Chapter 21 #2
“I don’t argue with the water cooler, I don’t say nice things about the water cooler.
I have no feelings for the water cooler, except a momentary pulse of appreciation when it does its job and gives me water.
So you’ll do your job, I’ll do mine. We’ll neither argue, nor will I invite you to my third or fourth or fifth wedding, since the water cooler wouldn’t receive an invitation either. ”
“You’d invite me, though, wouldn’t you, Arch?” Fletch’s teasing laughter rolls across the room. “I went to the first two, so I’d feel a certain way if you started excluding me now.”
“Yes,” I hook a thumb in his direction. “I would invite him, because he’s my best friend and I give a shit about his life.
Hell, I’d even invite Officer Clay if my wife insisted on it, since it seems she’s kinda partial to your rookie uniform.
You, however?” I lower my hand. “No. It would be weird for me to invite a water cooler anywhere.”
“You sure carry a lot of anger toward a man whose only crime is being employed by the DEA.” His lips curl into a taunting smirk.
“You know what they say about regular Joe Bloes on the street: if you’re mad at the cops, maybe it’s because you know you’ve done something wrong.
Innocent folks don’t scowl when a badge walks by. ”
“I’m not angry at you. I don’t get angry at water coolers. But I have a problem with dudes like you.”
“Dudes like me?”
“Mm. Ya know, the sneaking, lying, makes-friends-with-my-brother-back-in-the-day, only to disappear and act like he’s superior to us kind.
The kind who looks at my badge and assumes I stole it, or that I bought it with dirty money, instead of stepping back and thinking, ya know what, he’s a damn good cop and he earned it.
The kind who, like me, lives in the shadow of his father’s reputation, but instead of acknowledging that sons shouldn’t be judged by the things their fathers did, you demand no one judges you by yours, but you never shut the fuck up about mine.
” I cast my eyes around the room, to Fletch, whose lips no longer smile, and then to Clay, whose eyes almost bug out of his damn head.
“We all know there’s tension here, and we all know who my daddy was.
Keep on thinking I’m the bad guy if you want, but I don’t accept traitorous, cowardly motherfuckers in my life, and I sure as hell don’t forgive or forget when a man betrays my brothers.
I’m here to do the job, and I’d really like to do it with my partner, not with a fuckin’ water cooler.
If, someday, you feel like climbing off that soapbox of yours and stop screaming about honor and honesty and heritage, then maybe I could stop looking at that tiny freckle right there on your forehead.
” I bring my hand up and point to the small section between my brows.
“I think about putting a bullet there every single day, Banks. I picture how righteous it would feel to watch you bleed out on the concrete, kinda how you and I watched a man bleed out when I was fifteen years old. Timothy smelled a rat in our house, one that regularly leaked intel right back to the feds, so he started shooting guards like he thought he could make dead men confess. I had no clue I was standing next to our leak. In fact, I was so fuckin’ sure you were just a guy, just Felix’s friend, and that my father was being his usual psycho fucking self, that I stepped in front of his gun fully prepared to take that bullet for you.
Lix was laid up in bed, barely able to fucking walk and pissing blood for a month, because he unintentionally told his friend some stuff that ended up in the fed’s hands.
And you still wanna talk to me about honesty?
About integrity?” I shake my head. “That was a dog act and we both know it. So why don’t you shut the fuck up and act right so we can convince Lieutenant Fabian we get along just fine, but not so fine that we could end up partners.
Or…” I fold my arms and look at the still-frozen screen.
“I heard there are a couple of detective slots open over at midtown. I’m not saying Felix shot those motherfuckers in the head, since doing so inside a police station would be in poor taste, but I’m saying I kinda wanna shoot you in yours and make it a happy Malone trifecta.
Do us both a favor, request a transfer, and get the fuck out of my face before I remember that time the red-hot muzzle of my father’s gun burned a hole into my chest because I stood in front of you.
Officer Clay?” I tip my chin toward the screen.
“Let’s get started. The sooner we find Josey’s car, the sooner we can place Scott Prim in the driver’s seat after he killed her. ”
“S-Scott Prim, sir?” He taps a button on the laptop and presses play on the footage. “You’re calling it?”
“Tentatively, because that’s where the evidence is pointing right now.
” Though I peek Fletch’s way. “Part of me wondered if Geoffrey did it, like maybe he heard about the bedroom incident and decided protecting his kid’s reputation and full-ride scholarship was more important than Josey’s right to live.
But then I sat outside a garage in town last night and watched Scott tinker under the hood of a car with his pals. ”
“You sat on him?” His eyes narrow to suspicious slits. “And you didn’t want company?”
“I took my wife out on a date, and we just so happened to park there.” If I’d made it official police business and wanted company, Fabian would’ve put Banks in the other seat.
Not Fletch. And if we had to sit in a car, alone, for a few hours, I’m not entirely convinced we’d both survive.
“I just wanted to get a look at him while he was with his friends. Wanted to see if he was really ambidextrous, or if he favored a certain hand.”
“And?” Clay questions. “What did you conclude, Detective?”