shot?�
�Nothing to lose,� Meyer said.
* * * *
Well now, by golly, who�d have thought they were going to make a drug bust at a hangout for geezers? But when you thought of it, what made more sense than strolling up the alley to a nice clean establishment where the elderly sat holding hands at tables in the dark as violinists strolled and meanwhile at the back door a man who�d been convicted of possession with intent was back at the old candy stand again?
La Paglia said they were out of their minds.
But they were there with a search warrant, you see.
Probable cause.
Sixteen-year-old girl in attendance at Grandma�s Bloomers, a club that meticulously IDs anyone seeking entrance, and she later takes a little stroll up the alley to Ninotchka, and yet later is witnessed swallowing two tabs of dust, and then she�s found dead outside Ninotchka, now isn�t that a remarkable coincidence, Your Honor?
Isn�t that probable cause for a search warrant, Your Honor?
Petition granted.
So what say you now, Mr. La Paglia?
�I say talk to your pals at Narcotics. They�ve been here already. They know the score. Talk to them.�
�You gonna let us search the premises?� Meyer asked. �Or you gonna give us trouble here?�
La Paglia decided to give them trouble.
He was a big man, not as tall as either Meyer or Carella, but thicker and beefier than either, and he had no intention of going back to jail, especially on charges that might include the death of a sixteen-year-old girl, there was no way anyone was going to put him back in there with all the butt-fuckers, pole-smokers, and peter-gazers. All you had to do was take one look at prison slang, and you figured in a minute that it wasn�t a hell of a lot better doing a grip of time here in America than it was doing it over there in Iraq. There was no way anybody was going to send Dominick La Paglia up again, a three-time loser this time, no way in the world!
He came at them like a bull roaring out of the chutes, looking to gore anybody in the ring. They weren�t used to this sort of activity. Your uniforms, who were there on the spot when a crime was going down, got into physical combat more often than your detectives, who usually came in after a crime was committed. Neither Carella nor Meyer could remember the last time they�d worked out at the police gym. So here came a guy who weighed two hundred and ten pounds, and who was still in good shape from lifting weights when he was on the inside, a guy who�d been paying off Narcotics, and maybe Street Crime as well, and who felt entitled to a little protection here, instead of two starfish assholes waving a search warrant at him. He felt betrayed, and he felt endangered, and besides he felt he had nothing to lose if he could get out of here past these two range queens, so he smashed his fist into Meyer�s face, knocking him off balance and back into Carella, who was reaching for his holstered Glock, when he, too, lost balance.
La Paglia kicked Meyer in the balls, dropping him moaning to his knees. He was about to do the same thing to Carella when the Glock popped into view. He kicked Meyer under the chin instead, hoping this would dissuade the other cop, but the gun was level in Carella�s hand now, pointing straight at La Paglia�s head, and his eyes spoke even before his mouth did, and his eyes said, I am going to shoot you dead.
�Freeze!� he yelled.
La Paglia hesitated just another moment. Meyer was lying flat on the floor now. La Paglia brought back his foot to kick him in the head again, just for spite, and then changed his mind when he heard Carella shout, �Now!�
He froze.
* * * *
He half expected the number she�d given him to be a fake one, but lo and behold, there was her voice on the phone.
�Reggie?� he said.
�Who�s this, please?�
�Charles.�
�Charles?�
�Remember last Thursday night? You and Trish?�
�Oh, right, sure. Hi, Charles.�
He still didn�t
�Nothing to lose,� Meyer said.
* * * *
Well now, by golly, who�d have thought they were going to make a drug bust at a hangout for geezers? But when you thought of it, what made more sense than strolling up the alley to a nice clean establishment where the elderly sat holding hands at tables in the dark as violinists strolled and meanwhile at the back door a man who�d been convicted of possession with intent was back at the old candy stand again?
La Paglia said they were out of their minds.
But they were there with a search warrant, you see.
Probable cause.
Sixteen-year-old girl in attendance at Grandma�s Bloomers, a club that meticulously IDs anyone seeking entrance, and she later takes a little stroll up the alley to Ninotchka, and yet later is witnessed swallowing two tabs of dust, and then she�s found dead outside Ninotchka, now isn�t that a remarkable coincidence, Your Honor?
Isn�t that probable cause for a search warrant, Your Honor?
Petition granted.
So what say you now, Mr. La Paglia?
�I say talk to your pals at Narcotics. They�ve been here already. They know the score. Talk to them.�
�You gonna let us search the premises?� Meyer asked. �Or you gonna give us trouble here?�
La Paglia decided to give them trouble.
He was a big man, not as tall as either Meyer or Carella, but thicker and beefier than either, and he had no intention of going back to jail, especially on charges that might include the death of a sixteen-year-old girl, there was no way anyone was going to put him back in there with all the butt-fuckers, pole-smokers, and peter-gazers. All you had to do was take one look at prison slang, and you figured in a minute that it wasn�t a hell of a lot better doing a grip of time here in America than it was doing it over there in Iraq. There was no way anybody was going to send Dominick La Paglia up again, a three-time loser this time, no way in the world!
He came at them like a bull roaring out of the chutes, looking to gore anybody in the ring. They weren�t used to this sort of activity. Your uniforms, who were there on the spot when a crime was going down, got into physical combat more often than your detectives, who usually came in after a crime was committed. Neither Carella nor Meyer could remember the last time they�d worked out at the police gym. So here came a guy who weighed two hundred and ten pounds, and who was still in good shape from lifting weights when he was on the inside, a guy who�d been paying off Narcotics, and maybe Street Crime as well, and who felt entitled to a little protection here, instead of two starfish assholes waving a search warrant at him. He felt betrayed, and he felt endangered, and besides he felt he had nothing to lose if he could get out of here past these two range queens, so he smashed his fist into Meyer�s face, knocking him off balance and back into Carella, who was reaching for his holstered Glock, when he, too, lost balance.
La Paglia kicked Meyer in the balls, dropping him moaning to his knees. He was about to do the same thing to Carella when the Glock popped into view. He kicked Meyer under the chin instead, hoping this would dissuade the other cop, but the gun was level in Carella�s hand now, pointing straight at La Paglia�s head, and his eyes spoke even before his mouth did, and his eyes said, I am going to shoot you dead.
�Freeze!� he yelled.
La Paglia hesitated just another moment. Meyer was lying flat on the floor now. La Paglia brought back his foot to kick him in the head again, just for spite, and then changed his mind when he heard Carella shout, �Now!�
He froze.
* * * *
He half expected the number she�d given him to be a fake one, but lo and behold, there was her voice on the phone.
�Reggie?� he said.
�Who�s this, please?�
�Charles.�
�Charles?�
�Remember last Thursday night? You and Trish?�
�Oh, right, sure. Hi, Charles.�
He still didn�t
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