Page 17 of Shadows of Justice

My skepticism sets in. This is a little too convenient.

“Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you, taking her down? Is she stealing your customers or something?” I smirk at him when he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t make crack.” His irritation flashes. I clearly hit a nerve. “Mary-Ann is fucking greedy, greedy enough to expand her merchandise to humans. Maybe that just doesn’t sit right with me. I’m giving you the information, and now you can save the day, and save PPD from chasing its tail on Frankie. You look good and she goes down—everyone wins.”

“Except the part where I continue to allow a wanted criminal to roam the streets,” I say, pointedly looking him up and down.

“Weigh your odds here, officer,” Leo fires back. “I’ve never been brought in because half of what your little file on me says is mostly conspiracy. For all you know, my record is clean. You just think that you know what I’m guilty of, but you don’t really know. We know what Chica is guilty of, and she puts young girls’ lives in danger every minute of every day. I’d say that’s a pretty good bet of your money, don’t you think?”

“Maybe gambling with the intentions of criminals is my new hard line, Barone,” I retort, my frustration surfacing at his brash tone. “Just because we haven’t stuck something to you yet, doesn’t mean we won’t. Keep up that cocky talk. Pride always brings the big guys down in the end.” I come in close, as close as he had been to me, and level him with a glare. “I just have to be patient.”

I shoulder him out of my way and head onto the street, needing to be done with the intensity of this interaction so that I can get my thoughts straight. As I turn the corner, I look back to see Leo still staring at me, slurping his smoothie.

He chuckles and I keep walking, before the sound can heat my blood any hotter.

Chapter Six - Sugar

Tuesday, July 14th

Mercury must be in the microwave, or whatever that astrology shit says.

Things have been chaotic at work—to say the least. The heat has everyone in a bad mood, and it feels as though it’s adding to the influx of thievery, car jackings, domestic violence and assault calls. Carlos and I have been run ragged the last two days, and my third shift starts in forty-five minutes.

I haven’t been able to do a whole lot to look into the Frankie and Mary-Ann case. Shifts have been chock-full of bookings and paperwork, and the in-between with catching solid sleep. I’ve actually slept surprisingly well since my exchange with Leo, perhaps because I feel like I’m finally working towards something that’ll tip the karmic scales back in my favor.

The captain is happy with our numbers as well, and I haven’t heard a peep from my father.

No news is always good news when it comes to the chief.

Juggling my water bottle and phone, I jiggle my key in the door and lock it. I hear steps on the landing behind me and turn, expecting Mrs. Gonzalez—my only other neighbor on this floor.

It’s not her.

“Hi,” Tim says, his expression wary.

“Oh,” is all I say, at a loss for words. I guess the guy doesn’t take too kindly to the concept of space.

“You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I murmur.

“I guess I get points for being objective,” he says sheepishly.

“Perceptive.”

“What?”

“I think you meant perceptive,” I say, and my lips twitch at who I sound like right now.

“Okay . . . Viv, look. I’m sorry for pushing. My intentions really were in the right place. I just wanted to shake things up, do something unexpected.” He looks down at his feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was actually sorry. “I miss you, babe.”

“And you decided to show that by hatching a plan behind my back to get me evicted?” I ask, one hand on my hip. Tim sighs, looking like he already regrets coming here.

Mrs. Gonzalez cracks open her door to my left, behind Tim’s back. She raises her eyebrows at me and I smile discreetly at her, and then she closes the door as silently as she opened it. I’d bet my last dollar she’s got a baseball bat in there, ready to swing if I’d given my blessing.

We may not be fluent in the same language, but we’re women. She can sense Tim’s rotten—she’s just been waiting for me to smell it out too.

“We’ve been together a good amount of time, Viv,” he says, his tone getting defensive. “I wanted to go to the next step. I want you to meet my folks, do things normal couples do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with that.” His face scrunches up in that way that it does when he’s angry, his short-cropped hair longer than it should be.

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