Arn hobbled into Johnny’s office and shut the door. He tossed the piece of Ana Maria’s blouse onto his desk. “Now maybe you’ll provide her some protection.”
Johnny stuffed papers in his briefcase without looking up. “I read the officer’s report from last night. I’m taking it under advisement.”
“Advisement!” Arn slammed his fist down on Johnny’s desk. A tin cup stuffed with pencils bounced several inches high. It overturned coming back down, spewing pencils and pens across the desk, but Arn made no effort to pick them up. “By the time you get your head out of your rectum, the shithead from last night could kill her.”
“What more do you want me to do? Oblanski’s assigned an investigator to look into the assaults on you two last night.” Johnny closed his briefcase and started for the door. “We have a dozen assaults a week. Do you think we got the manpower to assign a personal bodyguard to all of them? Get real. This isn’t Denver, big shot.”
Arn leaned over, inches from Johnny’s face. “Not every assault victim is airing an investigative report on three police deaths. All which may be connected to the Five Point cases.”
Johnny stopped and hung his head. “Not that again.”
“Someone doesn’t want me—or Ana Maria—looking into those deaths. Someone sent us both a message last night—”
“Some message.” Johnny pointed to Arn’s jeans bulging at the leg from the wraps, and at the butterfly bandages on his ear and cheek.
“This guy last night could have killed us both. He didn’t. He wanted to warn us off the case.”
Johnny’s face grew serious, his eyebrows coming together in a pronounced frown. “What it tells me is someone’s toying with you. I can’t offer any protection. But I can offer advice: if this guy is good enough to make you look like a fool twice now, he’s good enough to finish the job any time the notion strikes him. If he’s more than just toying with you.”
He started out the door when Arn called after him. “I need those files on Gaylord and Steve. And the Five Point cases. I’ve already had the mayor’s office grease the wheels with the city legal advisor.”
Johnny paused, turned around, and kicked the door shut with his boot. The veins in his neck throbbed, and spittle flew from his mouth. “I don’t appreciate being held hostage in my own office—”
“You don’t want me finding Butch’s killer?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“The way you’re keeping me out of the loop makes me wonder. I shouldn’t have had to go to the mayor. You can expect a call from his office any time,” Arn lied. He had called the mayor, who told him he couldn’t force the police chief to release official reports. In time, Arn told himself, he’d tell Johnny the truth. But not today.
Johnny sat on the edge of his desk. He closed his eyes and pinched his nose together. “What do you need?”
“Everything. Incident reports, interviews, photos. Any follow-up reports that were filed over the years.”
Johnny picked up the phone, and Arn wasn’t sure if he was calling a uniform to toss him out or not. But Johnny asked for the city attorney, and they spoke for a moment before Johnny hung up the phone. “Gorilla Legs will have everything copied in a couple hours. But don’t ever push me like this again or I’ll haul you into the mayor’s office personally and demand you be canned. He’s got just enough pull with the TV station he can make it happen.”
“Fair enough,” Arn said.
“You get what we have with one caveat: you keep this office informed as to what you learn. If anything.”
Arn nodded. He thought he’d start by telling Johnny that Oblanski was the one dancing with Hannah the night Butch was murdered, the one who’d given her a ride home. It wasn’t so much that he mistrusted Johnny; he just didn’t want it getting back to Oblanski. And Arn wanted to confront him in person. He needed to gauge Oblanski’s reaction for himself. His life and Ana Maria’s life might depend on it.