. The floor and windows were covered with precision-taped clear plastic. The men wore safety goggles and surgical masks, working in silence on opposite sides of the room, their backs to each other. Shortly, there’d be no evidence of the previous night’s mayhem. Upstairs, in one of several guest bedrooms, a very different scene was playing out.
Tall, dark, dangerous Robert sat at the edge of a king-sized bed. The walls, floor, and furniture were covered in the same clear plastic being used downstairs, but the bed was made up in ornate red down and plush pillows. Robert was in bad shape. Naked, save for a band-aid on the bridge of his nose, both eyes blackened and nearly swollen shut. He was toothless, bloody gums still throbbing behind split lips. A teenaged girl sat beside him, her small pale hand in his lap, stroking his flaccid cock dutifully. She chewed gum absently, wore pewter mallrat rings on every finger and equally cheap bracelets on both wrists. She was a boulevard punk, tousled hair bottled five different colors with dirty blonde truth showing at the scalp. She wore no lipstick, and too much sparkly eye shadow on two big blue pools. With a shower, delousing, and rehab, she’d still pass for the girl next door. But that was in a what-if lifetime, not her current one, so there she was—staring blankly into a security camera, while masturbating a
shit
in my food.” One guy laughed. Smith tried to crawl away, but Facil kicked him in the ass, then kicked him through the room, upending tables and chairs. Rattan and Delmones hooked his arms, but he threw them off. The hostess fled and Facil bombed Smith through the podium into the front door, then stood over him. “Like your new job,
asshole?
” He unleashed a flurry of punches that bounced Smith’s head off the floor, opening up both sides of the man’s skull. Blood splattered. Rattan and Delmones wrestled Facil outside.
They hit the sidewalk as a squad car roared to the curb. A jogger swerved to avoid them, never breaking stride. They let Facil go. The cops looked familiar.
Carmichael and DiCenzo.
Rattan jammed a finger at Facil. “Cuff him!” They hesitated.
Delmones lowered his voice. “Don’t make it a show, Darrin.”
Rattan exploded. “Don’t make it a
show? Too late, it’s
fucking Broadway! Did you see that performance in there?!”
Then, to the rookies. “What the fuck are you waiting for, I said
cuff him!”
Carmichael slapped them on. Rattan took the gun from Facil’s shoulder holster. “They’ll collect your badge at the station, LeTour.”
The rookies eased Facil into the squad car as an ambulance pulled up behind them, siren blasting until the Chief made a slashing motion across his throat. “We have an agent down inside, possible head injury,” he barked.
The medics rushed past the hostess, who’d come out to smoke and eavesdrop. She held the door as they hustled in and huddled over Smith, who lay motionless.
Delmones approached her with his card. “If anyone from the press tries to talk to you, I’d like you to call me first, okay?”
She took a drag, then the card. “Mm-kay.”
He smiled. “What’s your name?”
* * * *
DiCenzo got behind the wheel, eyeing Facil in the rearview. “So, the legend’s true.”
Carmichael settled into the passenger seat, making sure the Chief wasn’t watching. “You gotta tell us what went down, sir. If you
can
, I mean.”
Facil leaned close to the cage separating them. “Can we make a quick stop before processing?”
“Name it,” Carmichael shot back.
“Take me in, and make sure no one gets in the elevator with us.”
The rookies exchanged a look. DiCenzo hit the gas.
Welcome to the Big Time.
9
----
A Hazmat-suited duo aimed paint spray guns at the Overlook den’s bloodied walls, squeezing the triggers and hosing the room in white. The bar, furniture, curtains, and chandelier had all been removed. The floor and windows were covered with precision-taped clear plastic. The men wore safety goggles and surgical masks, working in silence on opposite sides of the room, their backs to each other. Shortly, there’d be no evidence of the previous night’s mayhem. Upstairs, in one of several guest bedrooms, a very different scene was playing out.
Tall, dark, dangerous Robert sat at the edge of a king-sized bed. The walls, floor, and furniture were covered in the same clear plastic being used downstairs, but the bed was made up in ornate red down and plush pillows. Robert was in bad shape. Naked, save for a band-aid on the bridge of his nose, both eyes blackened and nearly swollen shut. He was toothless, bloody gums still throbbing behind split lips. A teenaged girl sat beside him, her small pale hand in his lap, stroking his flaccid cock dutifully. She chewed gum absently, wore pewter mallrat rings on every finger and equally cheap bracelets on both wrists. She was a boulevard punk, tousled hair bottled five different colors with dirty blonde truth showing at the scalp. She wore no lipstick, and too much sparkly eye shadow on two big blue pools. With a shower, delousing, and rehab, she’d still pass for the girl next door. But that was in a what-if lifetime, not her current one, so there she was—staring blankly into a security camera, while masturbating a
Similar Books
