hip.
I glanced at the gangsta who’d stationed himself on my side. He looked about fifteen and slightly larger than a pet ferret.
The ferret indicated I should lower my window. I ignored him.
The ferret spread his feet, folded his arms, and gave me a hard sunglasses stare. I held the stare a full five seconds, then turned away.
Ten minutes.
The ferret’s counterpart was older and accessorized with enough gold to refinance WorldCom. He tapped the knuckle of an index finger on Woolsey’s window.
“Wassup?” His voice sounded muted inside the closed-up car.
Woolsey and I ignored him.
The kid draped a forearm crossways on Woolsey’s window, bent, and leaned his forehead on it.
“Yo, white sisters. You lookin’ to do some bidness?”
When the kid spoke, only the right half of his face rode along, as though the left suffered from Bell’s palsy, or had sustained an injury that deactivated the nerves on that side.
“You lookin’ fine, pretty mamas. Lower the glass so’s I can talk wit’ chew.”
Woolsey flipped him the bird.
The kid pushed upright with both palms.
Woolsey made a shooing motion with her left hand.
The kid took one step back and gave Woolsey the ghetto glare.
Woolsey glared back.
Eleven minutes.
Bracing his feet, the kid wrapped both hands around Woolsey’s side mirror and turned to her. One half of his mouth smiled. His eyes did not.
I’ll never know if Woolsey was reaching for a gun or reaching for a badge. At that moment Slidell’s Taurus rounded the corner, pulled over, and lurched to a stop behind us.
Though not on the upper end of the IQ curve, the little creeps harassing us could make a cop car a hundred yards off. As the doors of the Taurus flew open, the point men slid from Woolsey’s hood and started moving up the block. Throwing me one last up-yours glance, the ferret joined them.
The tough guy on the driver’s side straightened, formed a pistol with his right hand, and pantomimed a shot at Woolsey. Then he drumslapped the car’s hood several times with his palms, and swaggered off after his buddies.
As Slidell stormed toward us two cruisers pulled in behind the Taurus. Woolsey and I got out of the car.
“Detective Slidell, I’d like you to meet Detective Woolsey,” I said.
Woolsey stuck out a hand. Slidell ignored it.
Woolsey held the proffered hand in the air between them. In my peripheral vision I saw Rinaldi emerge from the Taurus and stick-walk toward us.
“This the detective you’re talking about?” Slidell jammed a thumb toward Woolsey. His face was raspberry and a vein in his forehead was pumping a gusher.
“Calm down or you’re going to blow a valve,” I said.
“Since when do you give a rat’s ass about my valves?”
Slidell turned his scowl on Woolsey.
“You’re on the job?”
“Lancaster.”
“You’ve got no jurisdiction here.”
“Absolutely none.”
That seemed to disarm him some. As Rinaldi joined us, Slidell gave Woolsey’s hand a perfunctory shake. Then Rinaldi and Woolsey shook.
“What’s your interest here?” Slidell yanked out a hanky and did one of his face mops.
“Dr. Brennan and I were having breakfast. You know. Catching up. She asked for transportation to this location.”
“That’s it?”
“That’ll do for now.”
“Uh-huh.” Slidell swiveled to me. “Where’s Tyree?”
I indicated the house behind the black Lexus.
“You’re sure it’s Tyree.”
“It’s Tyree. He went in about fifteen minutes ago.”
