out until his eyes popped clear of his skull. Based on his partner’s forced smile, I think she might have thanked me. How did she put up with this guy day-to-day? Maybe earplugs were standard issue for duty officers with assbag partners.
The squad car exited onto the gridded downtown streets and we pulled into the garage at the San Diego Central Jail. Same as I remembered. It looked like a fancy office building on the outside. You might easily mistake it for a place where people in suits and slacks made money hand over fist. That was a lie. On the inside, from what I remembered, it was getting old. Too dark, too dreary, too dirty. I guess that was fitting. The peeling paint and cement decor went with the broken-down people inside.
When Ruiz opened my door, I gave him a friendly nod and a flat smirk, letting him know I wasn’t going to hassle him. He wasn’t worth the trouble. We both knew he held the leash. I stood up to my full height.
“You’re a big one, aren’t you,” Ruiz jabbed.
Okay, he was one of those alpha-dick hotheads. No reason to rile him up. I kept quiet. The female officer came around the car. “You gonna be able to handle him, Ruiz?” she cackled.
Ruiz scoffed. “Don’t start punkin’ me, Fowler. Sissy boy like this? I’ll keep him in line.”
This guy Ruiz was shorter than me, maybe six foot, but he had a small man’s complex all the same. Around me, anyway. They usually did. I arched a brow at Ruiz’s comment, but dropped it before he could see my casual contempt and pounce on it. Guys like him were always looking for an excuse.
“If he gets uppity, I’ll whip out some lightning bolts on his ass.” Ruiz gave me the mad-dog crazy eyes, toying with me.
“You mean you’ll pull your taser?” Fowler prodded, questioning Ruiz’s manhood.
“Hell no! I don’t need it. I can
I ignored Ruiz and looked at Fowler. She was kind of cute, with her hair bunned up tight. Had that sexy cop thing going. She had penciled-on eyebrows and wore makeup. A woman who cared about her looks. Her uniform looked tailored to fit her flowing curves and her chest pushed out her kevlar vest substantially. I gave her a mischievous smirk, flashing some dimple. I was all about the more honey approach. If I sweetened up Fowler, maybe she’d run defense between me and Hothead. I could tell Ruiz always brought shit to the party, just so he could swarm all over it.
“Leave him alone, Ruiz,” Fowler laughed, flashing me a smile, which I reciprocated.
It worked every time.
They led me up to the bulletproof doors and we were buzzed in. The relative quiet outside was shattered by howling, screaming humanity inside. A huge fat guy with no shirt and no shoes flailed on the painted cement floor. Probably tripping on meth. Four officers dog-piled him, broiling with professionally restrained rage. Eventually, they cuffed him and zip-tied his ankles, trussing him up. They picked up the perp and carried him through a steel door.
“We gonna have to do you like that, junior?” Ruiz asked me.
“Not me, sir.” I smiled at Fowler when I said it. She liked it. Her duty face went soft, like a teenybopper on a dream date with her favorite heartthrob. I took a moment to silently thank both my parents for good genes.
Ruiz caught my exchange with Fowler. “I hope not, son.” He may not have been able to articulate what had just happened, but he sensed it, like a starving wolf. He probably had a secret thing for Fowler. I’m sure most of the squad did, by the looks of her.
Fowler placed her hand gently on my right triceps. Her touch was nearly a caress. “I don’t think you have to worry about this one,” she said warmly, beaming up at me.
I smiled back. Jedi mind tricks were the most effective form of combat, I’d learned. You can’t make my looks go away with threatening insults or manhandling. Ruiz was out of this game, benched on a technical foul.
Fowler’s eyes searched mine eagerly. I milked it.
Ruiz scowled while he scrutinized the two of us. Jaw muscles fluttering angrily, he finally cracked. With a grunt, he spun on his heel and stormed up to the desk sergeant, defeated.
I felt bad for Fowler. I’d probably never see her again and she’d be stuck with Ruiz for a partner for who knew how long.
Sometime later, I was led into a white-box interrogation room by two detectives. A round black table with a phone on top sat between us. They’d been drilling me with questions for hours.
I hadn’t said shit.
One detective, who had identified himself as Kurt Hewitt, wore a white, too-tight button down shirt. The collar dug into his soft neck and flesh spilled over the sides. He looked ready to pop. He glared at me, “The victim has positively IDed you from the mug book, Christos,” he said firmly. “We have witnesses putting you at the scene on the Pacific Coast Highway this morning. We know it was you who beat the guy up then fled.”
“Quit stalling and give us something we can work with,” Hewitt finished, “so we can help you help yourself.”
That was a riot. He wasn’t here to pamper my ass, and we both knew it. All he wanted was for me to slip up and spill some incriminating information, that was it.
“Tell us what happened, in your own words,” the other detective, named Andy Vaughn, said calmly, “and maybe we’ll let you go home tonight.”
I knew that was bullshit.
Vaughn pushed a yellow legal pad and a ball point across the table. He smiled at me like we were best friends.
I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “I need to talk to my lawyer.”
Hewitt exchanged a look with Vaughn. Vaughn nodded at him.
“Fine,” Hewitt sneered and stood up, jamming his hands in his front pockets. “Call him.”
Vaughn slid the phone across the table and handed me the receiver.
I dialed my lawyer’s number from memory. I’d used it enough times to know it by heart. He picked up after three rings. “Merriweather.”
“Hey, Russell. It’s Christos.” I’d known Russell since I was sixteen, from the first of many times he’d saved my ass.
“Christos! Sonuvabitch,” Russell said cheerily, “whatchoo doing calling me up this late? Better be good news.”
I chuckled. “No doubt.” Silence lingered.
Vaughn stood up, seemingly to give me some space. Both he and Hewitt remained in the room, leaning against the walls, watching me like hawks, waiting for me to incriminate myself so they could get their talons in me after the call.
“You’re in the can again, aren’t you?” Russell asked matter-of-factly.
“Yup.”
I heard a long sigh on the other end of the phone. “Christos Mother-fucking Manos, when you going to learn to behave like an adult?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I oughta whup your ass, son. What is it this time? You roll your Camaro street racing? Wheelies on Garnet to impress the ladies?”
“The charges are assault. And battery. Felony battery.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Son, you lucky you locked up, otherwise I’d get in my car and drive down there and break your face myself. When you gonna learn?”
“Like I said, I’m working on it.” Russell hadn’t had to save my ass in two years. I thought I was doing pretty good.
“You want me to call your grandfather?”
“Don’t tell him. He’ll be less worried that I don’t come home than if he finds out I’m locked up.”
“You sure?”
