Middle Of Nowhere

   But that burning sensation persisted, and he looked to his right, intent on staring down whoever was responsible: John LaMoia stared back at him from a corner booth.

   Boldt felt a chill. Had the phone call that had interrupted his dinner come from LaMoia? His former prote´ge´? Friend, even.

   LaMoia stood and headed down a hallway toward the men's room. Boldt wanted to follow, but resisted. His sergeant had made no indication or signal whatsoever; he thought it best to wait him out.

   LaMoia fit in at the Cock & Bull the way the suspender set fit in at McCormicks and Schmidts. He was a man who moved seamlessly between the uniforms and the brass, the meter maids and the Sex Crimes detectives, the entrepreneurial friend-to-all, who always had an investment worth your making or a bet worth placing. He navigated a thin line between snitches and interrogation rooms, right and wrong, never quite crossing into criminal behavior, but always carrying a cloud of uncertainty in the wake of his swagger.

   Boldt's cell phone rang. He moved to the front of the bar and stepped back outside to answer it where he could hear. LaMoia's voice spoke into Boldt's ear.

   "It would be natural for you to say hello to me," LaMoia said. "And when you do, I'm going to be rude. Just so you know."

   "And now I know."

   "The marina out at Palisades. One hour."

   "I'll be there," Boldt confirmed.

* * *

Boldt put some effort into questioning unwilling and uncooperative officers, reeling from their unwillingness to help him out. But his heart wasn't really in it, following that call from LaMoia. He wanted the hour over quickly, and it wouldn't cooperate. It dragged on like a sack of cement left out in the rain. When he finally checked in with Heiman, reporting he'd gained nothing from his interviews, it felt as if the entire night had passed him by.

   He was back in his car when his cell phone rang.

   "Lou?" It was Phil Shoswitz. "Got a minute?"

   "You heard about Schock and Phillipp?" Boldt asked.

   "I heard," Shoswitz confirmed, "but I'm delivering another message."

   Boldt attempted to clear his head, knowing this had to be something of major importance. On the occasion of their last meeting, Shoswitz had been questioning the very nature of their friendship. "I'm listening."

   "The chief is going for a stolen base. He's facing the possibility of National Guardsmen taking over his turf, so he's gonna smoke a couple fastballs over the plate and hope to clean out the top of the lineup." Mention of the chief got Boldt's heart racing. "Cleaning out the lineup" didn't help matters. What the hell? He knew Shoswitz's opinion of the newcomer, and feared the worst. But it was worse than even that. "What I'm telling you is, you're not going to sleep tonight—you're gonna be on the phone to every goddamned officer of yours, because those officers were mine not long ago, and to a man they're the best we've got, and I'd hate to see you lose them."

   "Lose them?"

   "He's sending out something like a hundred health care personnel in the morning, door to door, to verify every officer's claims of illness. Those that aren't ill will be held in violation of the guild contract and will be terminated without pay and will forfeit all benefits, including four-oh-one Ks."

   The static sat heavily on the open line. The implications were enormous: the chief would break the guild and restructure SPD in a matter of hours. Boldt could foresee a string of lawsuits stretching out over years, and a younger more vital police department for its newly installed chief. With the guild broken, he could negotiate new levels of pay and recruit from across the country, possibly cutting a deal with King County Police in the process and bringing the two departments under one roof. "Oh, my God," Boldt muttered into the phone.

   "Your people have to report for tomorrow's day tour, Lou, or they're thrown out of the game."

   "If he fires that many people, it's going to be Molotov cocktails instead of blue bricks."

   "Just don't let it be your people. Use the emergency calling tree. We've got to drop all the animosities and get as many people back by tomorrow morning as possible."

   "Amen."

   "And, Lou? I'm calling from a pay phone, because when the chief finds out this thing leaked, he'll be looking for a scapegoat, for sure. He won't appreciate some people being tipped off and others left to eat it. But that's how it going to be, no matter how hard we try. There's no way we'll reach everyone by morning. Just so you know. I wouldn't be making calls from my home or my cell." He added, "The airport might work— they've got those business centers on A concourse."

   "I follow." He sensed the man about to hang up. "And thanks, Phil."

   "What are friends for?" The line went dead.

* * *