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ONE
THE GREAT LIAM CHASE
Until now, I’ve never been in trouble with the law.
It’s cosmically impossible. I’m a cop’s daughter.
Cop’s Daughter Karma protects me, and seeing as I’m not a drug addict, drug dealer, thief, prostitute, gangster or murderer (all traits that would negate Cop’s Daughter Karma), I’m protected.
This isn’t to say I haven’t done stupid things that are not exactly law abiding. In fact, I’ve done a lot of stupid things that are not exactly law abiding.
* * *
Let’s see…
I’ve had a number of parking tickets, but they don’t really count.
I’ve been stopped for speeding on occasion, though I never got a ticket.
I’ve been known to jaywalk when I’m in a hurry (which is a lot).
Further possibly-non-law-abiding exploits include the fact that I conned my way backstage at an Aerosmith concert. I went so far as to touch Joe Perry’s chest with the very tips of my index and middle fingers, and after making contact I felt an electric spasm of sheer delight fly through my body (especially certain parts of my body) that has gone unequaled before or since. Unfortunately, I only got the touch in before the bodyguard hauled me out.
I’m not certain it’s against the law to lie your way backstage and touch Joe Perry’s chest, but considering the experience had to be far better than many illegal activities, it should be.
* * *
But,twenty minutes ago, my employee, Rosie, told me something I didn’t want to hear.
Rosie could be difficult, but this was ridiculous.
And he’d involved another employee (and one of my most favorite people in the world), Duke.
Five minutes ago, Rosie and I locked up and stood at the front of my bookstore, Fortnum’s, wondering what to do about that something.
Then two guys came up to us. We had a chat that did not go well (and if I’m honest, the reason it didn’t go well is because of me) and then they shot at us.
Shot.
At.
Us.
With guns.
Guns filled with bullets.
We made a hasty getaway, which, luckily, didn’t leave a trail of blood.
Now, we’re in my car, hyperventilating, sitting in a dark corner of a dark alley in the bowels of Baker Historical District that hadn’t yet been regentrified. I’m staring at my cell phone wondering what in the fucking hell to do.
* * *
Let’s rewind.
I’m India Savage, known by all as Indy. I’m Tom Savage’s daughter, and practically every cop knows me, even the rookies. That’s because when I was young I spent a lot of time at the station waiting for Dad or hanging out with Dad’s friends.
Oh, and Dad and I still go together to the Fraternal Order of Police (or FOP) hog roasts.
