“Too hot?!” Hunter snorted. “You know what that sounds like to me, O’Sullivan? That sounds like the guy hiding over in Special Police Problems trying to tell the real police how to do their jobs. That’s what it sounds like.”
Ignorant prick, I thought.
“Go fuck yourself” is what I said.
“What did you say to me?”
I stared him dead in the eye. “I said, go fuck yourself. One sergeant to another. You don’t like it? Go fuck yourself again.”
Hunter’s hands shot out and struck me in the chest. I fell back into the car, nailing my shoulder into the doorjamb. Hunter grabbed onto me and slammed me over the back of the car. My head bounced off the trunk. With my hands cuffed, I couldn’t fight back.
“Easy, Sarge! Jesus, people are watching!” came Pete’s voice.
Hunter paused a moment, then gave me another small shove into the car before releasing me. “Fucking desk jockey,” he muttered.
“Fucking ape,” I muttered back.
Hunter pointed his finger at Pete. “Those cuffs stay on until I decide if he’s a collar or not.”
“Sarge-“
“They stay on!” And he stalked away.
Pete and I stood still for a few seconds. I was busy catching my breath and Pete was busy being embarrassed. I watched Hunter disappear back into the restaurant and I wondered how in the hell I ended up standing there in handcuffs.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” Pete said.
“Not your fault, Pete.”
“Still.”
“What a fucking cock he is,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Always was,” Pete said.
“Always will be.”
Pete unlocked the cuffs and loosened them to the last notch. Blood flow surged into my hands and the prickly needles were back. Still, it was better than the numbness.
Pete closed the back door of the patrol car and we stood by the wheel-well and watched in silence. Officers arrived and gawked at the scene and at me, but no one else approached us. Hunter remained inside the restaurant. Crime scene tape went up for some unknown reason and a little while later a pair of detectives rolled up in their unmarked car. Finch and Elias, both from Major Crimes. Usually, they worked homicides or robberies. Sure, they worked some assaults, too, but serious ones. Not something like this. Bringing them in was like sending Roger Clemens to the mound for a little league game.
Except that there was a cop involved.
Christ, what a circus.
Some time later, Rebecca and the kids were escorted out and into a police car. Rebecca cast a worried look at me through the window of the patrol car as it drove away.
The other witnesses filtered out and found their way to their own cars and drove themselves away. None of them looked at me.
I saw a media van pull up a short time later. Gratefully, it passed right by and parked on the other side of the building. I hoped they got what they wanted over there and left me alone. I knew that if any of those vultures spotted someone in handcuffs, I’d be the lead story on the next edition of the evening news.
Finally, the Shift Commander, Lieutenant Hudson, pulled up. He studiously ignored me and went inside the restaurant. I knew he was getting an earful from Hunter. I glanced over at Pete and could tell he was thinking the same thing. I was screwed.
Ten minutes later, Lieutenant Hudson came outside and walked directly toward us.
“Here it comes,” I whispered to Pete. He didn’t reply.
Hudson motioned to Pete. “Uncuff him.”
I offered Pete my wrists and he unlocked the cuffs. I rubbed my wrists and looked at the Lieutenant and waited.
“Sergeant O’Sullivan,” he said with an air of formality, “Go home. You’re on administrative leave pending the outcome of this investigation.”
“Lieutenant…”
He held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear a word. Go home. Call your Union Representative or your attorney. Do not contact anyone associated with this investigation. Do not engage in any law enforcement activity. Remain available to the Internal Affairs investigators. Do you understand?”
Holy shit.
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded briskly, turned and walked back into the restaurant.
I took a deep breath and let it out.
“You gonna be okay, Connor?” Pete asked.
I gave him a slow shrug. “I don’t know. This is…I don’t know.”
“You better just head home.”
I nodded, then realized something.
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“My bike is still inside. I need a ride home.”
Internal Affairs. Not exactly happy land for a cop. I sat in the small waiting area. There was nothing to read and nothing to do except rub my tired eyes, which were still red from three too many Kokanees the night before. I’d slept maybe six hours over the past two days, sitting at home waiting for IA to call. I’d spoken to my Union rep, but not a lawyer. I couldn’t figure why I needed one. Other than the Lieutenant telling me so, that is.
My Union rep was Detective Butch Pond. He told me not to worry. He told me things would work out. He couldn’t tell me exactly how, but he was sure they’d work out just fine. He said he had to be in court this morning, but he’d try to make it over.
Imagine how great I felt. My Union rep was a guy named Butch and he was going to try to make it to my IA interview. Marvelous.
Lieutenant Hart kept me waiting long enough to make him seem sufficiently important, then came out into the waiting area. He didn’t say a word, just motioned me to follow him. We settled into the small interview room. A mini-tape recorder sat on the table next to a clean notepad and a two-inch file.
Hart sat down and made a show of sliding the tape recorder to the side. I took his meaning. We were going to be out of school for a bit. Fine.
I sat down, folded my hands and waited. It was his play.
“Sergeant, where is your Union rep?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“Are you waiving representation?”
“For now, I don’t suppose I have a choice.”
“Of course you do. We can wait. Or reschedule.”
Hell with that. I’d already spent two days waiting for this. Two days cut off from the world I’d known for the last fourteen years.
“Now is fine,” I told him.
Hart twisted his pen, exposing the tip. He stared at it, then twisted it back again. I watched it disappear inside the pen.
“Just between us, O’Sullivan, you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“Thanks for the news flash.”
“Sarcasm isn’t going to help your cause.”
“I’m guessing it can’t probably hurt it much, either.”
Hart shook his head. “You were always such a smart ass.”
I took a breath and leaned forward. “Lieutenant, let me ask you something. How do you expect me to feel when I’m getting treated like this?”
“If I were you, I’d be happy I still had a job.”
I was, but I wasn’t going to tell this officious prick that I was.
About fourteen smart-ass replies went through my head. I held my tongue.
Hart took my silence as submission. Figures. He had been about as good at reading people on the street. Perfectly worthless. Couldn’t tell a citizen from a maggot half the time. And now he was investigating cops.
“Are you aware of the charges against you, Sergeant?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly.”
“I thought you had Union representation.”
“So did I.”
Hart smirked and opened the file in front of him. “Well, there are a few. On the administrative side of the house, you are being charged with excessive force, failure to cooperate with an investigation at the scene, conduct unbecoming a police officer and improper demeanor.”
“Demeanor? You have got to be kidding me!”
“No one is kidding, Sergeant.”
“How about Hunter’s demeanor then?”
Hart cocked his head at me. “What about it?”