by Amy Lane
In Jackson’s words, fuck that guy!
AJ DROPPED Ellery and Jade off about a block from the public defender’s building before driving away with Ralene and Ty Townsend in the back of Jade’s SUV, a little confused but very grateful.
Jade and Ellery joined the throng in front of the building, watching as two EMTs transported a guy handcuffed to his stretcher out of the building, two policemen on their heels.
Henry and Jackson followed—both of them looking casual and happy and 100 percent abso-fucking-lutely fine—escorted by a very familiar young detective. Sean Kryzynski had blond hair and blue eyes like Henry, but Sean’s narrower face, his more expressive eyes, his smaller build, marked him as another kind of creature entirely.
When Ellery had first met Kryzynski, or K-Ski as Jackson and Jade had taken to calling him, he’d been super idealistic and super sure that Jackson had done something wrong in his past to deserve all of the bullshit the department threw at him. After a year of working together—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—Kryzynski had started to trust Jackson a little, and Jackson had stopped treating the guy like a raging yeast infection under his balls.
Kryzynski had lost a little of his new-detective polish, but he’d gained some wisdom—and some lines around the eyes—over the past year.
Ellery considered him a friend, and he was pretty sure Jackson did too.
“You have no idea who this guy is?” Kryzynski said, for what sounded like the umpteenth time.
“He was the guy who shouted Jenny’s name and apparently fired his gun into the air. And I’m guessing he can run like the wind.” Jackson’s hand shifted as he walked with Kryzynski down the stairs, and Ellery was suddenly aware of the messenger bag at his hip.
Go, baby, go, he thought silently, because oh yeah, they really needed to read that file.
Kryzynski nodded. “You had to see the video replay. He seriously would have made it to her floor if you hadn’t barricaded the door.”
“All Henry’s doing,” Jackson said mildly.
“Jackson’s idea,” Henry said, sounding bored. “He was supposed to be taking it easy today.”
Kryzynski gave a real smile, one that reached his tired cop eyes. “First day back?”
Jackson grimaced. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”
Henry and Kryzynski both chortled.
“Oh, it fucking figures,” Kryzynski said. He glanced up and spotted Ellery and Jade on the sidewalk at the same time Jackson and Henry did. “And guess who’s here to reinforce sick leave.”
Ellery gave a sigh and met Jackson’s apologetic gaze. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. To his surprise, Jackson stepped forward and gave him a brief kiss on the temple before moving to his side.
“I swear to God, Ellery, it wasn’t my—”
“Fault. Yeah, I get it.” A reluctant smile pushed at the corners of Ellery’s mouth. “I mean seriously, what are the odds?”
Kryzynski blew out a breath. “That this is related to something you two are doing? I’d take that bet. So what are you doing?”
At that point Henry’s stomach made a loud, obnoxious, unmistakable sound.
Jackson chuckled and Ellery said, “I think we’re going to lunch. You all want in?”
Henry nodded and then grimaced. “Is it okay if I go get Galen? If we’re having a powwow, it feels rude to leave him alone at the office.”
“Text him first and make sure he’s not busy,” Jackson said. “But yeah.”
“Tell him to grab the Townsend file from the top of my desk,” Ellery prompted. “I want Sean to see that one too.”
“Uh-oh,” Kryzynski said, eyes growing sober. “Am I going to like this?”
“I hope not,” Ellery said briskly. “’Cause if you do, you’re not the person I thought you were.”
Kryzynski groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You guys. You guys are like the cherry on the shit sundae, you know that?”
“Bad day already, K-Ski?” Jackson asked sympathetically.
Kryzynski shook his head and glowered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Love life’s fine, thank you. Absolutely peachy.”
Jackson and Ellery exchanged looks, but Jackson was the one who said it.
“How’s the fireman?”
“Older than I am,” Kryzynski said sourly. “And he won’t let me forget it.”
Someone called Kryzynski’s name, and he nodded to another detective down by the curb. “Look, guys, give me a restaurant not too far away and I’ll meet you there. Make it cheap and make it… franchisey, okay? If I have to eat kale today I might kill someone.”
“Understood,” Jackson said. “You go talk to whoever, we’ll go pick up Galen, and we’ll meet you at the Mongolian barbecue place a few blocks from here.”
Kryzynski’s eyes went to half-mast, and he damn near drooled. “That guy by the car is my partner—I may have to drop him off at Mercy San Juan so he can check in on our wild man in the stairwell.”
“He get tasered pretty good?” Jackson asked, his eyes lighting up like this would not disappoint him at all.
“Twice,” Kryzynski said with satisfaction. “I think he bit the tip of his tongue off and wet himself. Asshole. I feel no pity.”
“Meet in an hour, then,” Jackson told him, taking charge effortlessly like he did. He looked at Jade and Ellery. “Good news is, Henry brought Galen’s car. It’s got air-conditioning like a boss.”
Ellery became aware of the sweat trickling down his back and the absolute airless thickness of the heat around them.
“I may forgive you yet.”
Jackson grinned. “Like I said, it was not my fault.”
They turned and started walking for the parking lot, and Ellery let his hand brush Jackson’s as they went.
“That,” he said grimly, “remains to be seen.”
Fish in a School
GALEN ACTUALLY declined lunch, asking instead for Henry to bring him something when they were done. It was just as well—parking was fiercely competitive in front of Ellery’s office. At this rate, Henry would be able to take Galen home before the most miserable part of the day, and Ellery didn’t have to move his car so they could all go out, which meant nobody had to die when they all got back.
They hit the place right after the rush, so they didn’t have to wait in line to pile their bowls with frozen slices of meat and raw vegetables. By the time Kryzynski got there, everybody was eating, and Henry and Jackson were giving the details about what had happened earlier in the day.
“This story again?” Kryzynski drawled as he slid into the booth next to Henry.
“This is only the first time they’ve heard it!” Henry defended before resuming the narrative. “So, Jenny Probst and I were hiding behind the copier, and Jackson’s like, ‘Hey, what’s the name on that file anyway?’ And Jenny sort of blanked out for a second before going, ‘Uh, Dostoyevsky?’ And Jackson says, ‘Like the writer?’ and Jenny goes, ‘Uh….’ And Jackson disappears.”
“I did not disappear,” Jackson told him, rolling his eyes. He gave Ellery a furtive glance. He seemed to be taking this whole thing in stride so far, but Ellery had seemed to be okay on other occasions regarding Jackson’s safety when he really had been on the verge of losing his shit. “Look, remember that the bad guy—”
“We have no idea who he is,” Kryzynski supplied. “We’re trying to get his fingerprints because he doesn’t have any ID on him, but so far no luck.”
“And is Mr. No Luck still unconscious?” Jackson asked.
“Mr. No Luck whacked his head when he fell down the stairs,” Kryzynski said with a grimace, “so yes. He might be unconscious for another two days. Christie—my partner, Andre Christie—stayed with him. He’ll buzz me if he wakes up anytime today, and we’ll have someone staying tonight.”
“Okay, then,” Jackson said, “more about Mr. No Luck anon—”
Henry snorted, holding his hand up in front of his mouth so he didn’t spray noodles everywhere.
>
“Anon,” Jackson repeated. “Look, you guys, I was stuck at home for eight weeks. I read a lot. Anyway, this story ends with me looking on her desk. It was not Dostoyevsky, which makes me glad the poor woman was staying in her office with a cop until her husband came to pick her up. It was Dobrevk, which was damned close. So I have the Dobrevk file right here, and Ellery has a file he thinks might be hinky too—”
“It’s at the office,” Ellery said. “Since we didn’t pick up Galen, I didn’t get it.”
Jackson grimaced. “Well, we’ll look at it later. You give us the gist now. I think it would be a good idea to show and tell so we can figure out why the unconscious guy was so damned excited to break into the lawyer’s office. What do you think?”
Kryzynski was unwrapping a set of chopsticks before digging into his own bowl of meat, veggies, and noodles. “That,” he said soberly, “is a fantastic idea.”
Jackson opened his own file and nodded to Ellery. “Ellery goes first.”
Ellery started to go over the Townsend file from memory, and Jackson took notes on the back of the Dobrevk file.
When Ellery was done, Kryzynski burst into a long, colorful bout of swearing.
“Goddammit,” he muttered. “Goddammit. What in the hell is that? Why would the police report say a pocketful of drugs and the kid maintain there were only three? Who would gain from such a stupid lie?”
“It would get a conviction,” Ellery said, like explaining to a child.
“But why? Why pick on this one kid? What was so special about this one football player that these guys had to go after him?” Kryzynski rubbed a hand over his short blond hair, his hard blue eyes flashing. “It’s so dumb. I thought…. I mean, after last year, you know?” He looked at Jackson pleadingly, and Jackson got it.
“You thought all the dirty cops were put away,” Jackson said softly. Last year at this time, he and Ellery were working their first case together, trying to clear Jade’s twin brother’s name. Kryzynski had been skeptical, at first, that the authority he trusted so implicitly could be as corrupt as any criminal, but Ellery had believed in Jackson, and Jackson had believed in the truth.
“Yes!” Kryzynski snapped. “Yes! Is it so much to ask that everybody who works this job not be a scumbag?”
“You have no idea what happened here,” Jackson said softly. “When we get back to look at the file, let’s see which cops were on the scene. Let’s see who signed off and searched the kid. Maybe a dirty cop, sure. But maybe someone was putting pressure on him elsewhere. This kid was singled out for a reason, one he might not even know. But if we can get hold of some of his friends, some of the people from that party, maybe we can figure out what happened.”
Kryzynski nodded and shoved his bowl of noodles away. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. But this looks bad, Jackson. The one Black kid at a party singled out for a drug bust for drugs that really weren’t his? Wait. What are you smiling about?”
Jackson hadn’t realized he was until Kryzynski said something. “You… do you hear yourself? Who do you believe, Sean?”
Kryzynski blinked tired eyes. “Ellery. The kid, I guess. I mean, you guys don’t sell bullshit. If Ellery’s taking this case, the kid must be telling the truth.”
“Damn.” Jade blew out a low whistle.
“Right?” Jackson said, nodding at her.
“Wait. What’s the big deal? And everybody finish your goddamned food. Kryzynski! Jackson! I’m talking to you.”
They all looked at Henry, who glared back at them.
“What? I mentor a bunch of bulimic fucking porn stars. You guys eat your fucking food or I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind. And somebody tell me what the big deal is!”
“I believed them,” Kryzynski said after a moment. He pulled his bowl back and took a bite. “A year ago, I would have dismissed this kid’s story. Stupid teenager. Not necessarily because he was of color, but because he wasn’t a cop.”
Henry’s mouth parted, and he nodded slightly. “But now you can fix the problem because you’re willing to see the problem.”
“Yeah,” Kryzynski said. He took another bite. “Jackson, finish your food, and then it’s your turn.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Ellery threw too much in the bowl. I’ll finish what I finish. But about my file….”
He opened it up and grimaced. “Okay, first of all, it’s a seventeen-year-old kid being tried as an adult.”
Everybody winced. “For what?” Henry asked.
“Murder,” Jackson said. “But it’s so odd. The police report here… it looks on point, but we’ll have to do some interviews again. Tage Dobrevk, young man from a good family, Russian….” He frowned. “Wait. I know this kid. That’s weird.”
Ellery looked at him. “You know this kid?”
“Yeah. That new crop of ex-cons at the duplex. One of them is his cousin. I met Tage two weeks ago when Sascha got out of jail. He was there with his parents and brother and sister, helping Sascha move in, talking about how Sascha had to work really hard to go straight. I remember this kid.” He peered at the police report closer, thirsty for the details.
“Okay. This is… this is weird. They found Tage in an apartment laundry room, unconscious, with a dead guy next to him. They were both covered with the dead guy’s blood. He’d been knifed pretty savagely and had bled out in minutes. Tage said he had no idea what this guy was doing in the room, and the police were inclined to believe him, but then….”
He kept reading, his stomach knotting up like crazy.
“But what?” Ellery asked, nudging him.
“But then his parents entered the room, and the cop says the kid looked at his father and started to cry, and then he wouldn’t say anything else. Not in his own defense, not to explain, nothing. They put him in with—oh God. Ellery—he’s in gen pop. We’ve got to get him out!”
Jackson stood up before he even knew he was going to and slid out of the booth. “This kid is in general population. Ellery. He’s been there since last night. We’ve got to… you’ve got to rescue this kid. He’s maybe five seven, one twenty sopping wet. This kid’s gonna get hammered. Oh my God!”
“Jackson, sit,” Ellery said, taking the file from him. “Sit. I can go to the jail and visit him after lunch. Nobody’s going to let me in now, so just cool your jets.”
Jackson’s knees got a little wobbly as he sank into the booth, his chest filled with retroactive panic. That kid—that sweet kid who had played with his brother and sister, who had worked hard at boosting his cousin’s spirits—he was in jail?
They had to fix it. They just had to.
“Okay,” Ellery said, and he slid his hand, warm and firm, onto Jackson’s thigh. “So more about the case. Who was the dead kid?”
Jackson took a breath. Yes, this was important, and as Ellery pointed out to him often enough, he was no good to anybody if he ran off half-cocked.
“Uhm, Cosgrove. James Cosgrove. Caucasian, just turned eighteen, goes by—”
“No Neck,” Ellery said, staring at Jackson. “His name is No Neck. What school does Tage go to?”
“Capitol Valley,” Jackson said, and Ellery nodded grimly. “Same school?”
“No Neck was the guy hosting the party Ty got busted at.”
“Hunh,” Jackson said, brain working overtime.
“What is that sound?” Henry asked. “I hate that sound!”
“You get used to it,” Ellery told him blandly.
Jackson ignored them. He looked at Henry. “Junior, you and me got some explaining to do.”
“I am with you, brother,” Henry said. “Now eat your goddamned noodles, so we can go get that other file and K-Ski here can stop having a conniption. God, you guys—all about the fucking drama.”
Jade took the last bite of her noodles and smiled. “Aren’t they, though? Better than popcorn and a movie.”
THEY HAD just finished lunch and pushed their chairs in, with a plan to go to the office so Ellery could make some calls and mak
e an appointment to interview his new client, Tage Dobrevk, when Jackson, Henry, Jade, and Ellery all got a text from Galen at the same time.
Someone is attempting to break into our office. So far no luck, but hurry.
“K-Ski,” Jackson said as they all bolted from the restaurant, “do you have a light and a siren in your unmarked?”
“Get in,” Kryzynski told him as Henry ran to the Town Car, Jade and Ellery on his heels.
The unit—an unmarked black SUV—made good time weaving in and out of traffic, light flashing, and Jackson had Kryzynski kill the siren as he pulled up to the office complex and parked in a miracle space along the street. Jackson hopped out almost before the vehicle had stopped and went hauling through the breezeway, around the corner, and up the stairs.
Sure enough, a wiry blond man a little on the short side was rattling the doorknob and shaking it, swearing, a switchblade in his hand as he jiggered the lock.
He heard Jackson’s footsteps on the stairs and read his intent in one quick heartbeat.
“Cop,” he sneered, the faintest of accents clear in the vowel.
And with that, he took two bounding steps toward the stair railing and vaulted over, landing with a crouch and a tumble one story below.
“Kryzynski,” Jackson called, “get him. He’s got a knife!” He practically hung over the railing to see what happened next.
Kryzynski rounded the corner just at that moment and ran, full-tilt, into their suspect, who was fleeing the scene.
As Jackson hammered down the stairs, he saw the detective stagger back, hands out, as the kid took off, footsteps pounding the concrete of the breezeway before he disappeared around the corner. Jackson drew even as Kryzynski’s knees buckled, and Jackson saw the welling of blood spilling over the white shirt beneath his suit coat.
Bright red blood, and K-Ski’s face blanching shock white.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered. He helped the officer down and hauled his new shirt off over his head, folding it quickly to apply pressure. “Radio, Sean. Where’s your radio?”
