Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [43]
The strings snap. I race down to the end of the tunnel and the glass over my eyes shatters. I reach out and flip the pictures over. I look directly at the one-way mirror because I know who’s on the other side.
—They’re not my fucking friends.
And Roman walks in.
Sick Cop and Bored Cop look over and nod at him. Sick Cop takes out a tissue from the little plastic pack in his shirt pocket and blows a hole in it.
—Lieutenant.
Roman makes a little grunt noise and waves the two detectives over to where he stands by the door. The three of them huddle up with their heads close together and suddenly burst into laughter. Sick Cop laughs and chokes on his own phlegm while Bored Cop guffaws and slaps his knee. Roman chuckles and pounds Sick Cop on the back and they all settle down. Then Sick Cop and Bored Cop start picking up their stuff and getting ready to leave. Roman holds the door open for them and, as they exit, he says something else to them I can’t hear and they start laughing all over again. Roman closes the door. He walks over to the table, picks up the full ashtray, takes it to the wastebasket and dumps it out. He walks over to the intercom box next to the door and makes sure it’s off. Then he comes back to the table and sits across from me. He reaches out, scoops the pictures together, taps them into a neat stack, flips through them, places them facedown back on the table, looks me dead in the eye and nods at the pictures.
—I didn’t do this.
Roman is a very good driver. He obeys all traffic laws and, more than that, is courteous to a fault toward other motorists and pedestrians. I admire that. I sit in the passenger seat of his unmarked police car while he drives. My hands are uncuffed and Bud is in my lap. I have not been charged with murder.
I am being held for suspicion of murder, but no official charge has been made. In the meantime, Robbery/Homicide has put me in Detective Lieutenant Roman’s custody because of my connection to a case he is already working on. Any assistance I can give him will only help the disposition of my own situation.
Roman has driven into SoHo. He cruises around, turns onto one of the little cobbled streets, parks and shuts off the motor. The clock in the dash says it’s 1:57 A.M., about eight hours since the cops found me. Roman rolls his window down a bit. The street is very quiet and the loudest noise is Bud’s purring. The animal control people hadn’t arrived at the station to pick him up and, as we were leaving, I saw him curled up on a desk. Roman got him for me along with my personal belongings, which are now in my bag in the backseat. Roman loosens his tie a bit and undoes his top collar button.
—I have a “Contact Officer” attached to your name.
I look at him.
—Anytime your name, the name of one of your associates, or one of a few key addresses pops up on the computer, it’s tagged and they let me know. Same thing with Miner. That’s how I ended up at your apartment in the first place. Miner’s address came in associated with a disturbance and, eventually, someone let me know.
—Clever. I thought it was because you were the one who had just broken in there.
—That too, that too.
He reaches into his jacket, takes something out and hands it to me. It’s Ed’s business card. The one I had in my pocket when I was arrested.
—Did you tell them much?
—Everything.
—The key?
—What about it?
—Do they have the key? Did you give it to them?
It’s another beautiful fall night in Manhattan. The air is clean and there’s a lover’s moon in the sky. It’s Friday night or Saturday morning, depending on your point of view and people are out. Back on my street, things are probably in full swing right now. I like to go out alone on my nights off, play some pool, meet new people, have more than a few. This would be a great night for it.
I look at the empty backseat of the car.
—Where is everybody, Roman?
—The partnership has broken up.
—That sucks.