Frank Zafiro - Waist Deep

It was a police raid and we were caught right in the middle of it.

I glanced over at Kris, who was staring back at me.Her eyes were wide with surprise but still shrewd beyond her years.

“Let’s go, missy,” the gruff cop’s voice told her.

“Remember our deal,” Kris whispered, and got out of the car.

I reached my hands out to my left, stretching them out the open door as far as possible.

“Now step out of the vehicle with your left foot only,” came the next command.

There was a loud crash, cries of “Police! Search Warrant!” and the S.W.A.T. team knifed through the front door and disappeared into RogerJackson’s house.

Shit.

Lieutenant Crawford must have worked late and read Adam’s report. My grace period just went up in a puff of smoke.

“Put your left foot out. Now!” the voice commanded again.

I put my left foot out the door.

“Officer-” I started to say.

“Don’t talk!Put your right foot-”

“I have a gun.”

There was a short silence.Then, “Where?”

“On my right hip.In a holster.”

“Okay.Do not reach for it.”

Duh, I thought, like Kris would say.But I only nodded.

The voice talked me the rest of the way out of the driver’s seat and then ordered me to face the car.I did, and braced myself.Even so, I was surprised by the raw force that took me into the side of the vehicle.Hands trapped my arms and pressed on my shoulders, pinning me to the hard metal.Another set of hands started searching me.It was an awkward pat-down motion that either belonged to a rookie or someone amped up on adrenaline.Had I searched like that when I was on the job? Before I could consider that thought, someonejammed a boot against the inside of my right foot, forcing it outward.My left knee quivered under the strain. After a second, it gave way. I started to fall in that direction.

“Don’t resist!” came two voices at once.The pair of hands at my back pushed harder.

“I’m not,” I shouted.“My knee’s bad.”

“Gun!” someone shouted.

Then everyone tensed up and a moment later I was eating asphalt.

I sat in the interrogation room and stared at the wall, rubbing my wrists.

The cops on scene had handcuffed me once I was proned out and they had my gun.That began what seemed like eight hours in handcuffs for me.My cheekbone had a nice little cherry on it from grinding into the pavement, the weight of some cop across the back of my neck.I knew it was all textbook. I’d been the “bad guy” hundreds of time on the mats out at the police academy gym. But when it was for real and on asphalt, it hurt like hell.

After a complete search of my body, they’d shoved me into the back of a patrol car without a word.All in all, I felt mildly grateful.No one had recognized me.

I’m sure it wouldn’t last.

I sat in the room with my back to the door.Every few minutes, I could sense a body at the door. I wasn’t sure if it were the same officers, a rookie named McLaren and an FTO that looked like a rookie himself. Maybe word had started to spread and other people were coming to check things out.

The interrogation room itself was bare.A table and three chairs.That was it.Not even a clock.I didn’t have a watch but I imagined it had been almost an hour from the time we arrived at the police station.

About twenty minutes in, I’d asked to go to the bathroom.The rookie had conferred with his FTO and initially refused.When I asked if the detectives would enjoy having to skirt a puddle of urine to get to their chairs to interrogate me, he reconsidered.He was smart, though.He did another complete search, turning out all my pockets, and stood two feet away from me while I used the urinal.

Time slipped by, maybe as much as another half hour.My wrists stopped hurting.My knee didn’t.The wheels in my head just kept spinning. The whole while, I sat there just wishing I’d taken Kris straight home to her dad.

The thing was, I was in a bind now. I’d made promises.I’d promised Rolo I wouldn’t tell the cops about his involvement.He might not have told me the whole arrangement he had with LeMond or Jackson, but he hadn’t out and out lied to me.He wasn’t, as he’d say, in breach of contract.And his information had help lead me to Jackson, eventually.

I’d also made a promise to LeMond that I wouldn’t tell anyone about Yvette.He’d pretty much invalidated that when he lied to me about Kris but then I’d made another promise at Kris’s apartment.I couldn’t break the first one without breaking the second.

Most importantly, I’d promised Kris.That was the promise that, if kept, might give her family a fighting chance.It might keep Kris from thinking that all she really was to anyone was damaged goods.I knew that right now, she still thought she was on her way to being a star. Something told me that could change very easily and it would be the damaged goods scenario that might take root.

The real question was, how hard of a hit would I have to take to keep all of those promises?

I sighed, and waited.

Thirty or forty minutes later, the door opened and two detectives strolled in.I didn’t recognize the first one, but I knew the second.

Jack Stone.

Stone had been a patrol officer when I was on the job. He was a veteran then, working day shift.I hadn’t heard about him making detective, but then Adam really only updated me on the few people he thought I’d care about, such as Katie.I’d never had any real trouble with Stone, but I knew his reputation.

Stone flopped down in the chair opposite me, his collar open and his tie askew.He’d gotten a little heavier since I’d seen him last and it showed in his middle and in his face.

The other detective sat in the chair to my right.He looked mildly Asian and younger than me, with his dark black hair combed forward in the front.Red port wine splotches of birthmark stood out on his cheek.He wore a pair of thin, square glasses, which he adjusted several times after sitting down.

Stone pointed at him, but looked at me.“This is Detective Matsuda.I’m Detective Stone.”

I gave a short nod, but said nothing.

He turned to Matsuda.“This,” he said, pointing to me, “is Stefan Kopriva, formerly of the RCPD.”

Matsuda nodded, as if this was news to him.I knew better.This was an orchestrated dance, the steps to which the two of them had worked out before ever coming into this room.

“Steffie here is famous,” Stone went on.“Did you know that?”

Matsuda shook his head, turning a pencil slowly in his fingers.The sheet on the notepad in front of him remained blank.

“No?” Stone asked. “Well, let me educate you on a little River City police history.See, Steffie is actually famous for two reasons.Long about eleven years ago or so, we had us a pretty nasty serial robber.They called him Scarface on account of the long scar that ran here.”He drew his finger from above his brow down to his chin.“Scarface hit eighteen, maybe twenty convenience stores at gunpoint.He even shot at a cop one night after one of the robberies.Then he killed one of the clerks, some half-retarded kid.After that, the brass got serious on his ass and set up a task force to catch him.”

Stone leaned back and adjusted his tie.I stared at him flatly.

“You know that plaque out in the lobby, Richie?” he asked.“The one near the Front Desk?”

“The one that says ‘Fallen Heroes’ on it?”Matsuda’s voice had no accent.And though he seemed to know his lines, he wasn’t a great actor.

“Yep, that’s the one,” Stone said.“On that plaque is the name of one Police Officer First Class Karl Francis Winter.He was a friend of mine and this robber, this Scarface piece of shit, shot him dead one night on a traffic stop.”