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“French has one of the workers hiding his drugs there. He’s a parolee, and he told his P.O. about it last night. He failed a piss test and didn’t want to go back to prison. P.O. said if it checks out, he’ll cut him slack.”
“Martinez?” Martinez used to be a detective but got shot in the leg. He has a limp now and transferred to Corrections from the department. He often cuts parolees slack if they volunteer at rescue missions and food backs. The people who run those places tend to help parolees get back on their feet.
“Exactly.”
“So why now?” I ask.
“Why not? You shacked up with a girl or something?” It’s amazing how his words cut into me. If he says, “Why not, too busy fucking my daughter?” it won’t surprise me.
“I don’t care how much he has there, it doesn’t do anything for us,” I say.
“Unless he shows up to pick the bag up,” Hank says, “Which is scheduled to happen in about an hour and a half.”
“Jesus!” I say, leaping to my feet. “Why are you only calling me now, for Christ’s sake?”
“Martinez just got the call from his boy and just called me,” Hank says, “so I’m calling you.”
“Okay, on my way. Can you call everyone else?”
“Fuck you. I’m on a weekend with my wife,” he replies. Then he laughs and says, “Yeah. I’ll tell everyone to meet you at that Korean joint on Main and Ophelia. I already sent the file from Martinez to your email, so you’ll recognize the parolee. Martinez already told him to just give French the drugs like he ordinarily would.”
“All right,” I say.
“Kick ass for me, partner,” he says and hangs up.
I put my phone down and see McKenzie on the bed in front of me. She’s naked, which is distracting as hell. She also looks really uncertain. I imagine that’s what happens when a girl loses her virginity. I lean over and kiss her briefly. “I have to run. Hank, that is, your father just called with a lead on a bad guy we’re chasing.”
“Okay,” she says. Her tone of voice suggests to me she’s not okay at all.
“As soon as I’m done with this guy, I’ll head over to your place, all right?”
She says, “Okay,” again. Once again, she most definitely doesn’t sound okay about things at all. She says, “Okay,” when I tell her I don’t know how long it will take. She says, “Okay,” when I tell her I’ll come over as soon as I can, and she says, “Okay,” when I say I need to get dressed. She’s not okay and I know she’s not. It’s damned frustrating to have to think about that while I take a quick shower but it would be even more frustrating to come out of the shower and discover she’s already left, which thankfully she hasn’t.
What the hell am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to keep a violent drug offender on the streets because she’d rather I cuddle for a while? I know I really should offer her some sort of reassurance, or at least try.
I’m just able to do that considering the circumstances.
I think the bottom line is that this relationship is already something I ought to regret, but I don’t. I’m already risking my relationship with my best friend. Hell, I’m risking McKenzie’s relationship with her father. I think the disconnect between what I believe is the right thing to do and what I’m actually capable of doing is just too powerful. Maybe I get dressed efficiently and silently simply because I don’t want to reassure her. Maybe I want her to rethink this thing. Maybe I want her to decide this is a one-off occurrence and that’s it.
Yeah, that’s all bullshit.
I mean, maybe that’s why I dress silently but there’s no way in hell I want her to move on from me. I sure as hell don’t want her to move on to another guy. “Go home,” I say, “And I’ll get there as soon as I can. You don’t have to wait up for me. I have a key to your place. I’ll be there when I’m done.”
“Okay.”
Damn it all! I walk over to her, lean down, and kiss her gently. “I hate this, but we’ve been after this guy for a long time and getting him off the streets is going to keep people safe. I’ll be there and if you’re asleep, I’ll wake you up long enough to let you know I’m there, okay?”
She says, “Okay,” and I think I’ll fucking explode. Then, she adds, “I’ll see you then,” and that gives me just enough to nod and leave without obsessing too much about it, although the pain of the quick separation is clearly there…for the both of us.
Just as I walk to the door, I turn and say, “That was the most incredible experience in my life, Mack. Let’s not forget I’ve run into burning buildings to rescue hostages. I’ve had a lot of incredible experiences in my life. That was definitely the best.”
I don’t know if the disappointment completely leaves her eyes, but she breathes in deeply and her lips part as her face registers something like shock. As she exhales, she says quietly, “Me, too.”
“I’ll see you later,” I say. I put on my shoulder holster, check the gun, and then put on my jacket. I give her a last look and leave the room.
And I know I can never let her go.
It isn’t a big emotional revelation. It’s intellectual. I’m not a tender person. I’m not a romantic person. I’m a hard man, a man who focuses on duty and accomplishment ahead of anything else. Nonetheless, I just stopped to reassure Mack even though I’m irritated by her need for reassurance. There is nobody on Earth who can make me act that way. Nobody else.
