M Sellars: The Law Of Three

Joking aside, the truth was that while the fare was far from four-star gourmet, it was good, with sizeable portions, and reasonably priced. Anything from a doughnut to a cheeseburger, or even the house specialty-appropriately dubbed “The Kitchen Sink Omelet”-was available 24/7. On top of that, everything on the menu came complete with a bottomless cup of coffee.

“Look, Row,” my friend continued after I reluctantly followed his instruction and sat back in the booth with deliberate heaviness. “I know where you’re at, really I do, but you gotta listen to me for a minute.”

“I’d like to, but you haven’t been saying anything,” I fired back.

“Jeez, Felicity, could you kick ‘im or somethin’?” He aimed his glance at my wife as he made the rhetorical statement.

“Aye, I doubt it would do any good,” she answered anyway.

“Heya, Storm,” a bear-like man with a wild bush of a red beard called to Ben from the other side of the counter then nodded in my direction. “Rowan.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgement and did my best to replace the frown I knew I was wearing with at least some semblance of a smile.

“You ever go home, Chuck,” Ben asked the man.

“What for?” The man chuckled as he re-tied the string on his stained apron. “This your wife, Rowan?”

“Felicity, meet Chuck.” I made the introduction. “Chuck, Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you,” my wife said with a lilt, following the words with one of her winning smiles.

“Same here,” Chuck agreed.

“Little slow this morning?” Ben asked.

Chuck cast an eye at the clock and shook his head. “Nah, shift change comin’ up. Just the calm before the storm. Heh-heh,” he chuckled. “But I guess the ‘storm’s’ already here, huh?”

“Yeah, Chuck.” Ben shook his head. “Friggin’ hilarious.”

“Gimme a break, it’s early. So, can I get youse guys anything?”

“Just coffee,” my friend told him.

“Make that two,” I said.

Felicity added, “Three.”

Chuck reached under the Formica-sheathed counter, and when he withdrew his large hand, a trio of ceramic coffee mugs were hooked on a single index finger. He set them down, then in a swift motion snatched up a full Pyrex globe of java and filled them all with a single practiced pour.

Ben slid partially out of the booth and in a pivoting motion ferried the steaming mugs to our table.

“Youse gonna be here for a bit?” Chuck asked.

“A while, probl’y,” Ben returned. “Why?”

The large man behind the counter hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go in the back and check in a delivery. Wendy oughta be here in a bit. You wanna yell back there if someone comes in before she gets here?”

“We can do that.”

“I ‘preciate it.” Chuck nodded as he turned, then called back over his shoulder before disappearing into the back of the diner, “If youse want any more coffee, help yerselfs.”

A quiet lull ensued, broken randomly by the noise of Chuck shifting boxes in the back room and Felicity stripping open packets of sugar. The static-plagued tune of the Talking Heads “Psycho Killer” fell in behind the duet as it wafted from the speaker of a tinny radio behind the counter.

Considering what was happening a few blocks away, I suppose the song was appropriate.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now, Ben?” I finally appealed.

“There ain’t no other way to say this. You’ve been banned from any investigations involving the Major Case Squad.”

I blinked. I waited for him to tell me he was kidding. He didn’t, so I spoke. “Excuse me? Banned? Why?”

“Listen,” he started again. “That’s what I was gettin’ ready to tell ya’. With Bee-Bee runnin’ the show, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do.”

“Who’s Bee-Bee?” I asked, shaking my head. “I thought somebody named Albright was in charge.”

“That’s Bee-Bee. Bible Barb,” he explained. “Lieutenant Barbara ‘fuckin’ holier than thou’ Albright.”

“But, I thought you were running this investigation,” Felicity said.

He shook his head. “I’m just the investigating officer of record for the original case.”

“Well doesn’t that carry any weight?” I asked.

“For gettin' me outta bed in the middle of the night, maybe, but that’s about it. It’s pretty simple. She lieutenant, me lowly detective, and that’s the size of it.”

“Banned?” I repeated again.

“Yeah, Row. Banned.”

“Aye, but you seemed to be running things before,” Felicity interjected.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t usually happen that way. It did then, but only because I was originally assigned the case, and the powers that be gave me some breathing room.”

“So why aren’t they now?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see…” He rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. “For starters, the lieutenant I reported to with the Major Case Squad retired.”

“And this Albright woman is the replacement?” my wife half asked, half stated.

“Exactly.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I posed, “but I was under the impression that lieutenants were basically management and that they didn’t get that directly involved in investigations.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed with a nod. “But not always. Some of ‘em get involved. As it happens, Bee-Bee is a real hands-on, stir-the-shit type.”

“So can’t you go over her head?” I pressed.

“Not really. I dunno if you missed it, but in the past year we’ve gotten a new mayor and a new police chief in the city.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, so, there’s been a change in management my friends, and I’m not exactly considered a model employee right now.”

“Why is that?” Felicity asked.

“Does a little nocturnal incident at the morgue a few weeks ago ring a bell?” he asked.

Unfortunately, it did. During the hunt for the serial rapist, I had convinced Ben to get me into the medical examiner’s office to view the remains of a victim from an overlapping investigation. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem, except that I had talked him into doing so in the middle of the night. The chaotic psychic events that ensued from there had caused quite a bit of commotion in this realm and my friend a generous share of trouble at the time. Apparently, they still were.

“Well, what if I had a talk with her?”

He scrunched his brow and looked confused. “What about?”

“About me and what I can do to help.”

“Were you just not listening?” he asked incredulously. “The woman flat out said for me to ‘leave my devil worshipper downstairs where he belonged.’ News flash, Kemosabe. She was talkin’ about you.”

“I realize that, Ben, but she doesn’t know anything about me.”

“Oh hell yes she does,” he returned. “At least she thinks she does anyway.”

“How can she?” Felicity chimed in.

“Neither one of you is particularly low profile,” he answered.

“You mean the papers?” I asked.

“…And the TV.” He nodded.

“But that’s just media hype,” I told him in a dismissive tone. “That’s not going to tell her anything.”

“Well, guess what?” he chided. “She’s read ‘em and watched ‘em all, and as far as she’s concerned, they’re gospel. And she didn’t get the nickname ‘Bible Barb’ for nothin’. She’s drawn her conclusion, white man. You’re the wicked Witch, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But that’s just her,” I objected.

He countered with a statement I hadn’t expected, “And a few others.”

“Who?” Felicity asked. “Arthur McCann?”

“He’s one, obviously. But there’re more… A handful of uniforms. Couple of detectives… Couple of the higher-ups, including the new chief…”