French Pressed by Cleo Coyle Page B

bar, and we would get to talking about his cases, from his theories and interrogations to his methods of trapping an array of criminals. I’d learned a lot about detective work, just listening to Mike as he downed his lattes.
    The first week we’d started dating, he’d confided to me how happy it made him that I genuinely cared about his work. Apparently, his wife had changed on him early in their marriage, asking him not to bring his job home.
    I’d never met Mrs. Quinn, but I couldn’t understand how she could shut down her husband like that. I thought Mike’s work was admirable and inspiring, not to mention thrilling. The man routinely risked his life to keep the never-ending New York crime wave from touching me and mine. How could I not want to hear about it?
    “May-September, May-September,” I repeated, drumming my fingers on the table. “Is the name some kind of a play on the phrase May-December relationship ?”
    “You’re getting warmer.”
    Mike glanced away from Java and moved his attention fully over to me. I gulped a few more hits of caffeine just to stay focused under his intense blue gaze.
    “Okay…” I said. “If the gang is May-September, then it must mean a younger person and a middle-aged person are involved somehow. Are younger perps setting up middle-aged victims for robberies?”
    “You got it.” He put the lid on the Pounce treats. Java got the hint. She licked her brown paws, stretched, then trotted off toward the living room. “Looks like I lost my new furry girlfriend.”
    “Pop the lid on those treats, and she’ll be all yours again.”
    “I see. It’s a superficial thing.”
    “So…how are they doing it exactly? The gang?”
    “The MO’s been the same a half dozen times now. A twentysomething perpetrator picks up a middle-aged target at a nightclub, brings the target to another location, where accomplices initiate the robbery. Sometimes there’s violence, other times just some gun pointing. They always leave the victim tied up. CompStat confirmed the pattern, and my captain asked me to form a task force.”
    “Does that mean this gang’s operating beyond the Sixth Precinct?”
    Mike nodded. “Lower East Side, Soho, and here in the Village.”
    “I guess that makes sense…I mean, those are the hot spots for nightlife.”
    “Three clubs seem to be favorite locations for this gang,” Mike said. “We’ve got personnel undercover, posing as nightclub customers.”
    “You have them well-dressed, I assume. Flashing cash and jewelry? Looking clumsy and drunk, like easy marks?”
    “You got it, Cosi.” Mike smiled. “Didn’t I tell you to sign up for the Police Academy?”
    “You know I’m way too old for that, Detective. I may be a long way from December, but I’m definitely pushing September. Are women getting hit on as victims in these nightclubs or just men?”
    “Women and men. Both have been targets.”
    “But you haven’t had any bites yet?”
    The smile left Mike’s eyes; he glanced into his cup. “Nothing.”
    “That’s not unusual, is it? I mean, you just started your operation…”
    “The robberies are getting more violent: pistol whipping, choking to unconsciousness.” He frowned, looked away, sipped more coffee. “If we don’t tag a lead quickly, I’m concerned we’ll be looking at homicides.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should use me as a decoy.”
    “I have a lot of plans for using you, Cosi. None involve setting you up as bait for a confidence sting.”
    “Okay, fine…as long as one of your plans involves those handcuffs of yours.” I put my wrists together in front of me, hoping to lighten his mood again. “Did I mention the bed upstairs is a four-poster?”
    My little joke seemed to perk up Mike faster than another hit of Sunshine. He smiled, rubbing his chin, but he wasn’t taking the bait where the handcuffs were concerned.
    “So tell me how your little investigation ran?” he asked, pointedly changing the subject,