Chapter 29

Partners

1:26am

Even though Smitty and Max were as good a pair of friends as any two people in the world, their being a man and a woman maintaining very separate and very different love lives had been a source of awkwardness until recent months.

In their younger years, they bonded over their shared experience of being outsiders at the police academy, but there were also the times he consoled her after her numerous bad dating experiences and battles with her weight.

Soon after, the deep-seated hatred Smitty felt for Max’s ex-wife, Shelia, hung over their heads like a dark cloud that only went away when Shelia was busted screwing a rapper in a cocaine-dusted hotel room. As far as Smitty’s suspicions that Shelia was a horrible person goes, it was tempting to say, ‘I told you so,’ to Max, but it was more important to keep him focused on finding the Good Grades Killer.

She remembered the vulnerable, hurt look on his face after the incident and how his facial expression morphed to confusion and then pity when she thought that would be a good time to proposition him.

That same night, the serial killer, the same one who saved their lives before humiliating them in a subway tunnel, would rape Max and harvest his sperm before setting him free. Literally a week after that, Max rebounded into Bridgette Aries’ arms and hasn’t looked back.

Smitty got over the embarrassment of asking her best friend to sleep with her, after years of him being essentially the brother she’d never been blessed with, by not bringing it up even though they continued to be in the same car together five sometimes six days a week. Even after Kendra surprised Max by leaving him a baby to raise, the conversation never shifted to how Bridgette, a successful media personality with more than enough to contend with, must have felt blind-sided by the baby’s arrival.

Meanwhile, Smitty managed to meet a wonderful man; a smart, trusting Missouri native who moved to the big city to pursue his career in anthropology. Perhaps, the only man in the world more socially awkward than she was. And, while the love she received from that man is enough to fill the void where there was no love in her younger years, it didn’t help her reconcile the fact that Max had always been the better friend. Never was that more apparent than in the moment, with her sitting in the car texting kissy emojis to her sweet, understanding boyfriend while watching Max pace back and forth fretting over what Bridgette might finally say to him.

One of these days, I’m going to have to be a more useful best friend. Or sister. Or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to be to him.

***

“They called me back into the studio,” Bridgette explained.

“Yes. More Russian mob stuff, which I imagine is why you’re still on the street. Anyway, I called in Abigail.”

“Which one’s Abigail?”

“The Nigerian. Bethany cried a little when I left, but we managed to calm her down. She’s good.” Bridgette’s voice, as stressed as she sounded, was somehow soothing for Max.

“I guess it’s good that you’re getting back in with the networks,” Max said.

“If you call being asked to cover something at two in the morning ‘back in’, sure. To be honest, I’m a little scared,” Bridgette admitted. It sounded like she was walking through the front door of the house.

“Afraid of what, becoming more famous than you already are? What’s the worst thing that could happen, outside of guest appearances on The View?” Max asked. “Which by the way, I’ve watched once or twice. If you score that, could you try to avoid talking about our love life the way the younger women on the show are apparently always doing?”

“So, during impromptu television appearances, I shouldn’t mention that I’m raising a serial killer’s child?” She didn’t mean to say it, nor imagined how it would sound until she heard it. “Sorry, Max. That was harsh for no reason. I’m just tired.”

“I deserve it. I needed the talking to earlier today and now I’m making jokes about your TV appearances. You worked hard to achieve an amazing career. I know you need to deal with that. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re settling in any area of your life because of me.” Max’s finger tapped nervously against the phone as he waited for her response.

“Hang on, Max,” she said. From the rustling, it seemed she was trying to get situated in an Uber. When she finally responded, Max’s heart skipped. “Max, we went over this.”

“We did.”

“And you know I love you.”

“I do. I really do.”

“And you love me?”

“With all my heart, baby!”

“And more importantly, we are going to be strong for the baby. Even though I am super scared.”

“Honey, we are wrapping this case up.”

“Please do. I’m tired of hearing about Russians on the phone and at work, then seeing footage of you at a crime scene. The next place I want to see you is the bedroom. Do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear,” Max said with a sudden burst of excitement, as he noticed Smitty had gotten out of the car and begun to wave him over. “And like I said, this is close to done and even if you do see me in more new footage from your sneaky helicopter, you have nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Bridgette drew an exasperated breath. “I’ve been with you long enough to know when you’re trying to do the macho, stoic, ‘I’m a man and I’ll handle it,’ thing. It’s both adorable and annoying. Just be careful, okay? And please try to relieve Abigail at some point before sunrise, otherwise we will owe her a shitload of money.”

Max looked up to see Smitty slamming her hand on the roof of the car. “Understood. Love you!”

“Love you, too!” Max shouted as he ran to the car and ended the call. “What’s up, Smitty?”

“We’ve had multiple issues coming in over the radio while we were both working on our relationships,” Smitty shouted. “Dead body in a sleazy hotel in the west thirties. Concussed woman in front of same hotel. Another dead body in front of a gas station a block away. Possibly the same assailants.”

“Assailants?” Max asked as he jumped in the car and started the engine.

“Two of the descriptions match our missing Russian gym rats,” Smitty added. “A third suspect, another Caucasian male, was seen at the gas station.”

“A third man?” Max repeated as he swerved the car up 9^th Avenue. “The Ratkeviches must have called for help. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some Brotherhood goon that was with them.”

Smitty wasn’t sure if she agreed, but she wasn’t going to argue. “The good news is, Lopez is at Rego Park getting drug tested. She resurfaced from her car accident, but the details are a little sketchy. In the meantime, once we get to the crime scene, we are in charge.”

Except for the random squawk on the radio, they rode the rest of the way in silence. Smitty wanted to ask how Max’s talk with Bridgette went, but it didn’t feel like the right time.

This just in; I still suck as a friend. Of course, he probably doesn’t want to talk about it anyway.

When they pulled up to the hotel, they noticed the squad cars, ambulances and evidence teams bustling about. In the middle of the organized chaos stood a single plain clothes officer. “Smitty, who is that?”

“That’s one of the assholes from Staten Island,” Smitty said as her eyes squinted. “Pistoni, or something like that.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Max threw the car in park and jumped out. Anyone watching Max’s approach, including Smitty, might have concluded that Pistoni was about to get punched in the face. Instead, Max stopped two feet away from the Staten Island detective, letting his facial expression show how irritated he was at having his crime scene visited without prior notice.

Pistoni raised his hands in mock surrender. “Before you get your feathers ruffled, you should know I called Lieutenant Lopez before I came. The only reason I’m here is because my partner is missing.”

“Seriously? We just saw you both a few hours ago,” Smitty dismissed before reminding herself that if Max ever went missing she would search the world and leave nothing but scorched earth in her wake. “Was he supposed to check in or something?”

Pistoni looked around before answering. “Can we talk about this in private?”

Max and Smitty looked at each other, quietly agreeing that Smitty would be the better listener in this instance. “I’m going to check the scene and take notes. You two can talk.” Max said as he walked toward the hotel.

“Okay, well let’s hear it,” Smitty said after Max had disappeared behind the door.

Pistoni took a deep breath “Look, you know, Romero’s my superior officer. But he’s also a brother. We came up the ranks together.”

“Yes, and naturally, living with boy’s club rules means you turn a blind eye while he takes bribes from the Russian mob,” Smitty scoffed. “Now, when he doesn’t return your calls you have to go stomping out in the night to cover your tracks. Don’t worry, I’m sure the indictment will have your name on it when the day comes.”

“Hey, I’m not fuckin’ dirty!” Pistoni yelled loudly enough for a few heads among the investigative team to turn around. “I’m not.”

“You are if you’re an accessory!” Smitty hissed at him. “Now, if I’m going to help you, I need to know the last thing your boss said before you misplaced him.”

“The way he was acting, I thought he was going after you guys and planning to either say or do something that wasn’t entirely kosher, so he left me out of it.”

“He probably was,” Smitty admitted. “In any event, we stopped for coffee, so he caught up. I spotted him and Max lost him right after we got off the Verrazano.”

Pistoni rolled his eyes at the implication that Romero wasn’t good at tailing people. “He’s a fellow officer, with an exemplary arrest record. He deserves some consideration.”

“He probably deserves to be fucked in the ass by some big black guy he helped plant evidence on, but my partner and I will look into it.”

“Thank you,” Pistoni sighed as he watched Smitty walk away. Frustrated, he would try Romero’s cellphone one more time. When the call went to voicemail he growled angrily and shoved the phone back in his jacket.

Yes, he was morally and ethically compromised. No, he didn’t appreciate it being pointed out. That’s because as far as he was concerned this city was a cesspool and anyone expecting to function in it shouldn’t be surprised when they, or other people around them, get dirty. Romero taught him that during their time together cracking skulls in Staten Island. That shared understanding was their bond and one of the many reasons neither man would ever find real friendship with lady cops and black guys. In losing Romero, Pistoni wouldn’t just be missing a law enforcement teammate, he’d be losing a brother. A brother who reinforced and validated his own ignorance and misguided values, but a brother nonetheless.