one Parker Center Romeo had moved in with her, only to discover that her personal demands matched her professional compulsions. Shane wondered if her apartment was furnished in relationship failures as his was.
He had grown to despise her in the few months that his case was going through the division. One of his best moments on the job was seconds after his not-guilty verdict had come in. He looked over and saw such distress on Alexa's face that it gave him a moment of pure, soul-cleansing vengeance. When she caught him looking, he smiled and surreptitiously flipped her the bird.
'I thought you knew,' DeMarco said, interrupting his thoughts. 'She's got your case. She put in for it.'
'You can't be serious,' Shane groaned.
'Yeah. If at first you don't succeed, and all that good shit.' DeMarco took another long pull on his beer and let out a deep belch. 'Maybe you shouldn't've flipped her off.'
'Wouldn't matter, she hates me anyway.'
DeMarco went on. 'It's not good that they hopped over your Shooting Review Board and went straight to a BOR. It shows the department is going to war.'
'Why? Barbara Molar is my witness. She'll say what happened.'
'I made a few calls down to my old crew at the Representation Section in Parker Center. The rumor down there is, this whole railroad train is coming right out of Mayor Crispin's office. He wants your balls in his trophy case.'
'Why?'
'Lemme take a wild guess' He drained his beer. 'How 'bout 'cause you lit up his bodyguard. Blew his arithmetic all over that bedroom wall.'
'You gotta help me, Dee. You gotta get me off.'
'I'd like to, Shane. I really would. But frankly, I can't get into that rat race again. Alexa Hamilton is one tough, nail-chewing piece of business. I faced her fifteen or twenty times. Lost more than I won. I don't like it one bit that she's volunteering for this case. That tells me there's a big political payoff somewhere. Maybe lieutenant's bars and a transfer to something sexy like Organized Crime or Special Investigations. Mayweather could set that up for her, no sweat.'
'You're telling me I'm cooked before we even get a hearing?'
'Tell you what… you know Rags Whitman? He's a good defense rep, smarter than me. I used to ram my dick up their asses and piss on their hearts. Ragland, he's mellow, he plays the game Mr. Wheel of Fortune. They like him at Parker Center. I was you, I'd get him to take your case. Ask him to plead you out, see what kinda deal he can get. My bet: maybe he gets you a six-month suspension without pay and no termination.'
'For defending myself from that crazy bastard? What kinda deal is that?'
'You shot Ray Molar. Not a good move, but you got an eyewitness who, we hope, backs you up. You got Ray's bullet in the wall, proving he fired before you got him. You also got Molar's record of spousal abuse. All this is good. On the bad side, you got the fuckin' mayor of L. A. tail-gunning you. You got Chief Brewer with his ears back, and you got some tricky 'undue use of force' statutes that could go against you. Your best bet is to see if Rags can spin the big wheel and plead it down.'
'You won't help me? Come on, Dee, you're off the department. They can't threaten you; they can't get to your pension. What's the problem?'
'I'd. Do it if I could, man. I just can't. I've got no stomach for it anymore. I go down there, and my guts start churning. I'd choke. I hate those pricks worse than the National Anthem. You wanna know why I pulled the pin? It wasn't 'cause I had my thirty in. It was ulcers. My stomach lining looks like a Mexican highway. I can't put myself back in that mess. Go talk to Rags. Get him to negotiate a kick-down.'
Shane stood up and handed DeMarco his half-empty beer. 'Okay,' he finally said. 'Sorry to take up your morning.' Then he turned and walked away, his shoes filling with warm sand as he went.
'Hey, Scully,' DeMarco called, and Shane turned around. 'Whatever you do, don't volunteer to take a polygraph. I think the IA poly is rigged. They use it to get confessions. I've had more than one case where I think I got a bum test.'
'Okay,' Shane answered. 'Thanks for the warning.'
Shane pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the Coast Highway. As he started toward the Santa Monica Freeway, his stomach was churning and he could taste bile in his throat. Then he heard a siren growl and saw a black-and-white behind him with its red lights on. Since he was in a black-and-white slickback, it surprised him that he was being flashed to the curb like a civilian. He pulled over and got out.
A young uniformed cop with two stripes on his sleeve moved up to him.
'What's up, Officer?' Shane asked.
'You Sergeant Scully?' the man asked.
'Yeah.'
'I'm Joe Church. I was ordered to accompany you to Parker Center forthwith. Apparently your mobile data terminal is turned off.'
'They get the gallows up already?' Shane quipped.
'I'm sorry, what, sir?' Officer Church said, deadpan, maybe with a tinge of cold anger.
'Why?' Shane asked. 'What do they want?'
'Chief Brewer wants to see you immediately.' He sort of barked it at Shane.
'Did I do something to piss you off?' Shane asked.
'You wanna follow me?'
'I can make it. You afraid I'll get lost?'
'Why don't you wait till I pull around. Since you haven't got a bar light, I'll put on the flashers and siren. It gets us there faster.'
'You got a siren, how cool. I can hardly wait.'
Shane got back into his unit and waited until the squad car pulled around in front of him. Joe Church growled his siren once, then raced out into the fast lane with Shane behind him.
The two police cars shot up onto the Santa Monica Freeway, heading back to downtown L. A. and Parker Center, Code Three.
Chapter 8
Traffic was jammed up because some jackass had issued a motion-picture permit to an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie that was now shooting on Wilshire at Spring Street. The film crew had moved in downtown, parking their honey wagons, dressing rooms, and sixteen-wheelers up and down the curb on Third, laying out barricades and blocking traffic for ten city blocks. Shane couldn't believe that some dummy in city government had signed a film-location permit that would tie up all of downtown L. A. Twice, Patrolman Church had to get out of his car and talk to an off-duty policeman working for the movie company so they could get through.
After struggling for over forty minutes, they finally drove into the parking structure next to Parker Center. They both found a spot on the top level. Shane got out of his car, and Joe Church immediately joined him.
'Damn movie has this town tied up worse than my colon,'
Church growled as they looked at a low-flying helicopter that was hovering half a block away. There was a cameraman hanging out of the side door in a harness. Suddenly the rotors changed pitch, and the silver-and-red Bell Jet Ranger took off after a car that was speeding down barricaded Main Street after a motorcycle, Arnold Schwarzenegger kicking ass on celluloid.
'Let's go,' Church said, getting back to business, taking Shane by the arm.
'I can make it. Even go to the bathroom now without Mommy's help.'
'Don't be an asshole, Scully. I've got orders.'
Shane decided not to push it, but he pulled his arm free and followed Church into the building.
For the second time in four hours, he found himself back on the ninth floor. They moved off the elevator, onto
