Vallet bawled out to two officers, Liam Connor and Bryce Reubens, who were leading a young man with a shaved head, bristly like a Chia Pet. “A Pedicab driver? You’re out six hours and all you come back with is a Pedicab driver you think was pimping for some hooker you never saw?”
“He ran,” Reubens said.
“Look who’s here,” Rossiter said. “Stewie Griffin and the House Mouse.”
“Why the hell they put you on the street?” Vallet asked Connor and Reubens. “We’re not that desperate.” To the Pedicab driver, Vallet said, “What were you thinking? Nobody can pedal faster than a cop car.” To Rossiter, Vallet said, “Is Harry your bright light in the dark? And you have to turn him on to see your way?”
“Who complained?” Rossiter asked.
“Someone did,” Vallet said.
Rossiter shrugged and said, “Harry screwed up.”
“Anything anyone can tag you with?” Vallet asked.
Again, Rossiter shrugged.
“CO wants to see you,” Vallet told Rossiter.
As Rossiter entered Commanding Officer Deputy Inspector Frances Harding’s office, the man said, “You got to be dumber than your nut-bird friend.”
“Turner got a rabbi downtown?” Rossiter asked. “Or was it Cotton?”
“From what I gather,” Harding said, “by the time Miss Turner’s door hit your ass on the way out, she was on the pipe.”
“How high is her contact?” Rossiter asked.
“High enough to hang you in a sling,” Harding said. “You should’ve arrested the nut-bird. Harassment, B-and-E, something, anything.”
Rossiter took his shield and gun and put them on Harding’s desk.
“Is it worth it?” Harding asked.
“I had a ball,” Rossiter said.
“Did it get you what you wanted?”
“I guess not.”
“What the fuck did you want?” Harding asked. “It’s not your party.”
“Harry’s a good guy,” Rossiter said. “Not right, a guy like that gets the shaft.”
“Hunter goes into the woods,” Harding said, “clocks a bear, aims, shoots, misses.”
“I heard it,” Rossiter said.
Harding ignored Rossiter and continued:
“Enraged, the bear throws the man on the ground and brutally sodomizes him. Next Saturday, hunter goes back to the woods, clocks the bear, aims, shoots, misses. Enraged, the bear throws the man on the ground and brutally sodomizes him. Third Saturday, hunter, back in the woods, clocks the bear, aims, shoots, misses. The bear strolls over to him and says, ‘This isn’t about hunting, is it?’ This isn’t about Harry, is it?”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” Rossiter said.
“Not about loyalty, either,” Harding said.
Rossiter started out.
“What’s bugging you, Rossiter?” Harding asked.
“It’s not about me,” Rossiter said. “My life is good.”
“You know the old song?” Harding asked.
“Fuck you,” Rossiter said.
“A knight in shining armor, that it?” Harding asked. “Like your nutcase pal.”
Rossiter opened the door.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Harding asked.
The right corner of Rossiter’s mouth crimped up: almost a smile. He went back and picked up his shield and gun.
“You were ready to quit over this?” Harding asked. “Really?”