The Steel Kiss

The officers—they smelled of a task force—got the gun and the shield. They didn’t give them back. His wallet too. Pulaski was inclined to argue that one but didn’t.

“Okay. Turn around.” From the other officer—blond hair in a spiky cut. He was flipping through the wallet. He clustered it, the gun and the shield in his left hand.

Both officers looked around and directed Pulaski into a doorway, out of sight of the pavement. He understood. They’d been conducting surveillance at Richie’s, probably on Alphonse, waiting for a contact to show up. And they didn’t want to blow the main operation by getting spotted now.

Baldie spoke into his microphone. “Sarge, we got him. The thing is he’s on the force. Major Cases…  I know…  I’ll find out.” He cocked his head. “Pulaski? You running an op here? Major Cases always coordinates with us, DSS. So we’re confused.”

“Not an op.”

“What’d you buy?” Baldie seemed to like doing the talking. They were close. His breath smelled of pizza. Garlic and oregano. He glanced at Pulaski’s pocket.

“Nothing.”

“Look, man, we got it on video. Everything.”

Shit. The plumbing van across the street. He had to give ’em credit. There were a dozen plumbing supply stores on the block. A lumberyard truck, a taco truck, an HVAC truck…  he thought that was weird. But not plumbing.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, it is what we think, Pulaski. There’s nothing we can do. It’s on tape that’s gotta be logged in,” the blond partner said. He seemed personally upset at the prospect of busting a fellow cop for scoring drugs. But being upset wasn’t going to stop him. Either of them. It just seemed that Blondie would enjoy a collar a bit less than his partner.

“We’re in this far, Pulaski. You gotta give us what you scored. If it’s a misdemeanor amount it won’t go so bad. You can work out something with the DA and Benevolent Association.”

They’d probably be thinking Pulaski might be part of a sting himself—scoring drugs knowing surveillance was there and seeing if Baldie and Blondie let him go, professional courtesy. Then Internal Affairs would sweep in and take them down. So they’d have to treat him like any other buyer.

“I didn’t score any drugs.”

There was silence.

“Search me.”

A glance between them. Blondie did. A good search. They knew what they were about.

Then Baldie was talking into his microphone. “Sarge, nothing on him…  K.” He disconnected and barked: “So, the fuck’s going on here, Pulaski?”

“That.” He nodded at a wad of papers Blondie had lifted from his pocket. Blondie handed it to him. He opened one small sheet of paper and handed it back.

“What’sis?”

“I had some money trouble last month. Need a couple large. Somebody put me in touch with Alpho. He hooked me up with a money man. I paid him back the last of the vig today. He gave me the marker back.”

The cops looked at the IOU.

Borrowing money at exorbitant rates of interest isn’t illegal unless it’s done to launder cash—though doing so probably tripped over some departmental regs.

Baldie spoke into the microphone. “Wasn’t drugs, Sarge. Juice. Paid his vig and got the note back…  Yeah…  I will.”

“You know, that was just fucking stupid, Officer.”

“Yeah? How fucking stupid is it to borrow some green for a friend who’s losing a leg ’cause he’s got cancer and no insurance?” The fear had translated into anger and he decided if you’re going to make something up, pick the most outrageous story you can.

That set them back a bit. But Baldie wasn’t deterred for long. “You could’ve screwed up a major operation here. Your boy back there, Alpo, was supposed to be meeting somebody senior with a DR crew. He comes in, tips to you being blue and who knows what might’ve happened? He could’ve had a shooter with him.”

Pulaski shrugged.

“He say anything about a Dominican?”

“No. We talked sports and how fucked people can get when they borrow at twenty percent interest. My piece and shield. The wallet too.”

Pulaski took them and eased to his knees, re-holstering his weapon. He snapped the strap around the small pistol and rose. “Anything else?” No response. Pulaski gazed at him for a moment then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

If he’d thought his heart was beating fast a few moments ago, it was like a machine gun now.

Man, man, man…  You lucky son of a bitch, he told himself. But not all luck. He’d planned ahead. Alpho had called him earlier and said he had a lead to Oden, the man who could supply Pulaski with the new breed of Oxy. “Catch or whatever the fuck you call it.” They’d meet at Richie’s and Pulaski would pay him two thousand for the information.

But leaving One PP, where he’d dropped off the computer from the arson scene downtown, Pulaski began to feel paranoid. What if he was seen talking to Alpho by a friend, or fellow cop? He needed an excuse for hanging with the guy. He’d bought drugs once from him but wouldn’t do that again.