First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [59]
One of Gus's regulars is a detective by the name of Stanz. His face is as crumpled as a used napkin; his shoulders as meaty as a veteran boxer. His nose is a mess, broken in street brawls when he was Jack's age and never properly fixed. He smokes like a demon, speaks as if his throat is perpetually clogged with tar and nicotine.
Decades on the force haven't dimmed his clothes sense. He opens the button on his smartly tailored suit jacket, lifts his trouser legs fractionally before he sits down on the sofa. He lights an unfiltered Camel, inhales mightily.
"You did good on the Gonzalez thing." He hands a thick white envelope to Gus. "That particular sonovabitch won't be making money off coke or anything else for the foreseeable future."
"We aim to please." Gus stuffs the envelope in a pocket without opening it. Obviously, he trusts Stanz.
"Speaking of which." The detective picks a piece of tobacco off the tip of his tongue. "My boss is on my ass like you wouldn't believe about the deuce murders over McMillan Reservoir."
Gus frowns. "I tol' you. I'm workin' on it."
"Working's not good enough." Stanz hunches forward, perching on the edge of the sofa. "These past three weeks my life's been a living hell—no sleep, no downtime—I can't even get my usual tug-and-tickle, for fuck's sake. You know what that does to a man my age? My prostate feels as big as a goddamn softball."
The ash trembles precariously at the end of his Camel. "My tit's in the fire, Gus. Three weeks of interviewing, reinterviewing, poring over old cases, canvassing the neighborhood, scouring every fucking trash can and Dumpster for the knife or whatever the fuck sharp instrument was used to kill the vics. I feel like I've run the marathon, and what do I got to put in the report to my loo? What's he gonna report to the chief of detectives? What's the chief gonna say to the commish and the mayor? You see the bind I'm in? All that goddamn pressure has more than a trickle-down effect. I'm the guy where the shitstorm's gonna hit."
He grinds out his Camel, stands. "Get me the name of the perp." He points at Gus. "Otherwise I'm pulling my business, and where I go everyone else is gonna follow."
Gus's eyes go hooded, and Jack, feeling the dangerous crackle of heat lightning in the room, involuntarily takes a step back.
Gus says in the lazy voice that Jack has already determined means trouble, "You been on the force—what?—thirty years now?"
"Thirty-three, to be exact."
"No." Gus shakes his head. "Thirty-three years, eight months, seventeen days."
Stanz stares, blinking. He has no idea where this is going, the lug. But Jack does, and he can't help smiling a secret smile.
"That's a long time," Gus drawls. "Lotta shit piles up in those years."
Understanding comes at last to Stanz. "Now, wait a minute."
"Five years ago, the Ochoa takedown," Gus continues as if Stanz hasn't said a word. "Along with the thirty kees of coke, twenty-five mil was found with him, but only twenty-three made it into the police evidence room. Eighteen months ago, a Hispanic down. Forensics found a gun in his hand, but we both know that when you shot him he was unarmed, 'cause you bought the gun from me. And, my goodness, I have the paperwork to prove it."
Stanz's face is flushed red. "Hey, you told me—"
"This's a game you don't wanna be playin' with me." Gus's inner rage has boiled up into his eyes.
Stanz turns away for a moment, gathering himself. At length, he says, "I'd never threaten you, Gus. You know that, we go back a long way."
Gus's bulk fills up the space; his rage seems to have sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
Stanz is trying his best not to breathe hard. "We good now?" he asks.
It looks like he can't wait to get the hell out of there.
EIGHTEEN
IS PETE going to be all right?"
"The doctor says he will be," Jack said. "He's been taken to Bethesda Medical. He'll get the best of care."
Jack had volunteered to drive Chris Armitage home. A fine mesh of sleet slanted down from a pewter sky. The car's tires made