dating prospects. “What’ve you heard about the shooting?”
“I heard the killer’s not gonna be takin’ no walk like Edward Spivey.”
“Besides that.”
Gail studied her. She chewed, then took a smoke, then chewed some more. Finally, she asked, “Did you know Don?”
“Not really. He was Jimmy’s friend.”
Gail exhaled slowly. “I knew him.”
Maggie waited for more.
“He had a sweet side.” Gail stared off into the distance. “That’s the ones you always have to worry about, the assholes who aren’t assholes all the time.”
“An asshole is always an asshole.”
“That’s your youth talking.” She put down her fork. “This job changes you, baby doll, whether you like it or not. You bust balls long enough, you don’t wanna come home to a man who rolls over when you tell him to.” She winked. “You wanna be the one rolling over.”
The only thing Maggie wanted to come home to these days was a quiet house and clean laundry.
“It’s when they’re gentle that you start to lose yourself.” Gail was suddenly wistful. “They’re all strong and silent, then one day—hell, not even a day, maybe a second, two seconds if you’re lucky—this sweet side comes out and—” She snapped her fingers. “You’re a goner.”
Maggie felt slow on the uptake. “You knew Don.”
She shrugged. “He wasn’t so bad when you got him alone.”
Maggie picked at a dried glob of syrup glued to the table. She had always looked up to Gail. She was good at her job. She had a husband who loved her. She was Maggie’s idea of what being a successful policewoman was all about.
“Oh, kid, don’t be disappointed in me.”
“I’m not,” Maggie lied.
“You know I love Trouble.”
Maggie smiled at the old joke. Her husband’s nickname was Trouble.
Gail sighed out a flume of smoke. “I never see him, and when I do, all we do is fight about money and which bill is gonna get paid first and what are we gonna do about my sister’s deadbeat husband and how long can we put off before his mother has to come live with us.” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “Sometimes, it’s a relief to be with somebody who only wants you for one thing.”
“It’s your business. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
“Damn right I don’t.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a flask. All the upper ranks carried booze on them. Maggie watched Gail take a large mouthful. Then another. “Jesus, I hate it when the good ones die. Fought that fuckin’ war and came back here so another American could shoot him in an alley.”
Maggie wondered how many breakfast tables she was going to haveto sit around before she got a straight answer out of somebody. She repeated, “What have you heard about that shooting?”
Gail glanced at the waitress before responding. “That hippie-dippie girlfriend of his. What’s her name, Pocahontas? She made a scene at the hospital.”
Maggie had met the woman once. She had brown skin and jet-black hair that she wore in a long braid down her back. “How’d she find out?”
“Heard it on the scanner. Don had one at his apartment.”
“I didn’t know they were living together.”
She laughed. “Neither did he.”
Maggie laughed, too, but only so the moment wouldn’t turn more awkward. She echoed Terry’s words. “They’ll get him, anyway. Whoever did this. Five dead cops. You can only run for so long.”
“They’ll get somebody.”
Maggie didn’t ask for clarification. There had been questions about exactly how Terry had come up with the tossed gun and bloody shirt that tied Edward Spivey to Duke Abbott’s murder. The shitty part was that the case had been strong without the evidence. Unfortunately, most of the jurors came from Atlanta’s ghettos. They had seen too many cops plant too many pieces of evidence to believe this might be the one time that everything had been done by the book.
“Anyway.” Gail tipped her flask into her coffee cup. “They got all
“I heard the killer’s not gonna be takin’ no walk like Edward Spivey.”
“Besides that.”
Gail studied her. She chewed, then took a smoke, then chewed some more. Finally, she asked, “Did you know Don?”
“Not really. He was Jimmy’s friend.”
Gail exhaled slowly. “I knew him.”
Maggie waited for more.
“He had a sweet side.” Gail stared off into the distance. “That’s the ones you always have to worry about, the assholes who aren’t assholes all the time.”
“An asshole is always an asshole.”
“That’s your youth talking.” She put down her fork. “This job changes you, baby doll, whether you like it or not. You bust balls long enough, you don’t wanna come home to a man who rolls over when you tell him to.” She winked. “You wanna be the one rolling over.”
The only thing Maggie wanted to come home to these days was a quiet house and clean laundry.
“It’s when they’re gentle that you start to lose yourself.” Gail was suddenly wistful. “They’re all strong and silent, then one day—hell, not even a day, maybe a second, two seconds if you’re lucky—this sweet side comes out and—” She snapped her fingers. “You’re a goner.”
Maggie felt slow on the uptake. “You knew Don.”
She shrugged. “He wasn’t so bad when you got him alone.”
Maggie picked at a dried glob of syrup glued to the table. She had always looked up to Gail. She was good at her job. She had a husband who loved her. She was Maggie’s idea of what being a successful policewoman was all about.
“Oh, kid, don’t be disappointed in me.”
“I’m not,” Maggie lied.
“You know I love Trouble.”
Maggie smiled at the old joke. Her husband’s nickname was Trouble.
Gail sighed out a flume of smoke. “I never see him, and when I do, all we do is fight about money and which bill is gonna get paid first and what are we gonna do about my sister’s deadbeat husband and how long can we put off before his mother has to come live with us.” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “Sometimes, it’s a relief to be with somebody who only wants you for one thing.”
“It’s your business. You don’t have to explain it to me.”
“Damn right I don’t.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a flask. All the upper ranks carried booze on them. Maggie watched Gail take a large mouthful. Then another. “Jesus, I hate it when the good ones die. Fought that fuckin’ war and came back here so another American could shoot him in an alley.”
Maggie wondered how many breakfast tables she was going to haveto sit around before she got a straight answer out of somebody. She repeated, “What have you heard about that shooting?”
Gail glanced at the waitress before responding. “That hippie-dippie girlfriend of his. What’s her name, Pocahontas? She made a scene at the hospital.”
Maggie had met the woman once. She had brown skin and jet-black hair that she wore in a long braid down her back. “How’d she find out?”
“Heard it on the scanner. Don had one at his apartment.”
“I didn’t know they were living together.”
She laughed. “Neither did he.”
Maggie laughed, too, but only so the moment wouldn’t turn more awkward. She echoed Terry’s words. “They’ll get him, anyway. Whoever did this. Five dead cops. You can only run for so long.”
“They’ll get somebody.”
Maggie didn’t ask for clarification. There had been questions about exactly how Terry had come up with the tossed gun and bloody shirt that tied Edward Spivey to Duke Abbott’s murder. The shitty part was that the case had been strong without the evidence. Unfortunately, most of the jurors came from Atlanta’s ghettos. They had seen too many cops plant too many pieces of evidence to believe this might be the one time that everything had been done by the book.
“Anyway.” Gail tipped her flask into her coffee cup. “They got all
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