Джеймс Паттерсон: The Red Book

Ah, the new mayor. He must be the one who made this assignment happen. Never met the guy, but he must’ve said, Hey, that Harney guy, let’s put him in this unit, show everyone how committed to reform I am. Ever the suck-up, Driscoll would’ve heartily endorsed the idea. He probably even gave the mayor a congratulatory hand job even though he privately wanted to coerce me to retire. He took a shot at getting me to quit just now, but I didn’t take the bait. So now he has to bite his tongue and promote me to one of the best assignments on the force. It must be killing him.

“You’re in the spotlight, Harney, right where you like it.”

I look up at him. Still in shock—this was the absolute last thing I expected—I’m unable to come up with one of my trademark one-liners. “I never wanted the spotlight. I just did my job.”

“Well, you got it anyway, Media Sweetheart. But the thing about the spotlight? It can be warm and comforting when you do good. It can be harsh when you screw up.”

That’s one thing he didn’t need to tell me.

“There’s nothing the press likes more than a fall from grace,” he says. “A hero cop who turns out to be a fuckup.”

That’s two things I already knew.

“That line-of-duty pension’s still on the table,” he says. “Walk away with some bucks in your pocket, move on with your life.”

“And get out of your hair,” I add.

“That, too.”

Yeah. Driscoll’s the type who throws dead weight off the boat without a moment’s hesitation. He’d take the first opportunity to burn me if it suited him. And for all I know, that’s what this whole thing is—I’m being set up to fail.

So I’ll just have to make sure I don’t fail.

I give him a wide grin. “I accept the assignment, Mr. Superintendent, sir. Your Excellency.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “Oh, you’re gonna last a real long time with that attitude, hotshot. Your boss is going to love you.”

I knew about the creation of SOS. But I never heard who’d be running it.

“Who’s my boss?” I ask.

Chapter 4

MEET THE new boss. Same as the old boss.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, Harney,” says Lieutenant Paul Wizniewski, working the unlit cigar stub in the corner of his mouth. The Wiz has a melon face, a salt-and-pepper mustache, and one finger always testing the political winds of the department. He has a knack for predicting curves in the road and always makes sure he’s in the correct lane of traffic. That was always a problem between us when I used to work under him. I tended to lead with my chin; he always wanted to know whose ox was getting gored, map out the whole thing first, before making a decision.

He also once arrested me for murder, so there’s that.

“I’m speechless,” I say, deadpan.

“That’d be a first. Listen,” he says, leaning back in his chair, looking at me over his chaotic desk—he couldn’t have been in this assignment more than a week, in this shiny new space at North and Pulaski, and already the papers are piled so high they topple over onto each other. “It sure as shit wasn’t my idea to bring you here.”

“I’m getting a lot of that today.”

“Well, you’re gonna get more. If you have the smarts I think you have, you already know that.”

“I think that was a compliment.”

He scratches his stomach, something I wouldn’t recommend watching. “Look, the past is the past. You thought I was a lowlife. I know you did; it’s okay.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it.”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “Harney, what, you think cuz you got shot in the head and charged with murder—”

“By you,” I add.

He pauses on that. “Well, I didn’t shoot you in the head.”

That’s true. Just the murder accusation.

“Okay,” I say, “well, thank you for not shooting me in the head.”

“You’re welcome.” He comes forward, elbows on the desk, nearly knocking over a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “I know you’re a good cop, Harney. I might’ve had my suspicions about you once upon a time, and they might’ve been wrong—”

“They might’ve been wrong?”

He looks up at the heavens, exasperated. “I’m trying to, you know, make peace on this.”

“Turn the page?” I say.

“Yeah.”

“A new chapter?”

“Right. Because here’s the thing, my friend. You know what SOS stands for?”

“Yeah, Lew, I do,” I say, using the nickname we all called him. “It stands for ‘no fuckin’ around.’”

He points at me. “That’s exactly what it stands for. The supe is this close to losing his job over the shootings on the West Side. The blacks out there are howling, and our new mayor is a very sensitive-type guy. The SOS is supposed to start getting solves and getting solves quick. And I got a cop standing before me right now who, all things being equal, is the perfect guy for this assignment. One of the first people I’d choose, to give you the God’s honest.”

“But all things aren’t equal,” I say.

“Right. You’re a parasite around here.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is pariah .”

He glares at me, even allows a smile. “That’s the one, yeah. Okay, Mr. Word of the Day, so listen up. I’ve got a good team here. Some of the best in the city. Every one of them’s looking at you wondering if you’re going to screw it up. So don’t.”

“I won’t, Lew.”

He removes the cigar from his mouth, which usually means he’s about to say something serious. “The only way we’re going to stop the carnage out there is to solve murders. We solve murders, then the gangbangers don’t think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want. The police stop being a joke to them. Witnesses start talking to us again. All that shit on the West Side’s gonna stop. Because Special Ops is gonna make it stop. You hearin’ me?”

He’s probably waiting for another wisecrack. But that corny stuff? The stuff about how we’re here to protect the good people who just want safe streets? That’s what gets me every time. Every day that I was on paid leave, staring at my star, wondering if it was worth coming back to the force with all the baggage I’m carrying—every single time, all I had to do was think about why I wanted to be a cop since the day I could walk.

“I hear you, Lew. I won’t let you down.”

He stares at me until he’s sure I’m being straight with him. “Okay, Harney, good. So get to it.” He looks down at his desk, miraculously locating the file that had held his attention before I walked in. “Oh, and, uh…” He waves a hand absently, not looking up. “I apologize in advance for your partner.”

Chapter 5

THE SUV is curbed along Cicero just north of the expressway, near a long brick building with the word FURNITURE stamped across the window, the store all boarded up and caged. “Turn that shit off,” says Disco, alone in the back seat, to the men in the front, playing obnoxious dance music. “Or…move it to the front of the car.”

“I don’t know how to move it to the front.” The two men in the front seat, dressed, like Disco, in shabby clothes and baseball caps, fiddle with the dashboard, trying to figure out how to transfer the music from the rear of the vehicle.

“Then turn it off!” Disco snaps, bowing his head, tapping his finger to his earpiece.

“The last customer just drove away,” says the voice in his earpiece. “It’s been a busy morning. They were lined up six cars long an hour ago.”

“And everyone’s outside?”

“Yeah. Shiv’s on the porch with the girl.”

“And you’re ready with the backup?” he asks.