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Nodding, I squat down and wait for my guy’s eyes to open. “You okay?”
“Bitch.” He spits blood onto the tile by my boots, hissing when he tries to breathe through a broken nose. “I wasn’t gonna hurt no one.”
“Uh-huh.” Standing, I look to Anton and nod for him to come to my side of the counter.
His hands shake. His shoulders bounce, but not with dance this time. Candy bars and water bottles litter the floor and provide landmines for him to dodge as he enters the password for the safety door and comes around to stop between me and Oz.
“Him too.” I look to Oz. “I want to bring him in, too.”
“What?” Anton screeches.
Oz’s eyes widen, but his reflexes are fast when Anton turns and tries to pivot away. He grabs him around the collar and pulls him back, until the cashier trips over the other perp and lands heavily on the tile.
“Charges,” Oz asks. “Or just for funsies?”
“He threw those cigarettes in without being asked. Phones. Chargers. Headphones.” I peek into the bag and pull out a bottle of Gatorade. “I’m just saying, I bet we could run these guys’ files side by side and find a connection. Their mommas know each other or something. Fifty-buck bet.”
“You’re on.” Oz reaches out and takes my hand to seal the deal. He’s all smiles and adrenaline rush after almost dying, but his smile turns to a grimace when the oil from my perp’s hair transfers from my palm to his. “The fuck vat of oil you plunge your hand into, Tate? Jesus.” He pulls back and wipes his hand on his pants. “You’re disgusting.”
“It’s his hair.” Groaning, I bend forward and slowly pull my guy to his feet. His face is red and tender. His mouth is bleeding, and that tooth definitely fell out today. I don’t see it among the fallen candy bars or drinks, but my chief might have words with me when we get back to the station.
My father was a dirty cop who hurt people for the sake of a dollar. He’s been removed from his position of power, his money and titles have been stripped, his only luxuries now are three hot meals and a cot. I might have followed him into the very same field of law enforcement, but we’re not the same kind of cop. We’re not cut from the same cloth.
Maybe I use too much force on occasion, but I don’t hurt innocents. Maybe I have less patience for stupidity, but I never have, nor would I ever, trade the life of an innocent for a little luxury or cash. I’m the cop who will arrest fairly and with legitimate cause. I’m the cop who will admit her wrongs when I’m wrong. And I’m not infallible – it happens. But I own it. I’m the cop who would never steal a colleague’s lunch, and the one time I was accused of such a thing, I was both hurt and pissed. Sofuckingpissed that someone would accuse me of a damn thing.
I’m the cleanest cop on the force, cleaner than my colleagues even, and they’re good cops. I drag myself to work every day to make the streets safer, to clean up the mess my father and hisfriendscreated so many years ago.
One day at a time. One armed robbery at a time.
An hour after arresting Jude Donohue for armed robbery and slamming him into the cages at the station, I walk out again and pause at the sight of Oz sitting back with a cup of coffee in his hands and his feet on his desk.
I still didn’t get my coffee. And he looks entirely too happy for someone who didn’t sleep yet.
“What?”
“Seems I owe you fifty bucks and a high-five.”
“Yeah?” That turns my sour mood around as I walk toward our desks. “Their moms, right? I feel like this was a mother’s group set up from twenty years ago.”
“Totally their moms.” Chuckling, he sips his coffee and turns the screen so I see both men side by side. “They were born in the same hospital, thirty-six hours apart. Their moms were connected through some community event thing that helped new moms socialize. Myriam and Tracey — those are their real names, by the way — became pals. The boys were friends because they were always in each other’s space. Eventually, they grew and made other choices, but they stuck it out, and now they’re buddies. Anton’s apartment building is just one block from Donohue’s. They hatched a plan to rob Anton’s place of employment just forty-five minutes after the boss clocked out to go home. Donohue was supposed to be in and out, grab the loot, and…” He reaches toward the evidence bag tossed haphazardly on the corner of his desk. Smiling, he pulls out the black pistol, points it at my stomach, and squeezes the trigger.
If I didn’t trust him so implicitly, I’d be pissed.
But I do. I trust him with my life. So I remain still while water squirts from the end of the gun and leaves a line along my shirt.
Oz’s trouble-filled eyes meet mine with a grin. “Hands up, motherfucker.”
“Dumbass white trash piece of…gah!” I wipe at the water and grit my teeth. “I was legit scared he was gonna shoot you, and that prick had awatergun? For three hundred bucks, smokes, and phone credit? What the hell is wrong with those dumb shits?”
“He’s lucky he didn’t die,” Oz grumbles. “He’s lucky the paper towels were empty in the bathroom, so I’d washed my hands but hadn’t dried them yet. He’s lucky that icks me out, so I was air drying them on the way to the store. And he’s luckier yet that you went with hands instead of guns when he swung on me. You saved his life and mine today, Tate.” He reaches into his pocket, pushing onto one leg to free up the other, and pulls his wallet out with a grunt. Opening it wide and lifting a brow at what I guess is nothing, he tosses the leather away and snatches up a Post-It instead. “I owe you…” He speaks as he writes, and diffuses my bad mood when he pokes his tongue out for concentration. “Fifty-two fifty. Two-fifty for admin fees, since I’m making you wait.”
“You’re so stupid.” I accept the piece of hot pink paper when he stands and offers it, and laugh when he pulls me in for a crushing hug.
“Thanks for looking out today. You might be the quietest, most stubborn, most annoying chick I know, because you make me insecure about how much you bench.” He snickers when I laughingly try to push him off. “But I’m never scared to walk through a door with you. I never doubt you. I never once accused you of stealing the rook’s lunch.”
“Prick.”
He laughs. “I mean, maybe I knew it was X. And maybe I knew Rook was looking at you. I didn’t encourage his suspicion, but I didn’t stop it either.”
