of Mr. Choâs. We got in, he started up.
He put his arm over the seat to back out, his face close to mine, âWhat was it that you were going to talk to me about?â
I was tired and my mind felt full of sludge. âI need your help.â I never intended on telling him, but there was nothing else I could say that he would believe or at least not see right through.
âIâm here for you, man. You know that,â he said.
He steered the car over to Willowbrook Avenue and headed north in the late morning traffic.
âWell, you gonna tell me or sit there like a bump on a log?â
âDetective Mack paid me a visit.â
âAh, shit. I thought I had that fixed. Iâm sorry, man, really. You can bet your ass it wonât happen again. Not after I get through with that little son of a bitch.â
âIâve been thinking about it. If he came at me after you talked to him, talking to him a second time is only going to make things worse. Iâd appreciate it if youâd just lay off him. Maybe heâll cool out all on his own.â I knew that wasnât going to happen, but all I had to do was dodge Mack for another week, and then it just wouldnât matter anymore.
Robby shook his head in disgust. âYou know his kind. Heâs not working the Violent Crimes Team because he shies away from trouble.â
âI know, but I think I can duck him long enough that heâll forget about me.â
âIt really pisses me off he went against my orders. Iâll go along with you, but only on one condition.â
âWhatâs that?â
âIf he catches up to you on some lonely dark street, you leave enough of him for us to identify.â
I smiled. Robby still had far too much confidence in me. I was nothing more than a broken-down, wrong-side-of-forty ex-con.
Before I could say anything in response, he said. âI need your help. Iâm just going to lay it out. I havenât slept in thirty-six hours and Iâm dead on my feet.â
âHelp you how?â
âLike the old days. I need the best of the best to shut down this asshole whoâs torching everyone, and youâre it. He hit again last night, fried another one. Heâs doing it more frequently now.â
âHow can I help? Iâm on parole.â
âI can call in a favor, fix it with your PO. Iâm calling in a lot of favors on this one. All I got.â
âI canât help you, Lieutenant, it would only get us both in trouble and you know it.â
âLike I told you, Iâm so tired I canât see straight. I donât have time to stroke your ego or pat you on the head. You owe me, and Iâm calling in your marker. You know I never intended to do it, but this situation is getting real shitty. You canât imagine the pressure theyâre putting on me.â
I did owe him. Going back a long time. He was a patrol sergeant, and I was new to the streets pushing a radio car in South Central. It was something I didnât want to ever think about, the images of that night. Just the thought of itâher nameâIâd pushed her name out of my memory and wouldnât let it back in.
Robby stopped at a red signal at Compton Avenue. âSay something, Bruno. You know that if you and I team up like the old days, weâd have this son of a bitch all grappled up inside a week. Thatâs all I want from you is one week. One week, pays you up in full.â
On second thought, I really didnât owe him, not after he shot me, though independent of his argument, I did feel the tug of morality, to do what was right.
The signal turned green. We sat at the light. Cars behind us honked. He waited.
I looked at his haggard face, his bloodshot eyes. He looked a thousand years old. Maybe I did owe him for all the times he did what was right to shut down a violent offender in the ghetto. And beyond that, he had done what was right when he went
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