by Shawn Wilson
Brick glanced down and saw the dates had already been filled in—two weeks, effective immediately. It wasn’t vacation, it was a suspension. Without hesitating, he picked up the leave slip and tore it in half.
* * *
Brick exited the revolving door and walked down the steps of Headquarters like he had done thousands of times over the past twenty years. But this time was different; he was a civilian. He knew the day would come when he would turn in his badge and gun, he just didn’t think it would be today. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he had acted impulsively. It was totally out of character for him, but there was no denying it felt right. It also felt surreal. It was nine o’clock in the morning and there was nowhere he had to be.
It had been years since Brick frequented the FOP—now he was walking through the door for the second time in two days. He was relieved to see the place was empty except for Hank.
“Better be careful, Brick, this could become a habit.”
“I don’t think so.” He settled onto one of the mismatched stools lining the bar. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“The incident yesterday.”
“Oh that.” Hank laughed. “If you need to apologize for anything—it’s for not knocking Allen on his ass. That motherfucker’s been a thorn in my side for as long as I can remember.”
“You’re not alone,” Brick said. “He’s a decent detective, I’ll give him that. But if he weren’t so connected, he’d never get away with the stuff he says and does.”
“Yeah, it definitely helps when your daddy’s been a congressman for the past twenty years or so.” Hank rinsed a couple of glasses and set them aside to dry. “Where’s Ron?”
“Last I heard, he’s at Georgetown with his wife—you know she’s about to have twins.”
“Well, God bless him. I’d offer you a shot of whiskey, but I’m guessing you’re on duty.”
“Not anymore.” Brick managed a half-hearted smile.
Hank did a double take. “What the hell does that mean?”
Brick told Hank about his meeting with Blancato.
“Jesus, Brick, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Buy season tickets for the Nats?”
“C’mon, I’m serious. I know you well enough to know being a cop is in your DNA. Take it from me, you’re going to miss it more than you could ever imagine. I’d give my left nut—hell, my right one, too—just to be back in uniform. Don’t end your career this way. Go back and talk to Blancato. Do it now before the word gets around.”
Brick shook his head. “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m done. I’m tired of the politics and bullshit that get in the way of doing the job.”
“That’s always been the case. It’s the way this town operates.”
“It’s worse now. Blancato’s so far up the mayor’s ass he could be checking for polyps.”
Hank had just taken a drink of water and almost did a spit-take. “Thanks a lot—that’s an image I won’t be able to get out of my head. Guess he’s laying the groundwork to be Chief of Police. Right?”
“I’m hearing he’s got ambitions beyond chief. That’s why he created the task force with ICE almost before the bodies were cold. There was a time when calling in the Feds would have been the last resort.”
“I don’t mean to play devil’s advocate, but it’s hard to argue with success. A guilty plea at arraignment—doesn’t get much sweeter than that.”
“You’re right.” It was easier to agree with Hank than to get into a debate. What he said was true, but a plea isn’t sweet if the guy isn’t guilty and something about Cruz’s plea just didn’t make sense. “I need to get going; take care of yourself.”
“You do the same.” Hank reached across the bar and the two former cops shook hands. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Brick couldn’t get out of there fast enough, yet he wasn’t ready to go home. It was just after ten, which meant Boland’s Mill would be open. A few hours ago, he never would have imagined turning this morning into a pub crawl. Then again, he hadn’t seen himself pulling the plug on a twenty-year career.
* * *
“The cat’s freaking me out.” Rory eased off the Guinness tap and waited for the pint to settle. “I bought her one of those scratching posts with a perch on top so that she’d have a nice place to sleep. She’ll crawl up there during the day but at night she sits and stares at my bathtub. And sometimes she makes a sound that’s not a meow—it’s more like a cry.” He set the glass in front of Brick. “I don’t know, it’s like she misses Jose and remembers seeing him by the bathtub. It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”
“What’s weird?”
“The cat.”
“What about the cat?”
“Jaysus, have I been talking to myself here? I was telling you about Elvis.”
“What about him … her?”
“Never mind, I’m probably imagining things.” Rory yawned, practically exposing his tonsils. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since Jose died.”
Brick didn’t respond. He picked up his glass and set it back down without taking a drink. Rory watched as he did it again.
“Something wrong with your glass?”
“No, why?”
“You keep picking it up and putting it down.”
“Really?” Brick shook his head. “Guess I’m a little preoccupied.”
“A new case?” Rory refilled a couple of salt shakers then went to work on the pepper shakers. “Sad to say, but in this crazy feckin’ world, cops and grave diggers will never have to worry about being unemployed.”
Brick stared at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He exhaled slowly. “I quit, Rory.”
“Quit what?”
“The job.”
Rory gave Brick a quizzical look. “Are you serious?”
Brick nodded. “I’m done—no badge, no gun, it’s over.”
Rory poured himself a Coke and took a drink. “Man, talk about left field. I didn’t see this coming.”
Brick laughed. “That makes two of us.” He gave Rory an abbreviated version of his encounter with Blancato.
“And just like that, you quit?”
“Yeah, just like that.”
“What are you going to do?”
Brick shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” To his ears, the words sounded confident, but Brick felt numb. What would he do? He’d always liked being a cop, but he loved being a homicide detective. It was going to be a tough act to follow, no matter what he decided.
“I don’t know what to say.” Rory shook his head. “Congratulations doesn’t sound right.”
Brick took a sip of his Guinness. “Sounds right to me.”
“Then, congratulations it is.” Rory raised his glass of Coke. “Slàinte!”
Brick tapped his glass against Rory’s. “Is Eamonn in his office?”
“No. He’s running a few errands, getting ready for his trip.”
“When’s he leaving?” Brick asked.
“Day after tomorrow.” Rory shook his head. “Just between you and me, I’m worried about him, Brick. I tried everything I could think of to talk him out of it, but I may as well have saved my breath. He’s made up his mind and that’s that. He’s so feckin’ stubborn.” Rory yawned again and Brick wondered if worrying about Eamonn was also contributing to his insomnia. “By the way, Jose’s landlord, what’s his name?”
“Carlos.”
“Right, Carlos. He stopped by and dropped off some stuff from Jose’s apartment. Their clothes and the bigger stuff Eamonn’s storing for now, but he figured he could take a few small things the family may want. That’s what’s in those bags over there.” Rory finished his Coke. “Want to make yourself useful? You could help me pack it up.”
“Not like there’s anywhere I need to be.” Brick pulled off his tie and stuck it in the pocket of his suit coat. It took a second for him to remember he no longer was walking aroun
d with a gun and handcuffs on his belt. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, rolled up his sleeves, and followed Rory to the corner where the bags were stacked. Scissors, tape, and bubble wrap were set out on a nearby table along with a sturdy cardboard box bearing the logo of Captain Morgan White Rum.
Rory opened one of the bags and retrieved the contents. He handed some framed photos, a couple of religious statues, a strand of rosary beads, and a crucifix to Brick. “Guess all this stuff should be wrapped up before it’s put in the box.”
“Okay.” Brick went to work encasing the items in bubble wrap while Rory emptied the next bag.
“This must have belonged to Maria.”
“What is it?” Brick asked.
Rory held an ornate wooden box in his hands. “Looks like a jewelry box.” He flipped it open. “Yeah, a bunch of earrings, some bracelets and necklaces. I don’t know much about jewelry, but it doesn’t look like anything all that valuable.”
Brick peered over Rory’s shoulder. “Stuff probably has sentimental value.”
“Maybe, I wouldn’t know about that. Just looks like cheap jewelry to me.” Rory reached into the bag again. “Hey, this looks like a photo album.” He flipped through a few of the pages. “Aw, jaysus, there’s one of me and Jose doing karaoke.” Rory closed the album and dropped it in the box. “I can’t look at those. Hand me the scissors.” Brick complied and watched as Rory cut the string securing the top of another bag. “Oh man, this was the soccer jersey I brought back for Jose the last time I was in Ireland.” Brick heard Rory sniffle a couple of times. “He was so excited when I gave it to him. He told me he was going to hang it on the wall instead of wearing it.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember seeing it in his bedroom,” Brick said. “It was hanging on the wall over his bed.”
Rory removed the jersey from the bag and set it on the table. “Looks like he wore it at least once to some kind of party. There’s confetti stuck to the sleeve.”
Brick set down the jewelry box he was wrapping. “Where?”
“Right there.” Rory pointed to the right sleeve of the soccer jersey just as his cellphone squawked. He pulled the phone out of his shirt pocket and checked the display. “Gotta take this.” Rory ducked into Eamonn’s office and closed the door.
Brick bent down to get a better look. Immediately he saw what Rory was talking about and understood how he could have thought it was confetti. Brick knew better. He was 99 percent sure he was looking at taser dots. He grabbed a piece of tissue paper, and using his ballpoint pen, knocked the dots onto the paper, folded it into a square, and slipped it into his pocket. Brick walked over by the window looking out on Connecticut Avenue. He thought for a moment. In order for taser dots to attach to Jose’s soccer jersey, a taser must have been discharged near where the jersey was hanging. The bruise on Maria’s hip … the Medical Examiner couldn’t determine the cause, but could it be the result of a taser? That was just one of the questions swirling around in Brick’s head. How could the Mobile Crime Unit miss something that could prove to be critical evidence? With encoded serial numbers, taser dots are as identifiable as a fingerprint. Sloppy police work. Given all the budget cuts, Brick had seen plenty of examples lately. But even for cops working a double-shift, they’re supposed to be professionals and overlooking evidence was inexcusable.
Brick was angry and frustrated. Frustrated that guys who are paid to find evidence didn’t. He turned away from the window. And angry, that as a civilian, there was nothing he could do about it.
Then again, maybe there was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BRICK GRABBED HIS phone the instant it rang. He was relieved to see Ron’s number pop up. “How’s Jasmine?”
“She’s fine, we’re back home.” Ron exhaled loudly. “A false alarm, but the doctor says she’s going to need bed rest until she delivers. Her mother and sister are moving in as we speak.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just shoot me now.”
Brick laughed. “Any chance you can get away for about an hour? There’s a couple of things I need to talk to you about and I’d rather it be in person.”
“Only an hour?” Ron sounded disappointed. “How about Ike’s in forty-five minutes?”
“Works for me.” It’d been a while since he’d had a chili dog. Might as well have the best D.C. has to offer.
It was just after sunset when Brick exited the U Street/Cardozo Station along with a crowd of dressed-for-success young men and women. He guessed that most of them heading to their luxury condos or apartments were too young to appreciate how the neighborhood had evolved. Like the mythical phoenix, it had risen from the ashes of burned-out shells that remained after the ’68 riots following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. But it was a long time coming. For many years drug dealers sold heroin in open-air markets. Then construction of the Metro’s Green Line turned the area into a sixty-foot hole. Most of the business in the area closed, some overnight, but through it all, Ike’s Chili Dog not only survived, it thrived.
Brick arrived first. It was always comforting to see that Ike’s hadn’t changed much over the years despite the recent influx of boutiques, high-end home furnishing stores, and trendy restaurants. He nodded to a young man behind the counter before heading to one of the booths in the back. The photos on the wall were an eclectic mix of familiar faces—politicians, local celebrities, musicians, and athletes. Brick was happy to see a couple of Nats players had earned a spot. With the team wrapping up a six-game road trip to Milwaukee and Chicago, they’d be back home by the end of the week. Brick figured he owed it to himself to finally take in a couple of games.
“Sorry I’m late—had to pick up a prescription for Jasmine.”
Brick looked up as Ron eased into the opposite side of the booth. “No problem. I’ve been checking out some of the new photos over there.”
“Cool.” Ron got up, walked over, and took a look, then returned to the table. “Did I ever point out my father’s picture?”
“No.”
“That’s him next to Roberta Flack. He was good. Some critics even compared him to Thelonious Monk.” Ron shook his head. “Probably could have been great if the drugs hadn’t killed him first.” He sat down again. “Guess I’ll have to bring the twins in here when they’re old enough to understand. So, what’s up?”
“I quit, Ron.”
“Smoking … that’s good.”
A sad smile crossed Brick’s lips. “I turned in my badge this morning.”
“Why … what … is this a joke?”
“No.”
Ron slumped against the back of the booth. “Damn, this is the last thing I expected to hear.” Ron was silent for a minute, but when he spoke again, he sounded angry. “You been planning this for a while and didn’t even bother to tell me?”
Brick shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that at all.” Over chili half-smokes and fries, he recounted his earlier meeting with Blancato.
“Fucking Blancato.” Ron picked up a fry then threw it back on his plate. He wiped a blob of chili off his hands and dropped the crumpled paper napkin next to his plate. “Why quit? He could be gone in six months or a year.”
“It’s not just about Blancato.”
“Travis Allen? Oh man, please don’t tell me—”
“No, it’s not one person or one thing. It’s the culture—the only thing more outdated than the computers is the mind-set of the White Shirts in charge. You know what I’m talking about.”
Ron nodded. “Yeah, I do. I get that and it’s frustrating as hell, but walking away like this, it’s so sudden.”
“Not really. You might say I just ‘know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em.’” Brick waited, expecting Ron to identify the movie line, but he didn’t. “Come on, even I know that was Kenny Rogers in The Gambler. Maybe I’ll catch up on all those movies I’ve missed and challenge you to a trivia smackdown.”
That elicited a smile from Ron, but it faded qu
ickly. “It was a hit song before it was a movie, so it doesn’t count. Seriously, what are you going to do?”
“Until a couple of hours ago I didn’t know, but now I do.” Brick glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. “What would you say if told you I found some overlooked evidence from Jose’s apartment?”
Ron didn’t respond immediately. “Guess it would depend on the evidence.”
“Taser dots.”
“Say what?”
Ron listened intently as Brick recapped the discovery he’d made. “Remember the bruise on Maria’s hip—the one the ME said was inconclusive?” Ron nodded as Brick continued. “If she was hit with a taser—”
“That’s a big if, man.”
“Maybe, maybe not. If she was the target and Jose interrupted an abduction in progress—”
“You mentioned something like that back in the brainstorming session with Blancato and the A-Team. Seemed far-fetched then, and I gotta say, it still does.”
“You’ve worked Homicide long enough now to know stranger things have happened.”
Ron didn’t respond immediately. “True, but are you sure this isn’t a you-versus-them kind of thing?”
“No, it’s never been about that. I don’t have a vendetta against Blancato or the A-Team. I don’t like working with them, but that’s not breaking news. This is about one thing—finding the truth. Whatever that truth is. If you’ve learned nothing else from me, I hope you’ve learned that.”
“Rest assured, I got that message loud and clear on day one.” Ron shook his head. “I’m going to miss you, man. We’ve only been together a year, but every day I’ve learned something from you.” The emotion in Ron’s voice was palpable. “Because of you, I know I’m a better cop and a better man. If ever there’s anything I can do …” Ron’s voice trailed off, leaving his offer open-ended.
Brick didn’t hesitate. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FOR THE FIRST time in as long as Brick could remember, he hadn’t been jarred awake by an alarm clock. Eight hours of sleep had felt good, so good it could easily become a habit. Before zipping his leather bomber jacket, Brick reached inside his pocket and retrieved his sunglasses. It was close to noon and he was going to need them. Time for the first big decision of the day—where to have lunch.
