Finders Keepers by Sean Costello Page B

oblivious of his presence. It didn’t take long to figure out they weren’t headed for police headquarters, at least not right away, and Swain thought maybe he could squirm out of this yet, with only a few bruises and maybe a quick back-alley favor. He became almost convinced of this when they pulled into the underground lot of a Regent Park apartment complex. The detective just wanted his rocks off.
    Raybould wound deep into the multi-level lot, giving Swain the impression he knew exactly where he was headed. He backed into a shadowy corner slot across from an elevator and switched off the ignition. His gaze touched on a sporty champagne-colored Mercedes, parked near the elevator, then shifted to Swain.
    “Okay, Swainy, look,” he said. “Maybe I was a bit harsh.” He motioned for Swain to show him his hands. Swain complied and the cuffs came off. Raybould slipped them into his overcoat pocket. “It’s been a long day, and when I saw you hitting on those kids—”
    “The little shits were trying to sell me a hot stereo.”
    Anger flared in Raybould’s eyes and Swain shrank against the passenger door, but this time the detective restrained himself. Swain was certain now he’d have to suck this bully off.
    “Like I was saying,” Raybould said, “it’s been a long day. I’m sorry, okay?”
    Swain nodded noncommittally.
    “The real reason I looked you up…” He reached into his pocket and came out with a ziplock baggie of heroin. To Swain it looked pure, at least a half G’s worth. His mouth flooded with saliva. “I’ve got a job for you.”
    “What kind of job?”
    Grinning, Raybould said, “Not what you’re thinking.” He pressed a finger to Swain’s painted lips, smearing them. “Though that is one pretty cake-hole you’ve got there, Swainy.” He tucked the heroin into Swain’s clammy palm. “I need you to eyeball somebody for me. Tell me if you’ve seen him around the clubs. Two minute job, then you walk. And I don’t bust your skinny ass. Agreed?”
    “I can do that.”
    Raybould said, “I knew you could,” and smiled, a warm smile that made it all the way to those black eyes. Swain even found himself relaxing a little.
    He said, “So what do we do now?”
    “We wait.”
    “I have a taste in the meantime? Take the edge off?”
    “If it’ll keep you sharp.”
    “As a tack,” Swain said, opening the baggie. He fished his works out of an inside pocket and got busy, cooking up a batch in a well-used spoon, then drawing it up into an insulin syringe through a tiny wad of cotton. Not bothering with a tourniquet, he injected the hit into a track-marked vein at his wrist.
    His head drifted back and he sighed.
    Raybould said, “You nod on me, Swain, I’ll break every bone in your body.”
    Swain grinned. “I’m fine. Just point the man out.”
    He’ll be along. Just sit tight.”
    Swain reached for the radio, saying, “How ’bout some tunes while we’re waiting?” and Raybould slapped his hand away.
    “Just…sit tight.”
    They sat in silence for a while, a tense silence, spoiling Swain’s buzz. It was like sitting next to a caged animal, the man’s gaze fixed on the elevator doors, the air going in and out of him in slow tides, all Swain could hear in the close quarters of the car. The windows were starting to steam up and Swain became aware of his heart, a startled sparrow in his chest. He could hardly breathe. He wanted out of this car, away from this man.
    Breaking the silence, Raybould said, “Fucking politics,” giving Swain a sideways glance before looking back at the elevator. “It’s getting so a cop can’t do his job without being treated like a criminal himself. Ten years ago, even five, a clean shoot was a clean shoot. The whole deal was handled internally; we did our own dirty laundry. You showed up at the Coroner’s inquest in a suit and tie, you said your piece, next day you were back on the street. Now, fuck, fire your weapon on duty, you’ve got the