I met his eyes, considering. That son of a bitch Hunter assaulted me and left me in cuffs like some kind of maggot criminal for almost an hour. But who really saw that?
Me.
Hunter.
And Pete.
I shook my head slowly. Anything I tried to make out of Hunter’s actions would quickly involve Pete. He’d have to be interviewed and anything he said about Hunter would come back on him. I didn’t want to jam him up. Add to that the fact that any stones I cast now would just make it look like I was trying to divert attention from myself.
Goddamn Hunter. He gets a walk.
“Sergeant? What about Hunter?” Hart asked me.
“Forget it. He’s just an asshole, that’s all. Not exactly a revelation.”
Hart shrugged, then glanced down at the file and read for a moment. “Fine. Now, on the criminal side of the house —“
“Criminal!?”
Hart paused and I could see that it was another delicious moment for him. “Yes, Sergeant. Criminal charges were considered by the Prosecutor.”
“For what?”
“Assault.”
I rolled my eyes in disbelief. “Assault?! He pulled a gun on me!”
“So you say.”
I caught his eye and held it with a hard stare. “That is what happened,” I gritted at him through clenched teeth.
“That is part of the problem, Sergeant. Figuring out exactly what happened.” He tapped the file with his pen and stared at me.
I willed my jaw to unclench.
Finally, he said, “Anyway, the Prosecutor has elected not to file charges against you on this matter.”
“How gracious. What about the other guy?”
Hart shook his head. “No charges will be filed against Mr. Gutierrez, either.”
“Mister Gutierrez? The guy is a convicted felon. He had a gun in his possession. Forget what he tried to do with it. Just having it is five years, Federal time.”
“If anyone is looking at Federal time, it would be you for Civil Rights violations,” Hart said quietly.
That stopped me in my tracks. How on earth did I go from defending myself to talking about Federal time?
I shook my head slowly. “This is ridiculous.”
“What is?”
“All of this. This guy attacked me. He tried to shoot me. Has everyone forgotten that?”
Hart sniffed in disgust. “Typical.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, typical. Did you forget attacking Mr. Gutierrez? Do you even know the extent of his injuries? Have you forgotten jamming that pistol into his head? Or smashing his face into the floor? Or the things you said to him?”
“Said?”
“Racial references. Homophobic statements. Degrading his family.”
“So he attacks me with a fucking gun and you’re beefing me over using harsh language?” I couldn’t believe this.
“Harsh language would be bad enough. Racial epithets and anti-homosexual remarks are worse. Threats to kill are worse yet.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but you are spinning one hell of a fairy tale.”
“Fairy tale? Is that another homophobic reference?”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Are you getting a picture of where you’re at right now, Sergeant O’Sullivan?” Hart’s voice was as hard as he could make it.
“I’m in fucking Wonderland,” I said, shaking my head.
“I think we should go on tape now,” Hart said.
Hart popped open the tape recorder and checked the mini-cassette. He snapped the tape recorder shut and plugged in the microphone. His movements were fluid, practiced. His face bore the smallest of smirks.
Clever bastard, I thought, as I watched him slide the microphone toward me. Get me all worked up, then go on tape and jump in for the kill.
“I don’t think so,” I told him. “I think I’d like my Union rep and a lawyer here.”
Hart froze. “Why?”
“Why? Because I need them. That’s pretty clear from what you’ve told me.”
“Well…I mean, if I said anything…” Hart stammered. His face reddened.
“You made your point,” I said.
“I didn’t want to…I mean…”
Yeah, you fuck, I thought. Your little plan backfired.
Hart regained his composure quickly. “I suppose that is your right. If you want to exercise it.”
“I do.”
“Fine. We’ll reschedule.”
It was quiet for a moment. Hart put his pen in his suit jacket and closed the file in front of him. I stared at the pale yellow folder and wondered exactly what was inside.
Hart read my thoughts. “There’s more than enough, Sergeant.”
I shook my slowly. “I was defending myself.”
“Not according to Mr. Gutierrez,” Hart told me. “Not according to Archie and Ruth Bales, who were sitting three tables away. Not according to Carrie Temple. Not according to Josh Prinz or Jessica Stern, who each took the time to shoot a picture of the whole thing with their brand new cell phones.”
“Pictures?”
Hart tried to suppress a smug grin as he opened the file and removed a computer-generated photo. He slid it across the small table. I recognized myself in the picture immediately, sitting astride Gutierrez with his gun jammed behind his ear. My face was twisted with fury. My eyes were wild.
“The other one is worse,” Hart told me.
I sat back in my chair and looked at him. No words came out. How could it be any worse?
Hart replaced the photo in the file. “This is going to hit the media. No way we can contain it.”
Bullshit. They weren’t even going to try.
“Let me see the other photo,” I said.
Hart shook his head. “You can see that when you come back later with your lawyer.”
Son of a bitch.
Hart leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Can you see the headlines now, Sergeant? Huh? ‘Racist Cop attacks Minority.’ The Hispanic community is already up in arms. The rest of the city will follow suit as soon as they see this picture.”
He was right. Son of a bitch was dead on right.
Hart shook his head and tut-tutted his tongue. “Do you really think the department is going to take this hit?”
“I was defending myself and civilians,” I half-whispered.
“Civilians?” Hart’s eyebrow went up. “Civilians? It looks more like you were overreacting for Officer Battaglia’s widow.”
Rebecca. “Did you even talk to her?” I asked.
“Of course. But she’s a cop’s wife. She’s not unbiased.”
“So? She saw what happened.”
Hart shrugged. “If you ask me, Sergeant, you ought not be sniffing around another man’s widow, especially since you purported to be his friend.”
My fist was cocked and moving forward before I caught myself. I had started and stopped before Hart even reacted. He staggered backward out of his chair and fell to the ground. I lowered my fist as he stood up.
Hart pointed his finger at him, his face red and veins popping out of his neck. “That is exactly why you are in this mess, O’Sullivan!”
I just sat there, looking at his quivering index finger and wondering what fucked up surprise was next.
“Leave, Sergeant. Get out of here.”
I rose and walked toward the door. There was nothing else to say.
“I told them everything.” Rebecca’s voice was saturated with disbelief. “How can they listen to that…that criminal?”
I gave a rueful smile, though she couldn’t hear it through the telephone receiver. “Because they want to. Because the other civilians there have no idea what really went down.”
“But I saw everything,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
We both fell silent. I watched my last remaining goldfish labor around the tank. He was tilted slightly side-ways as he swam and I had the distinct feeling he was a goner.
“Aaron Norris’s wife told me they were re-opening the investigation from when you arrested that guy before. Is that true?”