Sinclair hung back with Toby as Allen and I entered the station. Where I had expected the bustle of nighttime patrols, I instead saw every single seat occupied by a constable sifting through what looked like enough paperwork to crush a horse. To call this an inspection was an under-statement; considering all the stress everyone seemed to be under, it felt more like a goddamn tax collection.
Robins’s office wasn’t much better. Files and papers were strewn across his desk, the floor, even taped to the walls. Robins was reclining in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Beside him, a man wearing a dark overcoat was scanning some of the files. The whole place felt ready to go off at the slightest inconvenience.
Robins shot me a glance that indicated that I should have called ahead. The other man glanced up before croaking out what sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a cough. “We aren’t expecting any callers. You’ve been out for a while, haven’t you?” Posh, well spoken with a hint of condescension … and yet I sensed some nervousness. Definitely a G-man.
Robins would appreciate me playing it up. I needed an inside look at what they knew and to see if I couldn’t get paid sooner. “I’ve, uh, been on a stakeout for a few days, near a speakeasy. Anything the matter?”
“The matter is, I have dozens of constables who need a careful watch, and I haven’t the time or manpower to carry out that order. We — and by we, I mean me and my associates in the FBI — need to be one hundred percent certain that you’re still here to serve and protect the right people. This simply isn’t efficient in the slightest, and we’ve been racking our brains trying to solve an unsolvable problem. Have you got a name, Constable?”
I couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been sifting through the files and found something saying that I was retired.
“Stern,” I said. “Detective Andrew Stern. These are my partners, Allen and Toby — the Automatics — and Paddy … er, Patrick Sinclair.”
“Agent Ewalt, acting on behalf of Agent Masters for this inspection.”
My eyebrows popped up at the mention of the name.
“I had the pleasure of meeting Detective Sinclair a while ago, back in Rotorbird training. Ace pilot, he is. Surprised you’re stuck here, though. You should be flying paramilitary, or even executives up on the Plate,” the Black Hat said, grinning.
Sinclair’s expression was equally jolly. “My heart is in the city, sir, born and raised. Sometimes the grass is only greener ’cause of paint,” he said, half kidding, half sincere. “How’s your little operation been rollin’?”
“No progress. We’ve been here for hours, and nothing. There was some shooting down near Times Square that riled up all my bosses, in case you hadn’t heard, Stern — and now the bigwigs want me planted here until we can better assess the threats rooted around the city and see whether the 5th is doing its job. Problem is that Masters has gone AWOL, and I’ve got no way to raise him. If he doesn’t get back in a few hours, we’ll need to pull out and reorganize this venture … and think of a fitting punishment for Masters for his vanishing act.”
“But he’s your superior — do you have that right?” I asked.
“This is the FBI, son. We can do much more than you can, especially concerning our superiors. Now, if you’ll excuse me … and get those Blue-eyes out of here unless you plan on Greening them!”
I snapped my fingers and Allen and Toby silently retreated. The former was proper and well-mannered about it, while the latter, I could tell, wanted to spit on the floor.
Robins was unnaturally silent — eerily so, actually. I’d never seen him like that. Sinclair offered to help the G-man find whatever he was searching for, while Robins stumbled from his chair and followed me and Allen out of his office, out of earshot of the Fed. He seemed more stressed than usual — due to the piles of paperwork, no doubt. And my sudden appearance at the precinct would have made things worse.
“What the hell is this, Roche? I know you popped those bullets last night, and you hanging around here ain’t exactly lying low.”
“Robins, I think we have our man.” Relief appeared on his face. “It’s a racketeer group. They’ve been cutting loose ends, and the two dead badges were supposedly in on it somehow. Belik is leading them — he used to run with the 5th, I think.”
“Belik left the Force five years ago,” Robins said. “Said some ‘business venture’ picked up and led him to be filthy rich. I didn’t expect him to run down that road, though.” He leaned his big frame against the wall for a moment before straightening back up. “So, do you have evidence? I can’t put together much of a court case without any damning proof.”
“I have some unofficial statements and a smuggling presence in Chelsea Docks that Toby scouted out. You can confirm everything with Allen if you —”
“Allen?”
“Forty-One. Whatever. I gave it a better name. It looks like an Allen. You gotta admit that, at least.” Robins peered at my partner and chuckled. “Allen has everything you need,” I continued. “It’s been on my heels since you put me in charge of it. Toby was an immense help as well … there’s a lot of evidence that it’s helped me retrieve.”
“Toby, that funny tin can.” We both grinned. At least Toby wasn’t easily forgotten. “What happened to him — it, sorry — when it left the Force after Second Prohibition?”
“It works construction for GE now, apparently. The job pays so well it turned to bootleggers to get quality parts, so that should tell you about its situation.”
“I’d have Toby back on the Force in an instant if the FBI would let me. Bless that metal soul. But I’m glad its situation led
