An almost telepathic communication passed between us:
Noted.
In front of us was a massive glass case, illuminating all types of cute little donuts. They lined up in neat rows as if they were soldiers of confection: Some of them with cream pouring out of the innards, others with dollops of white, chocolate, or yellow frosting.
I went straight to the Boston Cream.
“Oh, I see you got taste,” Claire said with a smile. “Hey buddy, can I get two of those?”
The unenthused employee behind the counter leaned down and began scooping the two pastries into a white bag.
The prickling on the back of my neck intensified, and I knew the skinheads were watching us carefully. I had enough experience at this point to understand when people were merely uneasy in the presence of police, and when they were up to no good.
This time fell into the latter.
“Have a nice day,” the employee said in a flat tone, handing us the bag.
“I’m still amazed at how cheap donuts are!” Claire babbled jovially. “Can you believe this?”
I was still watching the group of skinheads out of the corner of my eye. Part of me wanted to stay and eat here, but the other part of me wanted to return to the car and watch them from there.
I didn’t say anything as Claire continued to babble, leading us out of the Dunkin’ Donuts as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
As soon as we were safely the cop car, the doors cleaved our voices from the outside world. The smile disappeared from Claire’s face.
“You see that shit?” She asked warily, swiveling around to peer out the back window.
I watched through the window as the four skinheads stood up at the same time.
“I didn’t think you saw,” I said.
She hit me playfully on the shoulder. “First rule of being a cop! Always pay attention to your surroundings.”
“Could have fooled me,” I fired back.
“The point was to fool them and make them think that I wasn’t payin’ attention,” she explained. “You were so obvious with your ‘Hurr, I’m a big scary macho cop!”
I chuckled at her impression of me. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Dude, that’s what everyone thinks of you.”
“Good.”
She frowned as we watched the four skinheads leave the restaurant.
“Where you goin’, boys?” She muttered to herself under her breath, a small grin curling on her face.
I could see from the way she was relishing this — feeling the same spike of adrenaline pump through her body — that she, like me, was a natural-born cop — another adrenaline junkie.
Maybe she was more competent than I thought.
“Let’s follow them,” I said. “There’s something they’re hiding.”
The tingling on the back of my neck was prickling me like a pincushion now. The feeling was almost painful.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a playful smile.
I felt heat rush into my cheeks as I thought of Luke last night. I loved it when he called me “sir.” The warm feeling flowing through me only lasted for a second, though, and was replaced by a pang of stark, pointy guilt.
This… this situation me and Claire were in right now, would be precisely the type of thing that would make him worry. It was the type of thing that he would do better not knowing.
Claire tucked into traffic a few cars behind the skinheads’ inconspicuous Toyota Camry. Anticipation was tingling in the air.
A few tense seconds ticked by as the Camry made a right, then a left, then another left.
“You think they know we’re following them?” I asked.
“Probably,” Claire answered softly, her breath puffing from her mouth in a small cloud. “Doesn’t mean we have to stop.”
I was starting to like her.
Another few minutes slugged by as we kept on their tail.
“This area looks familiar,” I said, eyeing the buildings around me.
Though I’d been in New York City for a few months, I could still walk a block away from my regular route and get lost. It made me feel less safe. Less secure. It was a much bigger — and more enjoyable — battleground than my hometown. Still… it made me miss how simple everything was back then. You don’t realize how much you take things like knowing exactly where you are for granted until your environment completely transforms.
I felt like back there, I was a shark in a small pond. Here, I was in an ocean with much bigger sharks.
And it was darker. Scarier. The enemies were more vicious, and there were more places to hide.
“It should look familiar to you — it’s a few blocks from your neighborhood,” she said.
My eyes widened in panic. All I could think of was Luke. What if he was walking home during a break from one of his classes? What if these skinheads drove by him and they were homophobic assholes? Luke didn’t exactly blend in with the straight crowd: He was too fabulous.
All of my senses went on high alert as I clung to one simple command:
Protect Luke.
The Camry pulled to a stop on the side of the road two streets in front of us, and we watched the skinheads get out and pile onto the sidewalk.
Claire pulled the cop car around a corner and parked. We weren’t visible from here.
“Showtime, Big Guy?” She asked with a smile.
Her brown eyes were sparkling with the thrill of the hunt. I’m sure mine reflected it.
“Showtime.”
We got out of the car, stepped onto the sidewalk, and peeked around the corner.
Claire was right — this street was uncomfortably close to my neighborhood.
Even though I did my due diligence and bought my brownstone in a safe area, I knew that there was always a high crime risk in New York City. It was odd that this part of the city was getting riffraff like this, though.
There was a fluttering of movement around the Camry’s trunk, and I saw two of the guys pass something
