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“Are you calling me off?” Billy asked.
“No, no.” The Wiz drew a line in the air. “Absolutely not.”
Absolutely not, because that would be even worse for the Wiz, telling a detective not to investigate a crime because it involved a high-ranking public official. That could mean dismissal from the force, maybe even criminal charges. The Wiz was far too cautious a politician to ever let something like that go on his record.
“Everything you do from this moment on will be carefully scrutinized,” said the Wiz. “Reporters, BIA, the IG, defense lawyers—everyone’s gonna put you under a magnifying glass. You get that, right? I’m just saying it’s okay with me if you don’t wanna push this. If you wanna stick with the murder suspect and leave everything else alone. We’re not Vice cops. We don’t make a habit of arresting johns and hookers.”
Billy didn’t respond, just waited him out.
“You fuck this up,” said the Wiz, “it could be the last arrest you ever make. It could tarnish your father. And your sister. You could get into all kinds of hot water over this. You don’t need it, Billy. You got a bright future.”
When it was clear his speech was finished, Billy turned to the Wiz. “Can I go do my job now?”
The Wiz dismissed him with a scowl a
nd a wave of the hand.
Billy got out of the car into the sting of the cold air and headed for the brownstone.
BILLY AND HIS partner, Detective Kate Fenton, approached the black SUV parked by the corner, the one carrying the mayor’s security detail. Billy approached the driver’s-side door, his star in hand.
The tinted window rolled down. A burly middle-aged man turned toward the detectives as if annoyed.
“You’re parked in front of a fire hydrant,” said Billy.
“We’re security for the mayor.”
“That exempts you from traffic laws?”
The man thought about that answer for a minute. “You want we should move?”
“I want you and your team to step out of the car.”
“Why do we have to get out of the car?”
“You have to get out of the car,” said Billy, “because a police officer told you to.”
The back driver’s-side window rolled down. “I’m Ladis,” the man in the back said. “Former CPD.”
“Good. You can explain to your friends the importance of obeying a lawful police order.”
It took a moment, but all three men emerged from the car. Billy settled on the former cop, Ladis. “How do you contact the mayor? Or how does he contact you?”
Ladis didn’t like the question but reluctantly answered. “He hits the Pound key twice on his phone, or we do the same.”
“Who has that phone?”
Ladis looked at the others. “The three of us and the mayor.”
“Give me your phones. All three of them.”
“Can’t do that.”
Billy stepped closer to Ladis. “We’re taking down that brownstone,” he said. “And we don’t need anyone getting advance notice. Hand over the phones or I’ll arrest you for obstruction, failure to obey, and whatever else I can think of between now and when we pull you up to Area 2 with about a dozen reporters waiting.”
Ladis found that reasoning persuasive, so he and the others handed over their phones. A young officer in uniform jogged up to the SUV. Billy said, “This officer’s gonna stay with you in the car. He’s gonna be upset if any of you try to use any form of communication. Text, e-mail, phone call, anything at all. Just sit in the car and listen to the radio. You get me?”
“I get you,” said Ladis.
