“Exactly.”
“But the chief is on board. So we have to play. Park your car here and walk in. They’re in room 420.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Though I’m sure the irony is lost on the feebs.”
“Probably.”
“And Gio?”
“What?”
“It’s mandatory overtime. Graveyard will relieve you around nine thirty tonight.”
Gio sighed. He was supposed to meet a girl for drinks at seven thirty. Tricia. Or Trina. He couldn’t remember, but either way worked. He figured she’d probably reschedule for nine thirty. If not, he could always call Angela.
“Fine,” he said.
“Thanks for not bitching, Gio.”
Gio smiled tightly. “You should have picked Ridgeway instead. He doesn’t have a life.”
Michaels laughed. “Yeah. Ridgeway and a fed. That’s not going to be a problem.”
“At least he won’t have to reschedule his personal life.”
Michaels grinned. “She’ll wait for you, Gio. Whoever she is, she’ll wait. She thinks you’re the answer to her prayers.”
Gio smiled and shook his head as he rolled up his window and killed his engine. Sergeant Michaels gave him a two-fingered salute and pulled away.
Gio removed his wallet from his patrol bag and began the two block trek north to the Quality Inn. As he walked, he reminded himself that he was being well paid for his troubles, though probably not as well as the federal officer that he was pretty certain he wasn’t going to like one little bit.
He arrived at the front door of the hotel a little bit sweaty and in a worse mood than when he left his patrol car. The door swung open and a rush of cool air washed over him. He reveled in it for a brief moment, then met the eyes of the front desk clerk.
“Elevator?” he asked.
The young clerk, who resembled Ebenezer Scrooge at twenty with some acne issues, pointed a wavering finger to his left. “Is there, uh, some problem?”
“Nope,” Gio said. “Just meeting my girlfriend.”
The clerk swallowed.
“Just kidding,” Gio told him, walking toward the elevator. “I’m taking a theft report.”
“Oh,” the clerk replied, obviously relieved. “Okay.”
Gio found the elevator and punched the number four. Room 420 was nestled at the end of a hallway. Gio rapped on the door. There was a long pause before a cautious “Who’s there?” came from inside.
“Rent-a-cop,” Gio announced.
After another pause, a rattling chain told Gio he’d guessed the secret password. The door swung open. A small, dark-haired man in a black suit greeted him with a nod. “Officer. Come on in.”
Gio stepped into the hotel room and the agent closed the door behind him. Gio scanned the room. Two king-sized beds dominated the main area; a desk and a TV stand filled out the rest. The TV was on, playing a popular music video that Gio vaguely recognized and happened to like.
The agent stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Greg Leeb,” he said, his elfin features breaking into a smile. “Looks like we’re cellmates.”
Gio reached out and shook the agent’s hand. It was firm but not overbearing.
“Who’s our principal?” Gio asked.
Leeb jerked a thumb toward the bathroom. “Oleg Tretiak. He’s… incapacitated.”
“Sick?”
Leeb shrugged. “Nerves. He’s been through a lot.”
“Like what?” Gio asked.
Leeb gave him a curious look. “They didn’t brief you?” Gio shook his head. Leeb smiled. “Well have a sit, brother. I shall enlighten you.”
Gio smiled back. He was going to like this guy.
2101 hours
Graveyard Shift
Chisolm watched Lieutenant Robert Saylor step up to the lectern. The chatter around the drill hall dried up as the officers in the room gave the shift commander their full attention.
Saylor looked out at the assembled group, meeting their eyes as he spoke. “Number one on the hot board tonight,” he said, “is a bulletin from Renee in Crime Analysis. It is twofold. The first is an officer safety warning from a CI. You all have a copy of the details in front of you. Apparently some of the Russian criminals in our city have devised a strategy to disobey minor infractions.”
Chisolm had already skimmed the memorandum. He waited while the rest of the shift did so. A few astonished exhalations were the only sound.
“Now,” Saylor said, “a situation like this puts the officer in a difficult position. You have to be able to justify your use of force based on the behavior of the suspect. What can we do in this type of situation?”
Chisolm raised his hand.
Saylor nodded at the veteran officer. “Tom?”
“Don’t go code four, for starters,” Chisolm said. “That way, you always have adequate backup. After that, I’d say you have to judge each situation by its own merits. If you can act decisively and take someone into custody, then you should. But if the risk outweighs the reward?” Chisolm shrugged. “Forget it. We’ll get them eventually.”
Saylor nodded and looked around the room. “Is everyone listening? Your safety is number one.”
There was a murmur of understanding throughout the assembled group.
“That said,” Saylor continued, “if any events such as what this CI describes do occur, I want to know about it immediately.”
Heads bobbed collectively. Chisolm knew Saylor cared about his men and took care of them, which is one of the reasons he respected the shift commander.
“Okay,” Saylor said. “Now, secondly, Renee is reporting that we now have the assistance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation at our disposal when it comes to issues of organized crime.”
A smattering of groans and a titter of laughter went through the room. Chisolm couldn’t resist joining in. “An FBI agent, El-Tee?” he asked.
“That’s right,” Saylor answered. “Why?”
“Well, sir,” Chisolm replied, “excuse me for saying, but those guys are about as helpful as a hostage negotiator with Tourette’s syndrome.”
The room exploded in raucous laughter, and a slight smile appeared on Saylor’s face. Chisolm tipped him a wink. He knew one of his roles was to keep roll calls loose and that his commanding officer appreciated it. Some things weren’t very different between the military and police work.
Once the guffaws tapered off, Lieutenant Saylor turned up his hands to the assembled group. “Their effectiveness aside, the Bureau is at our disposal.” His voice turned slightly more serious. “If we get anything on the intel side, they might actually be helpful, so forward it to Renee. Any questions?”
No one raised a hand.
“All right, then,” Saylor said. “All that potential support from the feds doesn’t come free, though. We’ve got a babysitting detail to rotate through up at the Quality Inn on Division. Sergeant Shen will have the assignment. It’s an all-nighter.”
“Glad I work south side,” Officer Aaron Norris quipped from the Charlie Sector table.
“You’re assigned south,” Chisolm shot back. “I don’t know about the work part.”
Another chorus of laughter and a few “Oohs” went through the room. Norris paused a moment, searching for a reply. He settled for the tried and true-a middle finger.
“Is that your IQ or the number of parents you know?” Chisolm asked him, sparking another round of laughter.
Saylor raised his hands to settle things down. “Okay, that’s enough. Does anyone else have anything besides verbal jabs?” No one replied. “Okay. Then let’s hit the street.”
Chairs scraped as officers rose to leave. As Chisolm stood, Norris called out to him. “Hey, Tom, I heard that at your age, ‘getting a little action’ means you don’t need to take any fiber today.”
“That’s not what your wife said,” Chisolm said. “By the way, you need to pick up some bread on the way home after work.”
“Really?” Norris said. “What brought that up? The yeast infection?”
Chisolm raised his palms in a half shrug, half surrender. He couldn’t top that. Instead, he gathered up his patrol bag and headed for the basement to get his car.