Cop Town: A Novel Page 10

  Contrary to Cal Vick’s warning about cowboys, they’d all declared open season on the population. Maggie had stopped counting the radio requests for paddy wagons when the number reached ten. There probably wasn’t a black man in Atlanta who wouldn’t be fingerprinted by the end of the day. The mayor would be wise to stay in his office.

  “Hello,” Maggie mumbled to herself. She tapped the brakes, slowing the car.

  There was a suspicious-looking man walking down the street. Young, white, clean-cut. None of the things that belonged in this neighborhood.

  He was wearing a long coat that was meant for a taller man. The hem hit just above his brown loafers, showing spindly ankles with no socks. His hands were tucked deep into the pockets. His shoulders were stooped. Maggie couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something about the way he was walking that didn’t sit right. She slowed the car to a crawl, trailing behind him like she could sneak up on the guy in a twenty-five-hundred-pound police car.

  The man didn’t turn around. He didn’t run. He didn’t pick up his pace. His hands stayed fisted in his coat pockets, but that could be because of the wind. Or because he had something in one of his hands. A gun? Not this kid. Maybe a bag of weed or an eight ball.

  Maggie whooped the siren. He didn’t jump, which irritated her because it meant that he knew she was there, and if he knew she was there, he should’ve turned around.

  And he sure as hell should not have kept walking.

  She punched the gas and pulled a few yards ahead of him. By the time Maggie got out of the car, the guy already had an annoyed look on his face, like he had every reason to be in the street wearing a raincoat he’d probably stolen off a homeless man.

  Maggie blocked his path. Up close, she changed her estimation. Not so clean-cut. Not so innocuous. She snapped open her holster. She rested her hand on her revolver. “Did you see me behind you? Did you hear the siren?

  “I assumed you were—”

  “Shut up and listen to me.” That got his attention. His jaw tightened. He gave her a hostile look. Maggie said, “Very slowly, I want you to use only the tips of your fingers to pull your pockets inside out.”

  He moved quickly. She pulled her revolver, cocked the hammer.

  He gave her a weak smile. “Really, Officer, this is a misunderstanding.”

  Just the sound of his voice sent up all kinds of flags. He might have been unshaven, but his accent shouted rich white Yankee. “Yeah. You misunderstand who’s in charge here. Pockets. Slowly.”

  He used the tips of his fingers to pull out the pockets. A used Kleenex fell to the ground. A penny. Loose tobacco. His hands were empty. He was probably a little younger than Maggie. His hair was trimmed well above the collar, sideburns short. The peach fuzz on his chin made his round face look younger.

  She asked, “You got any ID on you?”

  He shook his head. His eyes looked down, but there was nothing meek about him.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Harry Angstrom.”

  “You think I’ve never read John Updike?” He started to respond, but she stopped him before he could lie again. “Let’s call you London Fog, all right?”

  He glanced up, then quickly looked down again. She thought that he was looking at his feet. He was actually looking at her gun.

  She said, “Why don’t you unbutton your coat for me, London Fog?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Unbutton your coat.”

  “Lady, you don’t want me to—”

  She used her cop voice. “Unbutton your coat now.”

  He took his time, starting at the top. The coat was shabby, definitely not the kind of thing this kid would have hanging in his closet. When the third button opened, she saw his hairless white belly.

  “Stop.” She had definitely seen enough. “Where are your clothes?”

  He didn’t answer, just kept looking down at her gun.

  She slid her revolver back into the holster. Her hand rested on the grip. “You’re a student at Georgia Tech.” He looked up, surprised, but it didn’t take Perry Mason to notice that the university was just across the interstate. “You came over here for some fun. You met a date. You drank too much, maybe smoked too much?”

  He kept his expression neutral.

  “She wanted to renegotiate the price? She robbed you?” Again, he didn’t respond. “She took your clothes so you would be too embarrassed to file a police report.” Maggie held out one hand like a magician. “And here we are.”

  He looked down at the ground again. She saw his tongue dart out between his teeth.

  “You’re lucky she didn’t stick a knife in you, you know that? Or worse if her pimp had shown up.”

  He kept staring down.

  “Look at me.” She waited until he complied. “You live on an island called Georgia Tech that’s surrounded by a sea of ghettos. They didn’t tell you that during orientation? You can’t see where the grass stops and the dirt starts?”

  There was a subtle shift in the way he was looking at her. Maggie got a weird tingle at the base of her spine. She’d obviously hit a nerve, which opened up a whole new side of this kid that she wasn’t inclined to give a pass.

  He was glaring at her like he wanted to strangle her.

  She glared back like she wanted to shoot him.

  The stalemate was broken when another siren whooped. Maggie waved away the cruiser. She assumed it was Rick and Jake seeing if she needed backup.

  She was wrong.

  Jimmy jumped out of his car the minute the wheels stopped turning. “You need some help?”

  “I got it.”

  Jimmy kept coming.

  Maggie made her voice low as she told London Fog, “I know what you look like. I know where you go to school. I know where you live. Don’t think you’re getting away with something here.”

  He opened his mouth to object, but she talked over him.

  “I ever—ever—see you out here again, I’ll haul you down to jail wearing exactly what you’re wearing right now. You hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  Jimmy thumped the guy in the shoulder. “Yes, ma’am, asshole.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at them both. “Have a good day, Officers.”

  The kid’s tone was ice-cold. Jimmy shoved him hard. “Get outta here, shithead.”

  The kid didn’t argue. He started down the street. Maggie felt her bad feeling get worse. London Fog wasn’t running away. He’d returned to his previous leisurely pace. His hands went into his pockets. He didn’t look back.

  The worst thing you could do in front of a cop was show that you weren’t afraid of them.

  Jimmy said, “What are you doing letting that asshole go?”

  “You’re the one who—”

  “You’ve got your gun cocked in your holster. That’s your gut telling you to take this guy in. Why didn’t you listen to it?”

  Maggie uncocked the hammer on her revolver. She snapped the safety strap closed. “What am I gonna arrest him for, being naked under his clothes?” She looked at the cruiser. The new girl was sitting in the passenger seat. “She didn’t quit yet?”

  He shrugged off the question, giving Maggie an expectant look. “She’s not so bad.”

  “No,” she told him, because she knew how Jimmy’s brain worked. “I’m not gonna take her.”

  “I need to follow up on some leads.”

  “You can do that with her sitting in the car just like I’m sure you’ve been doing all morning.”

  “No,” he insisted. “I can’t.”

  “You heard Cal and Terry this morning. Nobody’s supposed to ride alone today.”

  “You’re alone.”

  “Because I don’t matter.” She pointed out the obvious. “Jimmy, you barely escaped with your life last night.”

  “I’m fine.” He flattened his hand to his leg.

  “You’re limping worse than I’ve seen in years.” She looked down at his hand. He was trying to hide the
dark spot just below his pocket. “Are your pants wet?” She leaned down. “Is that blood?”

  Jimmy pushed her away. “Dammit, Maggie. For once in your life just do what I fucking tell you.” He waved for Kate to get out of the car.

  “I said no.”

  “I didn’t know that word was in your vocabulary.”

  Maggie felt her nostrils flare. This was the third time today that somebody had thrown that in her face. “You shut up.”

  “Or what?”

  Kate was a few feet away. She wouldn’t look at either of them. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  “Her car,” Jimmy ordered.

  Maggie waited until Kate had closed the door. She told her brother, “You’re an asshole. You know that?”

  “So I’ve heard.” Jimmy rubbed his jaw. His fingertips brushed his sideburn. She thought about the piece of Don Wesley that their mother had found on his face this morning.

  She asked, “What happened to your radio?”

  “It’s right here.” He pointed to his back. The transmitter was so new it practically gleamed.

  “I mean your radio from last night.”

  There was a flash of alarm in Jimmy’s eyes.

  “You didn’t call it in when Don got shot.”

  His left shoulder went up in a shrug.

  “You lied in your report. You weren’t standing any feet away. You were right beside Don when he got hit. Inches, not feet.”

  Jimmy’s face drained of color like water from a can of greens.

  Maggie stepped closer, crowding his space. “You got splattered with his blood. I saw it, Jimmy.”

  “Stop being dramatic.”

  “It was all over you.”

  “And?”

  “You jumped for cover, but you didn’t shoot back.” Maggie should’ve stopped, but she kept going. “I checked your gun this morning. You never fired it.”

  “You checked up on me?”

  “You lied about what happened because you didn’t wanna admit that you froze, which makes you a coward who let a cop killer get away.”

  She waited for Jimmy’s anger to erupt. It didn’t. Instead of yelling at her or sticking his finger in her face, or pushing her to the ground, he just nodded.

  Or almost nodded.

  He gave a small movement of his head, a barely perceptible acknowledgment that what she was saying was the truth.

  Maggie was speechless. Knowing Jimmy had screwed up and seeing him admit it were two different things. She couldn’t think what to say.

  Jimmy looked out over the interstate. “He’s still dead.” His voice went up a few octaves higher than usual. “No matter what happened, what I did or didn’t do, he’s still dead, and the guy who murdered him is still out there.”

  She stared at her brother. For once, he looked back at her.

  This time, it was Maggie who looked away.

  He said, “You need to listen to your gut.”

  “I don’t need—” She figured out a second too late that he was offering advice, not criticizing. Still, she was a Lawson same as he was. “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

  “I know, kid.” Jimmy chucked her on the chin, then limped back to his car.

  10

  Maggie felt numb as she drove around the city. She couldn’t seem to right herself. All morning she’d been spinning like a top over Jimmy. He was a liar. He was a bad cop, a bad partner. He’d crapped out under fire. He’d let Don die. Her mind had run through all kinds of horrible accusations.

  Now that Jimmy had basically agreed with her, she didn’t know what to do with her anger. The worst part was that Maggie had really hurt him. Not that she hadn’t set out to do that very thing in the first place, but Maggie and Jimmy had an unspoken agreement that they would only inflict surface wounds. Death by a Thousand Cuts was the motto under the Lawson family crest. What she’d done to Jimmy in the street had violated that code. She’d gone too far, cut too deep.

  And Kate Murphy had witnessed the whole thing. How she felt about the exchange was a mystery. The new girl hadn’t said a word since Maggie had gotten into the car. She had just sat there thumbing through the pages in her notebook like she was cramming for a test. She would probably go back to the station tonight and tell everybody she’d heard Maggie curse her brother in the middle of the street. For once, Jimmy had been the quiet one. Cop 101: When someone is screaming at you, keep your tone low and reasonable.

  He’d sandbagged her.

  Maggie slowed for a stoplight. The dry cleaner was just around the corner. She looked at her watch. It was close to noon. She’d used the bathroom at a chicken restaurant before the run-in with Jimmy, but she asked Kate, “You gotta pee?”

  “Yes.”

  She’d answered so quickly that Maggie guessed she’d had to go for a while. “Jimmy wouldn’t stop so you could go?”

  “I didn’t presume to ask him.”

  Maggie bristled at her clipped tone. She glanced over. Everything about this new girl set her on edge. She didn’t have a hair out of place. Her posture was perfect. She had her legs neatly crossed. She kept her radio transmitter in her lap like a diamond-encrusted clutch.

  Maggie said, “You think you can hold it until the shift’s over? That’s only another five and a half hours.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tough gal.” As soon as the words were out, Maggie wanted to scour her mouth with lye. She sounded just like her uncle Terry. If there was anything she feared about this job, it wasn’t the hardness or the lack of dating prospects—it was looking into the mirror one day and seeing her uncle Terry staring back.

  Maggie said, “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  She didn’t know what to say. The point of being silently judgmental was that it was silent.

  Maggie turned into the dry cleaner’s parking lot. “An Italian guy owns this place. It has the cleanest bathroom—maybe the only clean bathroom—within twenty blocks. The next closest is a place called Ollie’s. Owned by an old Pollock. It’s a bar, so don’t go in after five if you’re alone. There’s a chicken joint in the other direction. Not the best, but it’ll due in a pinch.” Maggie put the gear in park. “I’ll show you when we’re out again.”

  “Thank you.” Kate bolted from the car.

  Maggie watched her trot toward the building at a fast clip. The new girl was harder to read after three hours on the streets. Three hours with Jimmy. Maggie wondered how long it would take before the two were going out. Kate was an attractive woman. Jimmy was a handsome man. You didn’t need Barbara Cartland to write that story.

  Maggie clicked the mic on her radio. She called an out-of-service and gave their location. Long after dispatch had given her the okay, Maggie sat in the car thinking about what Gail had said this morning. Jimmy hadn’t called in the shooting. Dispatch had heard about it from a doctor at Grady Hospital. Even if Jimmy had been in a full-on panic, there had to come a time when he snapped out of it and realized he had to do something. He’d carried Don Wesley all the way to the hospital. Why hadn’t he taken two seconds to call it in? Somebody could have met him halfway. Even for a stubborn ass like Jimmy, it didn’t make sense that he hadn’t called for help.

  Unless you took into account the fact that he’d lost his radio.

  Maggie pushed open the car door. She was thinking herself into circles again. And the bigger question about whether or not to meet Gail at the restaurant was still hanging out there.

  She scanned her surroundings as she walked toward the building, her head going back and forth like the glass on a copy machine. She checked the entire front section of the dry cleaner’s. The floor-to-ceiling plate glass wasn’t for show—it was for safety. She drove by here at least twice a day in her cruiser and could see everything going on inside without having to stop.

  The bell over the door rang. Warm, wet air enveloped her as she entered the building.

  “Officer Lawson.” Mr. Salmeri flashed some teeth under his pu
sh-broom of a mustache. “I take it the other lady was with you?”

  “Yeah.” Maggie looked around. Kate had already disappeared into the back. She was probably suffering from uremic poisoning. She’d have to wait another two minutes. Even with practice, that was about how long it took to remove your equipment, your belt, your other belt, your pants, pantyhose, and, unless you’d already started peeing yourself, your underwear.

  Salmeri offered, “I’m sorry for your loss. Officer Wesley was a stand-up guy.”

  “Don was a customer?”

  “No one can beat our police discount.”

  “You’re very generous,” Maggie said, because she knew Salmeri laundered uniforms for half the force. She also knew that no money ever changed hands.

  “I’ve got some of Officer Wesley’s things.” He pressed the button on the rack of clothes and sent them spinning around. “He was just in here last week.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Here we go.” The spinner stopped. Salmeri lifted a bunch of clothes, all still in their plastic bags. Don’s uniform. A couple pairs of bellbottomed pants. A bright blue button-down shirt, the pointed collars nearly touching the embroidered breast pockets.

  “That’s flashy.” Kate came out of the back struggling with her belt, trying to fasten it back around her hips. “Is it Jimmy’s?”

  Maggie laughed at the suggestion. “Jimmy’s wardrobe is black or navy, unless it’s summer, then it’s gray or navy.” She looked at Salmeri. “You sure these are Don’s?”

  Salmeri laid the clothes flat on the counter. He pulled up the bag, then checked the paper tag pinned to the inside collar. “Wesley,” he showed her. “He was a sharp dresser. Brought a lot of interesting clothes in here.”

  Maggie looked at the other clothes hanging on the spinning rack. Don’s weren’t the only flashy duds. “Mr. Salmeri, I don’t want to put you on the spot, but you see a lot of people in here. Not just cops and businessmen.”

  He nodded. “This is true.”

  “Maybe you see people who make their living in nontraditional ways?”

  He smiled. “I’m Italian, sweetheart. You can talk to me about pimps.”

  Maggie smiled back. “I want you to know if you heard something, you could tell me. I could send it up the line. No one would have to know where it came from. I would protect you. And there’s a reward, so …”