Thayne picked up his tomato juice and held up the glass in a toast before gazing over at Jarrett. His husband had a dimpled grin on his face.
“I guess this calls for a toast.”
The others at the table lifted juice glasses and coffee cups and Sarah noticed Thayne wink at Nico and Mac. Jeez. Why am I the last to know?
“Out with the old,” Thayne said, then stopped to chuckle. “Sorry, Boss.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stanger grumbled happily.
“And in with the new!” Jarrett said, looking at Nico and Mac.
“To endings and beginnings,” they all said.
Glasses clinked and laughter filled the room.
Exclusive excerpt of “Thin Blue” (Thin Blue Line series- Book 1) Coming June 2018
Prologue
“Slow down! Fucking maggot!” Breath hissed through Pope’s teeth as he pounded down the pavement of Hollywood Boulevard after the drug dealer he was chasing. Each time one of his Nikes connected with the filthy sidewalk, he felt the reverberation course throughout his entire body. Fucking knee injuries! The streets of Hollywood were crowded at noon down by the Walk of Fame and that’s where the dealer was headed. He was going to try to escape into the plaid shorts crowd and get lost among Japanese tourists and street performers. Detective Pope Dades had no backup and no partner, which was fine most of the time, but when he was chasing a guy, he really wished he had someone to help. Or take over when the knee gives out.
“Please stop this, Detective Dades. He’s poisoning our children.”
The chase had originated at Hollywood High on N. Highland, three blocks from Hollywood Boulevard when Dades answered a frantic call out at the school. Principal Carolyn Edwards wanted help, or better said, needed help from the LAPD and she’d been referred to him by his boss, Captain Issa. It seemed vice cops had been out to the school more times than the department could count, but someone high up on the city’s food chain had stepped in to right a bigger wrong and called in the big guns. Pope had almost laughed when the captain told him he had been tapped to talk the woman off the ledge. He made camp on the goddamn ledge every day.
“Solve it and shut her down, Dades. People here are sick of the daily phone calls. She’s tying up the unis on these calls and no one can catch this guy,” Captain Issa had said. Catch him indeed. If the guy would slow down, Pope might actually be able to.
“Since when do detectives clean up uni problems, Cap?” Pope had argued.
Issa had frowned, shaking his head. “Just do it, Dades. Someone in the Chief’s office says she deserves a detective and they don’t want to hear from her one more time.”
“Fuck that.”
Issa had stuck out a finger. “You’re already on thin ice, Dades. I suggest you drop the goddamn ‘tude.”
‘Tude? Dade rolled his eyes. Since when had atti become a prefix?
I’ll take Atti-Tude for a hundred dollars, Alex.
“Well maybe if the unis followed up on shit and actually arrested the guy, the calls would stop. What’s the fucking problem, anyway? How hard is it to catch a guy dealing H at a school? Kids talk, man. Put a few of the gossipy little fuckers in a room and get them to roll on their dealer,” Pope had replied. He hated being sent out on stupid errands when any one of a hundred uniforms—unis—in their division could have nailed the guy months ago. But, nooooo, of course not. Get a detective badge involved when a simple small-time dealer was selling right outside the school’s front gate and that’ll make Principal Pain-in-the-Ass feel like something was finally being done about her problem.
He’d been sitting in her office no more than three minutes when got up and glanced out the window toward the parking lot then gasped and pointed.
“There he is! I told you he’d be back.”
Pope got up from the chair in front of her desk and joined her at the window. Classes were in session so almost no one was around but the principal was right, there was a guy dressed in blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black jacket leaning against the chain-link perimeter fence. He was young with a full head of hair that had that windblown look to it. Fuckin’ James Dean. James Dealer. Yeah, that’s your new name, James Dealer Dickwad. Say that three times fast.
“That’s him? That’s the guy you saw?”
She nodded furiously, still pointing. “Yes. Right there. See? He’s the one who looks just like James Dean,” Principal Pain-in-the-Ass said.
Pope blinked twice, looking the broad up and down for the first time. He normally didn’t check women out and it was the last thing he would have done with this Pruney Principal but for the first time, he noticed her face. She was midsixties so he guessed it really was the same James Dean that he’d been thinking about.
“He stands there every day between classes and before and after school. The patrolmen you’ve sent haven’t been able to talk to him, though. He always eludes them.” She fanned her face as if she was having a hot flash. “I can’t catch up with him and even though our school security officer has shooed him away on numerous occasions, the LAPD refuses to do anything about him. Now, please,” she reached up and smoothed a gray hair back from her wrinkled face. “Please tell him that he has to leave and not come back! Our children are dying. We’ve lost two students and have thirty-three more kids out on long-term breaks because their parents have sent them to rehab. The addicts not in treatment are driving our teachers crazy because they interrupt class constantly with their antics, our janitorial staff is constantly cleaning up vomit everywhere, and test scores are falling because students nod off during tests.”
“I hate to break it to you, lady, but schools, especially high schools, are full of drugs. That’s what happens. If we chase away one dealer, another one returns to take his place.” He stared at her and watched her cross her arms and lift her chin so she could look down her nose at him. He braced himself for it.
“Fine. I asked for a detective because I thought you people had more training. I guess I was wrong.” She uncrossed her arms and pointed a bony finger. “But hear me, Detective Dades. I will keep calling and keep calling and keep calling until James Dean out there is in jail. I will haunt you. I will show up at city council meetings. I will call the chief of police’s office. I. Will. Not. Stop. Until. That. Man. Is in jail. Is that clear enough for you?”
Crystal. “I’ll go talk to him, maybe detain him for questioning,” Pope promised. Then he’d marched out of her office and scared the fucker so hard, he’d taken off running. All he’d done was walk up and pull his coat aside to show the badge stuck to his hip and the gun in his holster and BAM, the guy was off like a shot out of a cannon.
James Dealer charged out of the parking lot with his black jacket flapping. He looked back only once but when he caught a glimpse of the Glock Pope had pulled out of his holster, he really put on the steam. The fucker was fast and Pope knew he had to be holding drugs because this goddamn sprint was no late-morning jog. He didn’t want to be caught with the heroin he probably had in little baggies all ready for the school kids who bought it like candy.
The dealer headed straight down North Highland, making a right onto Hollywood Boulevard, running toward every fucking tourist trap in LA—Ripley’s Believe it or Not, the Hollywood Wax Museum, and Pope’s personal favorite, The Museum of Broken Relationships.
What the Hollywood crowd wouldn’t exploit for a buck. Sheesh.
They charged down the street, dodging sidewalk performers, dudes selling Hollywood star maps, and cemetery tours. The way Pope was sucking in air, he was going to star in that one himself, he was sure of it. Hollywood was dirty, damn dirty. The sidewalks were paved with cement mixed with something sparkly that gave the boulevard an otherworldly glow under the streetlights at night; during the day, the black circles of years of discarded gum that had been ground into the pavement by the shoes of a million tourists were prominent. It was an ugly town during the day. And so they ran.
“Stop, asshole!” Pope shouted. “I just need to talk!” Right
.
Pope could feel the weight of his gun in his hand as the sweat poured down his back. He wished he’d left his sports coat in the car before going in to talk to the principal. At least he wouldn’t be dying of heatstroke right now, but there was no way to take it off. He’d lose momentum. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, his damned knee screamed. They ran past street after street—McCadden, Las Palmas, Cherokee. Where the hell was he going?
Twenty-five feet up ahead, James Dealer grabbed a hot dog vendor’s cart as he passed, flipping it over on its side. Hot dogs, buns, condiments, and hot water went flying as the vendor screamed his fool head off.
“The city will pay for that!”
Sure they will. Pope leapt over the guy as he was bending to pick up a mustard squeeze bottle, clearing him like a hurdler and when he came down on the other side, something tore in his knee. His fucking knee. As much as he didn’t want to think about how the injury had happened, he couldn’t help it when the knee screamed at him. Somehow he knew the night would be another sleepless one, as the bastard kept him up.
They raced down the street, Pope keeping pace with the little shit, dodging traffic as James Dealer cut across Hollywood Boulevard. He had a destination. Pope just had no idea where it was yet. And the goddamned guy was determined to put every car, pedestrian, and light pole in his path as he swerved down the street like an Olympic downhill skier.
At six three Pope was taller than average and he had to duck whenever the dealer decided to pass under a storefront awning. Rainbow pinwheels stuck to canvas overhangs fluttered in the wind. Three for $10 T-shirts with depictions of the Hollywood sign flew into the air as they passed through an outdoor tourist market. When the street opened up again, the dealer continued to run. He made a right on Schrader Boulevard, headed toward the Los Angeles LGBT Center but passed right by it as he continued to lead Pope on a long-distance chase.
Pope would have called for backup at this point, but he was pretty sure no one would respond. Since his former partner had outed him down at the station, he rarely got anyone willing to go to bat for him, much less respond to Pope’s call for backup.
Fuckin’ LAPD bigots.
As they approached Selma Avenue, the Hollywood YMCA came into view. The Y was just down the street from a homeless encampment whose residents stuck around to get free meals when the rec center was open and serving. Occasionally a bus would come by and pick up the homeless to take them to shelters downtown. Mostly, the homeless sat on the sidewalk out of the way of the tourists, where no one would see them, not even the glittering lights of the billboards only a mile away. In the open stretch, Pope began to gain some ground. If there was a chance of catching up to this guy, this was the place.
****
Felix Jbarra sat back on his haunches holding what was left of the white bread and cheese sandwich he’d picked up at the YMCA kitchen. He glanced over to a small flock of eight or nine gray and white pigeons who were pecking at the ground, rooting for seeds or castoffs from somewhere. Out here, close to the Y, the pickings were definitely slim. It was difficult enough for the homeless to find enough to eat on the mean streets of LA, much less the local poultry population, unless one counted Thanksgiving. Then again, the poultry in question on that most American of holidays was the ones being served up, rather than served. On Thanksgiving, truckloads of wealthy folks came by handing out frozen turkeys, most of which ended up in the hands of people who had no place to actually prepare, cook, or store leftovers. Ah well, it made for good TV news and wasn’t that what Hollywood was all about after all?
Felix pulled off a corner of the sandwich and tore it into several smaller crumbs that he threw at the birds. They descended on the wealth of white bread with flapping wings like piranhas and made quick work of the castoffs. Within sixty seconds, they’d resumed pecking at the ground.
He wasn’t sure what made him look up but something caught his eye. He stuffed the last of the cheese sandwich into his mouth and chewed as he stood up. Charging down the street right at him was a man—well, a boy—really. The kid couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen and he was in a hurry. He wore black running shoes, blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. The kid glanced over his shoulder and that’s when Felix realized what was going on. He was being pursued by a man holding a Glock.
Felix stiffened. Every protective instinct he’d ever had rose up in him and he was about to charge into traffic to come to the young man’s defense, when sunlight suddenly glinted off something clipped to the pursuer’s belt. Realization hit him. It was a badge. The man was a cop. Felix relaxed back on his heels but continued to watch as they drew closer.
The boy crossed the street in front of him and charged across all four lanes. The brakes of cars screeched and smoke rose up from their tires as they attempted to avoid hitting the young man. Felix winced, praying the young criminal would make it across the street in one piece and then, voila, he made it across and body-slammed the side of a parked black Lincoln Navigator just as he pulled out a key fob and clicked it. The door locks sprung open as they disengaged and the kid ripped the door open and dove inside. The subsequent sound of the locks reengaging echoed in the street just as the cop ran up.
That was when Felix got his first real look at the boy’s pursuer.
He was around thirty-two or three, about the same age as Felix, and roughly six three if he were to judge the cop’s height by his own six one. He was incredibly handsome with smooth dark skin and black curly hair buzzed close to his scalp. He made his way across the street at a slower pace and now that traffic had stopped for the red light, his journey was easier than the kid’s had been. He still held the Glock and Felix recognized it as a standard police issue weapon. Felix was a former Marine Corps grunt, so the gun was something he was intimately familiar with.
He could tell that the pair had been running quite a distance by the way the cop was panting and sweating. He was sucking in great lungfuls of air and he didn’t look any too pleased with the fact that he hadn’t caught up with the kid before he’d been able to separate them by the glass of the Navigator’s driver side window. The kid, on the other hand, seemed totally unwinded and he was grinning like an idiot as he made a goofy face at the cop.
Felix was a little startled when the cop grinned back. He slowly raised the gun to face level and held it with both hands, pointed directly at the glass.
“Roll down the window. When I shoot you, it won’t hurt as much, asshole!”
Felix listened to the sound of gears turning as the window slowly lowered. The dealer lost a little of his grin as he stared at the cop from where he sat calmly in the driver’s seat.
“Get out!” the cop gasped, still sucking in lungfuls of air. Felix could see the rise and fall of his chest and could see a vein in the man’s throat beating wildly. His heart was racing. Though Felix had no idea how far the pair had run, the cop looked trim and very fit so he guessed it had been miles. The gun was shaking as the cop held on to the grip with both hands. It was easy to tell that adrenaline had kicked in some time back and it was probably urging the cop to shoot the young man in the face.
“Fuck you. You’re not going to shoot me. Get lost, cop.” The young man grinned again.
“I’m not going to shoot you? Is that what you think, dickwad?”
The guy laughed. “You can’t shoot me. You’re a cop and no matter what you think I was doing out at the school, you don’t have a warrant so you can’t legally search me.”
Was every teenager a law student these days? Felix couldn’t help but grin because unless the cop had witnessed a crime, the boy was probably right. Felix watched the man closely as he hesitated. When he saw the man cock his head to the side and study the criminal, Felix felt a chill run down his spine. Then, the cop’s grin widened as he slowly shook his head.
“Every douche presumes to know the law. Oh, well.”
Ruh Roh.
The cop aimed at the door panel of the expensive black Navigat
or and squeezed the trigger. The car rocked from the force of the bullet and the airbag suddenly exploded as the car alarm began to blare. White powder filled the cab of the SUV as the young man was caught unawares by the airbag. Felix watched his head crash back against the headrest only to rock forward no more than a second later into the now-cushioned steering wheel. He heard the familiar crunch of a nose breaking.
Shudder.
Blood smeared across the airbag as it proceeded to slowly deflate and the kid’s head sagged farther forward until it rested on the airbag pillow. His eyes were closed.
“That’s what you get for not wearing a seatbelt,” the cop remarked, holstering his gun. He glanced around and spotted Felix standing twenty or so feet from him. He grinned wider and shrugged, bright green eyes flashing fire. “Kids these days. What are ya gonna do?”
Felix felt laughter bubble up from his belly and he let a chuckle roll forth as he watched the cop turn away and walk forward to open the Navigator’s door. He reached inside and dug into the boy’s black coat drawing out a sandwich baggie filled with tiny colored balloons. He held them up to the sun and examined the contents. A folded pocket knife and a huge roll of money followed.
Oh boy.
Felix watched the cop search the drug dealer for weapons and, probably satisfied that there was nothing but a pocket knife to find, he proceeded to pull out handcuffs. He cuffed him to the steering wheel before slamming the car door and then laid the baggie with colored balloons, the pearl-handled pocket knife, and the wad of money held together with two rubber bands on the car’s hood. The cop then turned his back on the dope and money and leaned against the Navigator, pulling out his two-way as he crossed his feet at the ankles. He pushed the button.
“This is Dades. Officer needs backup. Send a black and white to the Hollywood YMCA. I have a suspect under arrest.”
“Roger, Detective. I’ll see who’s available,” a female voice said. It cut off quickly and efficiently.
Endings and Beginnings (Death and Destruction Book 8) Page 31
