JULY 26, 1977
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
“So, Cher, you sure you want to do this?”
“Shouldn’t you be standing with your hands on your hips?”
“Jackass.”
“Hey, wait a second?”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m Sonny. You’re Cher.”
“Why am I Cher?”
“What? Because Cher is a woman. I’m Sonny. You’re Cher.”
“Cher is a woman?”
“Are you telling me you don’t know who Sonny and Cher are?”
“Should I know who they are?”
“You have to be kidding me. Please tell me you’re kidding right now.”
“Hey, don’t blame me, I’m from Cuba.”
“You’re not from Cuba, you’re from Queens. And you know who Sonny and Cher are.”
“Question still stands.”
“Question?”
“Are you sure you’re ready for this? Because you know what’s going to be waiting for us on the other side of this door, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“So are you sure you want to do this?”
“You’re telling me we have a choice?”
“Ah…well, put it that way.”
“Maybe they haven’t done anything.”
“Actually, that wouldn’t surprise me.”
“It’s not the captain’s style, right? He’s not into that.”
“No, that’s true.”
“So maybe there’s nothing. Maybe they haven’t done anything.”
“Right.”
“Which means we can just go in.”
“Right.”
“You know what else that means, Detective Delgado?”
“What’s that, Detective Hopper?”
“It means we’re actually late for work.”
Delgado looked up at her partner, her mouth hooked into a wicked grin.
“I think we’re allowed to be. I mean, just this once, right? We’ve been through a lot. I was in the hospital, you know? They even kept me in overnight. Overnight, Detective Hopper.”
Hopper laughed. “I should have sent you flowers.”
“I’m allergic,” said Delgado. “How’s the arm?”
Hopper lifted his left arm, which was still in a sling. “It still hurts. Quite a lot, too.”
“One.”
Hopper frowned. “One what?”
“I’m keeping count. You’re allowed to say your arm hurts four times a day, and that’s me being generous After that, you will see a somewhat less patient side to me, partner.”
Hopper used his injured arm to give a salute. “Ow. Yes, ma’am.”
That was when one of the double doors leading to the homicide bull pen was pushed open. Captain LaVorgna stood in the doorway, shaking his head.
“Are you two going to come in, or do you want an invitation from the mayor?”
“Only if it’s from Bella Abzug,” said Delgado.
“And only if it’s engraved,” said Hopper.
“You wish,” said LaVorgna. “City can’t afford shit like that. And you weren’t in the hospital that long, Delgado. Besides, after all that went down, Cuomo has it all sewn up. Just you wait and see.”
Delgado gave Hopper a frown.
“It’s the heat, right? The captain’s rigid adherence to dress code has finally boiled his brain? Or maybe it’s from being cooped up in a tiny office with a perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke.”
Hopper opened his mouth to say something, but the glare from LaVorgna suggested he keep it to himself.
The captain then stepped into the hallway, holding the door open. He gestured for the two detectives to step through.
Hopper and Delgado exchanged a look. Hopper couldn’t resist cracking a grin; Delgado matched his expression, and led the way through.
The bull pen erupted in applause. Hopper followed Delgado in, the pair stopping as around them the other detectives all moved forward to make a semicircle, hailing the returned detectives. It wasn’t just their shift, either—Sergeant Connelly’s night crew had stayed behind to join the welcoming party.
Hopper felt a heavy hand slap him on the back. LaVorgna stepped between the two detectives, an arm around each of their shoulders.
“Okay, people, that’s enough. Someone might hear and think we’ve actually solved a case.” He dropped his arms as the applause died down, and stepped forward to address the assembled detectives. “Now, it’s not often we have cause to celebrate quite like this, but the fact is that your two colleagues here have done good work. You might think that’s faint praise, with what they’ve been through, but let me make myself clear. I expect each and every one of you to do your jobs. That’s why you are here. That’s why you work for me. So when I tell you that the work you have done is good, believe me, there is no higher level. Good work is what keeps this town safe. Good work will save us when nothing else will.”
There was a murmur of laughter from the detectives, as well as a fair number of puzzled expressions, mostly from, Hopper noted, the night shift.
The captain turned around to face him and Delgado. “You’ve done good work, Detectives. And there’s still good work left to be done, not to mention the report you’re going to have to prepare for your trip down to Washington on Thursday. Special Agent Gallup already called to say he and his besuited friends are looking forward to a very long and very productive debrief with you two and Leroy and Martha.”
Delgado raised an eyebrow. She glanced sideways at her partner.
“Long and productive?”
“Sounds like that’ll be a fun day,” said Hopper.
“So,” said the captain, gesturing over toward their desks, “how about you get your asses in your chairs and get started?”
Then he grinned, and gave a single, loud clap.
“And there’s drinks at Mahoney’s tonight.”
Hopper laughed. “Thanks, Captain, it’s good to be back.”
LaVorgna gave a nod and headed back to his office. As Hopper and Delgado made their way over to their shared desks, the other detectives moved in for handshakes and backslaps. Hopper acknowledged them all, but he felt the smile on his face fade by the time he was standing behind his chair. Delgado sat down at her own desk and stared at it with a frown. Then she looked at him.
“What’s up?”
Hopper pursed his lips, then sat down. “Returning heroes, right?”
“Hey, don’t let the captain’s speech go to your head, Hop,” his partner joked.
Hopper smiled, weakly. “I was a hero before, once. At least that’s what they told me.”
“They gave you a medal for it. That seems like proof enough to me.”
“But,” said Hopper, his eyes falling to his desk, “that’s not why we do it, is it? The captain was right.”
“Actually he was. We’re here to do our job. And that’s what we did.”
Hopper stared at his desk. Delgado sighed and reached down, pulling open a drawer and pulling out a bottle of scotch. She placed it on the desk between them. Hopper looked at it, one eyebrow raised.
“They drink scotch in Cuba?”
“No, they drink scotch in Queens, jackass.”
Delgado poured a measure into her coffee mug, and did the same for Hopper.
“To doing a good job,” she said, raising her mug.
Hopper raised his.
“To doing a good job.” He drained it in one gulp, then offered his mug to Delgado.
She laughed, and poured again.
“Drinking on the job, Hop. What would the captain say?”
Hopper smiled and lifted his arm. “Still hurts. Bad sprain, they said.”
“Two.”
Hopper lifted his mug. “I’ll drink to that,” he said.