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“Tell that to the guy in the BMW who’s flipping you off.” Bentz nodded at the silver car speeding past, the driver, a seventy-ish man sticking up his middle finger.
“Moron,” Montoya said, irritation in his voice.
“I think that’s what he’s saying about you.”
“The difference is I’m a cop.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“And I don’t have time to make him aware of that fact,” Montoya snapped, glancing at Bentz.
“Whoa. You gotta problem?”
“Not just one.” Montoya glared out the bug-spattered windshield and, instead of heading back to the station, pulled into a vacant spot across the street from their favorite take-out place, known for its barbeque shrimp, po’boys, and red beans and rice. “Let’s eat.”
“Don’t you have to be home?” Bentz’s watch said it was just after five. They were officially off duty.
“Already called Abby.” He shut down the engine. “You?”
“The wife’s expecting me, but I can tell her I need to work late.”
“Do that. Po’boy good?”
“Yeah. Shrimp.”
“What else?”
“Fries and a . . . Coke.” He wanted a beer, thought better of it.
“See you inside.” Montoya climbed out of the car and jogged across the street.
Bentz, yanking his phone from his pocket, did the same and once he was in front of the red and white awning, phoned Olivia, telling her not to wait dinner on him and asking if he could pick anything up for her.
She declined, mentioning leftovers. “I’ve got plenty here in the fridge. So don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll probably be an hour, maybe longer. Don’t know. Something’s up with Montoya. Don’t even ask what, because I’m in the dark.” That was stretching the truth; Bentz guessed Montoya’s attitude had something to do with his brother, but he wasn’t sure. “Listen, Livvie, if I’m gonna be longer, I’ll text.”
“Okay. See you after a bit,” Olivia said, her tone not frosty, but a little frazzled, and he heard his daughter babbling in the background. That gave him pause and he felt a pang. He should be home with his wife and little girl. But he still had to keep his older daughter safe. Torn, he slipped his phone into his pocket. Once this was over, once he’d nailed Father John for good and was assured Kristi was out of danger, then he’d retire.
He owed it to Olivia and Ginny.
It was time.
Long past, he decided, following his partner into the restaurant.
Inside he found Montoya already seated and facing the front door from a corner booth at the back of the long, narrow restaurant.
As Bentz wound his way through a warren of tables, he glanced past the line of booths and through an open back door where the gray day was visible and the scent of cigarette smoke drifted inside. The evening crowd was gathering, half the tables and booths filled, the buzz of different conversations interrupted by bursts of laughter and the clink of glasses or rattling of flatware.
And over it all, he smelled the sharp, inviting scent of alcohol.
He shut it down.
Told himself not to give in.
It was just stress.
He’d had his last drink the other night.
