Nocturnal: A Novel

administration area and toward the main door.

“Pooks, you want to ease up on—”

Pookie suddenly stopped and turned. His nose was only an inch from Bryan’s. His eyes went wide with anger and frustration.

“Bryan, not another word until we get where we’re going, you got it?”

His partner was furious, maybe even madder than Bryan was if such a thing was possible. He’d never seen Pookie like this.

“Sure,” Bryan said. “Where are we going?”

“We’re making a social call. Time to gather the troops.”

Robin Has House Guests

Emma ran to the apartment door, skidding across the hardwood floor as she slid to a stop. She jammed her nose at the base of the door, her tail moving faster than her butt could manage. Usually, the dog barked like mad when someone knocked — but not when that someone was Bryan.

Robin opened her apartment door to a bleary-eyed Pookie and an intensely focused Bryan. She’d seen Bryan like that before, usually on a big case, usually when he felt he was tightening the noose on a suspect. Emma barked once at Pookie, then alternately turned in circles and threw herself against Bryan’s legs.

Bryan reached down and picked the dog up, holding her under the front arms. Her rear legs dangled, unmoving. The position looked uncomfortable, but he’d always held Emma that way and she didn’t seem to mind. Her tail moved a mile a minute and her tongue flicked at Bryan’s face.

“Oh, knock it off, Emma-Boo,” Bryan said, turning his face away. “I missed you, too.”

Pookie stepped in and gave Robin a hug. “Robin Bo-Bobbin, how are ya?”

“I have no idea how I am,” she said. “And I still don’t know what happened in the morgue.” She leaned in and spoke quietly: “John’s already here. He’s pretty upset.”

Pookie sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure he is. I didn’t give him much of a choice, you know? I bet he hasn’t been out at night in six years.”

Bryan let out a huff of disgust, set Emma down and walked into the dining room.

Was he really that insensitive to John’s phobia? “Pooks, what’s Bryan’s problem?”

“Mister Fearless doesn’t have much tolerance for us mere mortals.”

Robin crossed her arms. She didn’t like the thought of Bryan being that callous. “Well, Mister Fearless seems to have developed some fears of his own.”

Pookie nodded. “That he has, my dear. You tell John about the Zed chromosome like I asked?”

“I did. I’m not sure if he believes me. I think he’s waiting for a punch line or something.”

“Yeah, it’s a regular laugh-riot,” Pookie said. “I think we should get this party started.” He held out a hand, gesturing ladies first.

Robin walked into the dining room. Bryan was already seated at the table, as was John Smith. Emma’s front paws were on Bryan’s thigh, and she kept pointing her nose up to kiss his face. Bryan basically ignored it, letting the dog do her worst. John still hadn’t taken off his dark-purple motorcycle jacket. His chin hung down to his chest, and his helmet was right next to his chair as if he wanted to keep it close in case he needed a quick getaway.

Pookie sat, as did Robin. She suddenly realized how messy the apartment looked — dishes in the sink, dog hair on the carpet. She knew she had more important things to worry about at the moment, but still … Bryan’s first visit here in six months, and she hadn’t had time to pick up for him. He was so focused, however, she probably could have painted the place pink for all he’d notice.

“Robin,” Pookie said. “You got any beer?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

He smiled. “It’s happy hour somewhere.”

Bryan stood and walked into the open kitchen. He grabbed a bottle opener out of a kitchen drawer, then reached into the fridge and came out with four Stellas. He opened the beers, passed them around before he sat down again. He did all this with automatic ease, like he’d never moved out at all.

“Zou’s crooked,” he said. “We know it for sure.”

John lifted his head and crossed his arms, making his leather sleeves creak. “What, exactly, do we know?”

Bryan looked at Pookie.

Pookie shrugged. “Tell ’em. They might as well know what we’re asking of them.”

Robin listened as Bryan talked about what had gone down in the private autopsy room. The more he said, the angrier she became. When he finished, Robin had an urge to find Chief Zou and punch her right in the nose.

“So she used the word prison?” Robin said. “That was her actual word?”

Bryan nodded. “Not a lot of gray area.”

Robin believed Bryan and Pookie, and yet … the concept of Chief Zou threatening her own people seemed beyond the realm of plausibility. “Can she do that? Could she cook the books and get you accused of something?”

Pookie laughed and shook his head. “Hey, Robin, you like that guy Metz?”

She nodded.

“So do DAs, judges and juries,” he said. “What do you think will happen if the Silver Eagle delivers evidence that implicates Bryan?”

Robin said nothing. She wanted to say Metz would never do something like that, but after what she’d seen in the morgue a few hours earlier, she wasn’t sure.

John nodded. “Pookie’s right about that. Heck, Metz could get Jesus thrown in jail. All right, Terminator, looks like you’re screwed if you don’t back off. So back off.”

Bryan shook his head. “Vigilantes don’t get to decide who lives and who dies. I don’t care if it sounds corny — I took an oath to uphold the law, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

She knew that was no idle promise. The look in his eyes … he was going after the chief of police, the mayor of San Francisco, the chief medical examiner and anyone else who had helped them. He wanted it so bad she could almost see it burning off of him like a corona. What was it about this case that made it so deeply personal to him?

Hadn’t she put her career in jeopardy enough for one night? She could just ask them to leave. Robin had worked her ass off for years; if that effort wasn’t already lost, it surely would be if she helped Bryan and Pookie go after Zou. Not just Zou … they would be going after Metz as well. Metz, her mentor, her friend. But if Zou and Metz were crooked, if they were covering up murders, how could Robin ignore that?

“Hypothetically, let’s say John and I help you,” she said. “What would you need from us?”

Bryan again looked to Pookie. Pookie leaned forward, spoke directly to John.

“Mister Burns, we need your help, but it doesn’t look like Zou knows you’re involved yet. You back out now, you’re probably fine. But if you keep poking your long, hooked nose into things, Zou will be on you like ugly on a baboon’s ass.”

John stared back, thinking. “What happens if she finds out I’m helping you guys?”

“I think you lose your privileged position in the Gang Task Force,” Pookie said. “She might make you walk a beat in the ’Loin.”

Robin hissed in a breath. The Tenderloin was where John had been shot.

John looked down to the table. “I have trouble even leaving my apartment,” he said. “Took everything I had just to drive here. If it wasn’t for Zou, I wouldn’t even be a cop anymore.”

Robin’s heart broke for the man. Pookie and Bryan were asking him to put everything on the line against a woman who had backed him in his time of need.

John sighed and nodded. “I owe her, but I won’t stand behind her if she’s breaking the law. I’ll help.”

Bryan smiled as if he were pleasantly surprised. He tipped the neck of his beer bottle toward John. John raised his own bottle and they clinked — the equivalent of a blood contract in man speak, apparently.

Robin felt a bit of shame. She was a doctor; she could get a job anywhere. If this went wrong, John’s career would be over, and yet he was willing to do the right thing. She had to step up.

“I’m in,” she said.