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“You’re the detective in charge?” the mayor asked.
“I am.”
“Could you close the door?”
Billy shrugged. “I could, but I won’t. You already had your jollies tonight. And no offense, but you’re not my type.”
The mayor didn’t see the humor in Billy’s remark. “This is … this is a sensitive situation.”
“For one of us it is.”
“Well—I was wondering if I could get any consideration here.”
“Consideration? I consider you a moron for putting your job in jeopardy for some cheap thrills. I consider you a selfish asswipe for betraying the people who elected you. Will that do it?”
The mayor dropped his head. “I’m a good mayor for this city. I am.”
“You mean when you’re not cutting coppers’ pensions to balance the budget?”
The mayor looked up, sensing an opening. “Maybe we should talk about that,” he said.
“Sure. Let’s grab coffee sometime.”
“No. I mean—maybe that’s something you and I could work out right now.”
Billy squatted down so he was face-to-face with the mayor. “Are you saying if I let you walk, you’ll change your position on our pensions?”
The mayor, ever the politician, his chubby, round face gaining fresh color, looked hopefully into Billy’s eyes. “Well, what if I did say that?” he asked.
“If you said that,” said Billy, “I’d arrest you for attempted bribery, too.”
Billy left the room and found Sosh, a sheen of sweat across his prominent forehead, jacked up over the night’s events. “And here I thought this would be a boring stakeout,” he said. “Wanna go meet the manager of this place? She makes Heidi Fleiss look like a Girl Scout.”
BILLY SPENT THE next hour overseeing the cleanup. Making sure the scene downstairs was captured on video, getting each arrestee on camera, processing names (shockingly, several people gave false ones), and beginning the search for records inside the brownstone.
Once the arrestees were all inside the paddy wagon and the uniforms had their marching orders, Billy found himself with Sosh on the main floor.
“The manager,” Billy said. “Let’s go see her.”
Coming down the stairs, just as they were heading up, was Goldie—Lieutenant Mike Goldberger, Billy’s favorite person on the force, his “rabbi,” his confidant, one of the only people he truly trusted.
“There you are,” Goldie said, slapping his hand into Billy’s. “Big night for you. Just wanted to say congrats. Thought you’d be up there taking the praise.”
“Up there?”
“Oh, yeah. The deputy supe’s up there.”
“He is?”
“Sure. This thing is spreading like wildfire. The Wiz is making it sound like he spearheaded the whole thing. You’d think it was a one-man show starring him.”
“What a prick,” said Sosh.
“Get up there,” said Goldie. “Get some spotlight. I tried to throw your name in there, but the Wiz has sharp elbows. Congrats, again, my boy.”
Gotta love Goldie. Billy and Sosh headed upstairs.
On the top floor, as Goldie said, the deputy superintendent of police was beaming widely, shaking the Wiz’s hand, the other hand clapped on the Wiz’s shoulder. The deputy supe was passed over for the top job by the mayor, so he wouldn’t be the least bit unhappy at seeing the mayor get pinched. No cop would be after the mayor tried to cut police pensions.
