these warrants. All I know is that he does.”
“So what did Goodman do? To make all of this happen?”
“I’ve got a better one: why did I want this job?” Farrell took a chair across from where Hardy sat. “But Goodman? He’s having trouble getting his name in the papers. This is going to fix that, believe me. My guess is he knows somebody high up in Special Ops with the ABC and talked him into these busts. We’re going to find out soon enough.”
“What are you going to do?”
Farrell dredged up a weary smile. “You mean am I going to prosecute these people to the fullest extent of the law? Shit, no. But I had to go forward. That’s the beauty of all this. Goodman’s got me completely squeezed. If I decline to prosecute, citing the unnecessary cost in dollars and manpower to my already understaffed and underfunded office, then I’m soft on policing these violating premises that not only serve booze to kids but also deal in illegal narcotics and fence stolen property and are hotbeds of other vice and criminal activities. Since I am in fact underfunded and understaffed, I’d like to concentrate my efforts on people who are doing a lot worse things, and which, if I don’t, will affect my job approval rating down the line, I guarantee you. It’s a perfect end run.”
“Slick.”
“Fucked.”
“That, too,” Hardy said. “I picked up a client who’s more than a little freaked out about a felony conviction and going to jail. The guy’s a bartender, right? There’s somebody at the front door checking IDs. You tell me how a bartender is supposed to know how they got the stamp on their hand.”
“I hear you,” Farrell said. “And we know nothing is really going to happen. But I don’t see how I’m going to go up against the ABC and Goodman and blanket say I’m going to dismiss all of ’em. Best possible outcome, from your perspective, is bide your time and all the bullshit goes away.”
“Bide your time long enough, everything goes away, Wes.”
“True. Sorry I can’t be more help.”
G LITSKY WAS READING a book at his desk. At Hardy’s knock, he looked up, his expression blank almost to the point of nonrecognition. After aslight hesitation, his lips went tight, his shoulders settled, he closed the book, and he leaned back in his chair. “What up, Diz?”
From the open doorway, Hardy said, “I was just downstairs and saw your wife, which reminded me that you were alive and kicking and maybe I should drop by and brighten up your day.”
Glitsky cocked his head at the windows high up in the wall to his left. Outside, the sky was gray. “It’s not working.”
Hardy came forward a few steps. “Sometimes it takes a minute for the full brightening power to take effect. What are you reading here in the middle of the afternoon, which I’m sure is against some regulation or other?”
Glitsky seemed surprised to find the book on his desk. “Steve Jobs. Totally allowed. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d say hi. You and I haven’t gotten much quality time in lately, maybe you’ve noticed?”
Glitsky sat back, then said, “Why don’t you shut the door.”
Hardy did, then pulled up a folding chair in front of Glitsky’s desk. “You’re still pissed off,” he said.
“More worried than anything.”
“Abe,” Hardy whispered, “it was six years ago.”
Glitsky sat back in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. “That’s what worries me, Diz. The three of you there, thinking, ‘Hey, it’s been six years. We’re cool. Nobody cares anymore. Nobody remembers.’ Guess what?” He let out a breath. “Even you and me, right now. This is a topic that must never come up.”
“It didn’t. We never talked about it. The actual event.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Glitsky straightened up. His hands went to the sides of his head. “Diz. Please. Lord.”
“So that night at Sam’s—”
Glitsky cut him off. “It shouldn’t be in anybody’s
“So what did Goodman do? To make all of this happen?”
“I’ve got a better one: why did I want this job?” Farrell took a chair across from where Hardy sat. “But Goodman? He’s having trouble getting his name in the papers. This is going to fix that, believe me. My guess is he knows somebody high up in Special Ops with the ABC and talked him into these busts. We’re going to find out soon enough.”
“What are you going to do?”
Farrell dredged up a weary smile. “You mean am I going to prosecute these people to the fullest extent of the law? Shit, no. But I had to go forward. That’s the beauty of all this. Goodman’s got me completely squeezed. If I decline to prosecute, citing the unnecessary cost in dollars and manpower to my already understaffed and underfunded office, then I’m soft on policing these violating premises that not only serve booze to kids but also deal in illegal narcotics and fence stolen property and are hotbeds of other vice and criminal activities. Since I am in fact underfunded and understaffed, I’d like to concentrate my efforts on people who are doing a lot worse things, and which, if I don’t, will affect my job approval rating down the line, I guarantee you. It’s a perfect end run.”
“Slick.”
“Fucked.”
“That, too,” Hardy said. “I picked up a client who’s more than a little freaked out about a felony conviction and going to jail. The guy’s a bartender, right? There’s somebody at the front door checking IDs. You tell me how a bartender is supposed to know how they got the stamp on their hand.”
“I hear you,” Farrell said. “And we know nothing is really going to happen. But I don’t see how I’m going to go up against the ABC and Goodman and blanket say I’m going to dismiss all of ’em. Best possible outcome, from your perspective, is bide your time and all the bullshit goes away.”
“Bide your time long enough, everything goes away, Wes.”
“True. Sorry I can’t be more help.”
G LITSKY WAS READING a book at his desk. At Hardy’s knock, he looked up, his expression blank almost to the point of nonrecognition. After aslight hesitation, his lips went tight, his shoulders settled, he closed the book, and he leaned back in his chair. “What up, Diz?”
From the open doorway, Hardy said, “I was just downstairs and saw your wife, which reminded me that you were alive and kicking and maybe I should drop by and brighten up your day.”
Glitsky cocked his head at the windows high up in the wall to his left. Outside, the sky was gray. “It’s not working.”
Hardy came forward a few steps. “Sometimes it takes a minute for the full brightening power to take effect. What are you reading here in the middle of the afternoon, which I’m sure is against some regulation or other?”
Glitsky seemed surprised to find the book on his desk. “Steve Jobs. Totally allowed. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d say hi. You and I haven’t gotten much quality time in lately, maybe you’ve noticed?”
Glitsky sat back, then said, “Why don’t you shut the door.”
Hardy did, then pulled up a folding chair in front of Glitsky’s desk. “You’re still pissed off,” he said.
“More worried than anything.”
“Abe,” Hardy whispered, “it was six years ago.”
Glitsky sat back in his chair, hands clasped over his stomach. “That’s what worries me, Diz. The three of you there, thinking, ‘Hey, it’s been six years. We’re cool. Nobody cares anymore. Nobody remembers.’ Guess what?” He let out a breath. “Even you and me, right now. This is a topic that must never come up.”
“It didn’t. We never talked about it. The actual event.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Glitsky straightened up. His hands went to the sides of his head. “Diz. Please. Lord.”
“So that night at Sam’s—”
Glitsky cut him off. “It shouldn’t be in anybody’s
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