Adoration

By Jon Saint Germain

Lieutenant Matt Riley is a detective on the Brooklyn Police department spiraling toward self-destruction until his captain “volunteers” him for an officer exchange program—to a small town called Adoration Tennessee. Detective Riley thinks his biggest challenges will be goat kidnappings and a farmer growing marijuana among his tomatoes. But Adoration lies on the outskirts of Black Ridge, and something very bad is happening in Adoration. When a lovely young widow becomes the primary suspect in a homicide that the witnesses insist “a ghost done,” and the outbreak of an incurable plague threatens the entire town, Detective Riley finds his assignment to the backwoods a lot more interesting—and dangerous—then he’d anticipated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Saint Germain
• Release date: Nov 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301716913

Jon Saint Germain

Jon Saint Germain is a professional hypnotist, psychic entertainer and author who retired from the engineering field to pursue his passion: to avoid working for a living. Since 1995, he's been quite successful at self-employment. His published works include Runic Palmistry, Karmic Palmistry and Palmistry for Lovers, published by Llewellyn Publications; The Wizard's Legacy, co-authored with Craig Karges, published by Leading Edge and the in-progress series The Magi of Adoration. Under another name and in another time and place, Jon worked as an engineer for an organization very similar to the one he writes about under the name "Black Ridge" in the Adoration series, and his experiences there led to his early retirement from the profession.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

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The Magi of Adoration: Book Two

ADORATION

Jon

Saint Germain

Connect with me online:

www.jonsaintgermain.com

http://www.facebook.com/jon.saintgermain

ADORATION

Jon Saint Germain

Copyright 2012 by Jon Saint Germain

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

All the people, places and events depicted in this work are fictional and any resemblance to any living persons or actual locations is coincidental.

ISBN: 9781301716913

The Magi of Adoration Series

Book One: Blood Debt

The hills outside of Adoration Tennessee hide a sinister secret: Black Ridge Defense Initiative, where frightening experiments are conducted in the name of national security. When Geoff Sayer’s brother is killed, Geoff becomes the target of a conspiracy determined to silence a leak of one of Black Ridge’s most well-kept secrets—a secret with teeth, claws and a hunger for human flesh.

Book Two: Adoration

Lieutenant Matt Riley is a detective on the Brooklyn Police department spiraling toward self-destruction until his captain volunteers him for an officer exchange program—to a small town called Adoration Tennessee. Detective Riley thinks his biggest challenges will be goat kidnappings and a farmer growing marijuana among his tomatoes. But Adoration lies on the outskirts of Black Ridge, and something very bad is happening in Adoration. When a lovely young widow becomes the primary suspect in a homicide that the witnesses insist a ghost done, and the outbreak of an incurable plague threatens the entire town, Detective Riley finds his assignment to the backwoods a lot more interesting—and dangerous—then he’d anticipated.

Book Three: Live Bait

When the young witch Abigail Brennan and her friends accidently release a slumbering Cherokee demon known as the Tooth from its underground prison, not only are their lives in jeopardy but their very souls. Can Abby summon the skills her aunt taught her and put the demon back in its prison before it savages Adoration?

Book Four: New Face in Town

25 years ago Adoration was terrorized by a serial killer known as The Decorator, who disappeared after killing a dozen women and displaying gruesome works of art created from their remains. Jillian, a disfigured young fashion artist dreams of an angelic face, which she draws on her models. When Jillian lands a lucrative position with a major advertising firm, cosmetic surgery gives her the face of her dreams. The Decorator returns and the killings resume. Detective Gabriel Wrightson, tormented by his past failure to capture the killer, is determined to solve the haunting mystery of Jillian’s face. Why did Jillian dream of the Decorator’s final victim, his masterpiece? Did Jillian’s new face inspire the Decorator to come out of retirement? Will Wrightson find the answers in time to save Jillian from becoming a work of art herself?

Book Five: Darkfire

When the Tooth was accidently released from his underground prison in Live Bait the demon worked a good deal of mischief. Among other foul deeds, it resurrected former comrade Andrew Jackson as well as the remains of a hideous creature stashed at Black Ridge. Jackson and the creature seize control of Black Ridge and a tremendous source of nearly unlimited power. A task force consisting of people with previous experience of Black Ridge and the Tooth try to prevent the General from destroying everything. This capstone volume brings together all the characters from the previous four novels and pits them against an apocalyptic malevolence. Who knew the fate of the world would be decided in a small town in East Tennessee?

www.jonsaintgermain.com/

"My general expression is that all human beings who can do anything; and dogs that track unseen quarry, and homing pigeons, and bird-charming snakes, and caterpillars who transform into butterflies, are magicians. … Considering modern data, it is likely that many of the fakirs of the past, who are now known as saints, did, or to some degree did, perform the miracles that have been attributed to them. Miracles, or stunts, that were in accord with the dominant power of the period were fostered, and miracles that conflicted with, or that did not contribute to, the glory of the Church, were discouraged, or were savagely suppressed. There could be no development of mechanical, chemical, or electric miracles —

And that, in the succeeding age of Materialism — or call it the Industrial Era — there is the same state of subservience to a dominant, so that young men are trained to the glory of the job, and dream and invent in fields that are likely to interest stockholders, and are schooled into thinking that all magics, except their own industrial magics, are fakes, superstitions, or newspaper yarns.

Against all the opposition in the world, I make this statement — that once I knew a magician. I was a witness of a performance that may someday be considered understandable, but that, in these primitive times, so transcends what is said to be the known that it is what I mean by magic."

—Charles Fort, Wild Talents, 1932

CHAPTER ONE

I

Captain Landon of Brooklyn Police Southside ran a hand through his limp black hair and gave a resigned sigh as he dragged his eyes from the report to the street punk in leather jacket and torn jeans slouching in the beige plastic chair. The punk looked older than his thirty-three years, but that wasn’t surprising, considering his lifestyle. The surprising part, Landon reflected, was that he’d lived this long at all.

Landon cleared his throat. The punk didn’t seem to notice. He kept staring at a crack in the floor, fingers drumming incessantly against his knee.

Matt, Landon said, I could scream at you and raise almighty hell, beat my fist against the desk and point out how badly you screwed up, but for what? I’d raise my blood pressure and rupture myself. Do you even care anymore?

That got a small reaction. Green eyes shifted beneath dark tangled hair to meet Landon’s gaze. What do you think? The voice was flat and emotionless, a steel blade honed by years of hard street life.

I think you screwed up. Why can’t you do what you’re told?

The drumming fingers paused. If I had, Flutie would be dead.

You don’t know that.

I do, said Lieutenant Matthew Riley. He sat erect, thumbed aside an unruly strand of hair and although a bit haggard and pale from lack of sun and the strain of deep undercover work, looked a jot less like gutter scum. I know Ferreira. Flutie and I lived with that skank for six weeks. I know more about him than his boyfriends. I can tell you what bath oil beads he likes. He’d have slit Flutie’s throat and so what? What’s another homicide charge to him? If he goes up for twenty killings or twenty-one his ass is just as nailed. Besides, he knew the DA would probably plea bargain.

Landon ate the last antacid from a roll, screwed the foil into a ball and missed the trash can with it. I have no problem with the bust, Detective. It’s all the collateral damage. There’s a communications officer with a busted eardrum, not to mention you shot your partner.

Well, that was an accident. I took a shot at the guy holding the razor to Flutie’s throat and hit the microphone in Flutie’s earring. And also took off his earlobe. That’s the ‘officer injured’ notation. But I got the guy.

And the club owner wants to sue us. Landon consulted the report, which by now was considerably mauled. Matt, you crashed your motorcycle through the back window of his strip club and shot up the place. Them strippers are traumatized. The owner’s girlfriend is picking glass splinters out of her silicone-injected titties, and you went in without my permission, but I’m used to that.

Riley barked a laugh. Bouvier wants to sue? He’s in bed with the Southside’s biggest dope peddler and he has the nerve to say we offended his delicate sensibilities? Screw him. I don’t care about him or his bag-bride.

You were told to stand down and let Rodriguez handle negotiations. You disobeyed my orders. I might as well be talking to my desk. Rodriguez wants you off the force.

Riley shook his head. Rodriguez shock and awed his men through the front door straight into an ambush. He almost got everyone killed. I went in the back way and got Flutie out.

I’ll say you went in the back way. You went in the back window. Motorcycle and all.

Rodriguez is an idiot. If it isn’t in a book, he can’t imagine it. I’ll bet when he screws his wife he has a pamphlet on the pillow that says ‘In...Out, repeat as necessary.’

Landon’s lips twitched. You think so?

I wouldn’t doubt it.

You didn’t have to hit him.

I disagree.

He leaned forward. I got the job done, Phil. Miguel Ferreira is bagged. We got him holding enough kilos of straight horse to make a clean conviction, homicides aside. The District Attorney says he’s gonna make a deal and sell out his bosses, and life is good.

Good for you, maybe. Landon thumbed the page on the report. Why did Ferreira take Kevin Flutie hostage anyway? I thought he bought you guy’s cover story.

Someone blew our cover. Riley rubbed his stubbly chin. Ferreira found out we were cops, that’s why I went in.

Landon’s chair creaked and squealed under his weight when he leaned back. We have a problem, Matt. You’ve stirred up a pot of crap stew with a big spoon, and not for the first time. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. People are wondering if you’ve lost it. Internal Affairs wants a psych evaluation, Rodriguez is raising hell, and he has his tongue in a lot of fairly important ears. Right now you’re the man of the hour, and not in a good way.

Riley listened with hands clasped and thumbs fidgeting. So I’m suspended, again?

Landon pursed his lips and a long exhalation whistled through his nose. No, he replied. I don’t want that. You’re a righteous cop, and when you’re on point one of the best, but over the past year you’ve been taking bigger and bigger risks. What you did Wednesday might seem heroic to some, but to me it’s self-destructive. I’ve seen this before. Put a guy under too much pressure and he blows up. How are things going between you and Rebecca?

That has nothing to do with this. That’s not serious and you know it.

You moved in with her, Landon pointed out. That sounds serious.

That was just to shut her up.

Did it work?

No.

Never does. How’s your drinking?

Riley stared at the floor. Nothin to do with it either. I’m fine.

You’re a long way from fine, Landon said. You ain’t been fine since—

Riley raised his head and glared at Landon.

Landon nodded. Never mind. But you ain’t been fine for a couple of years. Landon shuffled through some papers. I’m going to take a few actions. First, and this is just between the two of us damn it, I’m entering a citation for extraordinary bravery on your record for saving your partner’s life.

Riley blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Thanks Phil, I—

Don’t thank me yet you sack, I’m not through. Landon balanced a pair of reading glasses on his narrow nose and peered at a blue-tinted paper. Second, I’m going to recommend, again, you go to counseling.

Riley grunted.

Landon smacked his lips. Right. I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, Captain, I’ll do that soon,’ but for now I need to make you disappear for a while.

Riley ran a hand over his stubbly jaw. Put me on assignment, something deep and dirty. Long term. I can go so low-down nobody will hear from me for a year. C’mon Phil, I need to work.

Landon looked at Riley over his glasses. And I have work for you, but I want you in a black hole until you get your head right again. He tapped the sheaf of papers. I’ve received a communiqué from the mayor’s office asking this department to participate in a project ‘designed to encourage and enhance cooperation between neighboring police departments.’ He placed the paper aside. It’s an officer exchange program with a sheriff’s department in Tennessee.

A what?

Landon propped his glasses on his head. The idea is that we send them one of ours for six weeks, they send us one of theirs. Congratulations, you just volunteered.

I did? Wait a minute. Riley snatched at the paper. Landon held it out of reach.

Look, Matt. You need to lay low until this entire firestorm blows over, and you know it will eventually. I can’t cover your ass if you’re lurching around telling everyone to kiss it, nor am I sending you on a Kamikaze mission, and don’t tell me that isn’t what you’re asking. Ferreira came damn close to ending both of you. Do this. Have a change of scenery, it’ll do you good. I’m sending you to a nice quiet town down South where all you’ll have to deal with is a jaywalker or someone sleeping with his neighbor’s underage daughters—or goats. Landon leaned back and cackled at his own attempt at humor.

Riley pinched the corners of his eyes. Why are you doing this to me? I thought we had history.

Landon looked sympathetic. We have history is why I’m doing this instead of IA’s advice of suspending you with pay for six weeks. Don’t look at it that way Matt, it’ll be like a freakin’ vacation. It goes on your record that you reached out your accommodating hand to bridge the gap between fellow officers, not that you reached out your calloused fist and busted the nose of the ESU commander. Landon handed Riley the paper. Frankly, you could use a few good marks on your record.

Landon waved him away. Have a good time, bye.

Phil...

Out.

Riley walked to his desk and slumped in his chair. Someone had taped a picture of Evel Knievel to his computer. He tore it off and threw it in the can. He read the details of his new assignment like it was bad news from the STD clinic.

Officer Julia Cortez came in from the muster room and saw him staring at the floor. Whatsa matter with you, Riley? Someone die?

Yeah. Me.

She gave him a sympathetic look. Captain eat you a new one?

He had the old one for desert. He glared at the paper. "You know where Tennessee is, right?

Sure. Somewhere South. Is this a trick question?

I don’t think so. Where the hell is ‘Adoration?’

She laughed. Sounds like a whorehouse to me. You lookin for some action? You quit growlin at everybody I fix you up with my husband’s sister.

He wadded the paper and threw it at her as she ducked, laughing.

II

You’re going where? What the hell for? I’m not going. Screw you, you mook.

Rebecca gripped her elbows and scowled. The angry rise and fall of her cleavage threatened to pop the halter she wore against the scalding June heat. Her brown hair was yanked back in a tail so stern her eyebrows were apostrophes and her dark eyes flashed murder.

Riley reaffirmed his disbelief in a benevolent God. The reason was the impossibility of such a being who would combine the mouth of a harpy with the body of a lingerie model and endow this creation with the soul of a pit bull.

I’m not asking you to go, Riley explained. I’m on assignment for six weeks, and then I’ll be back. Relax, it’s just like any other assignment.

You just got offa one assignment. You smelled like shit for weeks. I wanted us to go someplace nice. You promised me we could go someplace fun. I’m tired of this, Matt.

That’s two of us babe, he thought. He zipped his gym bag with such vigor the zipper broke.

He rummaged through his drawers, selecting a couple of his favorite T-shirts, jeans, shorts. He assumed you could buy socks and underwear in town. You can come see me in Adoration. He tried to put his arms around her waist. C’mon, Becca, it might be fun. We could go for a hayride.

She pushed him away. This isn’t funny Matt. I’m not getting any younger. I want us to settle down and have a family.

He imagined a lifetime listening to children squalling with her nails-on-blackboard voice and shuddered. We’ve discussed this.

No, she said, you’ve discussed this. You said you weren’t ready. Well, when will you be ready?

I don’t know. Can we talk about this when I get back?

She leaned against the dresser, biting her lower lip. I may not be here when you get back.

What are you saying?

I mean it Matt. You’ve changed. When you’re not working, you sit around and drink. When you’re not drinking, you’re growling at me.

My job is stressful, he said. And you yell at me too.

I just want your attention.

He dropped to the floor, peering under the bed. Have you seen my camera?

She looked exasperated. "What do you need that for?

I might want to take some pictures. There are supposedly some pretty mountains down there. Ah here it is.

Have you listened to a word I’ve said?

If I missed anything the neighbors can fill me in. I’m sure they heard you over in Queens. He tossed the camera in his bag.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. You bastard.

I’ll miss you too, babe. I have to go meet Joey. Riley tried to kiss her in passing and she slapped at his face. He dodged, barely.

It was summer break and the bar swarmed with young college men and women. Mostly women, which was why Joey picked it, of course. Joey, the perennial adolescent. He hadn’t changed since the days when he and Riley were partners on the East Side, more than ten years ago.

Lord, lord, Joey said to Riley. Look at her, would you. Check out that derrière. Like the wings of a butterfly. Toddy’s Sports Bar was a popular hangout for both college kids and cops, depending on the night of the week. The location was Joey’s idea to give Riley a send-off the night before he hit the road. Of course it was Joey’s idea.

The tall redhead, wearing hip-huggers and halter, walked across the smoky bar toward the restrooms. Joey’s head swiveled like a weathervane to follow her. She was somewhere between twenty and twenty-three, the jewel of her belly piercing reflecting blue and orange lights from the neon signs.

Riley clucked his tongue. You’re old enough to be her, well, her big brother, you oversexed perv.

Joey looked at him, pretending shock. Look who’s talking. Don’t tell me you’ve never poached a fresh young strawberry in your checkered career.

Riley swigged his beer. That was a long time ago. I used to do a lot of things in my youth. I outgrew them.

You homo, Joey said. His eyes followed the hips of the young red-haired woman on her way back to the bar. I could die happy in her arms.

Just another way to die, Riley muttered, swilling the dregs of his beer.

Hmm?

Does it matter how you die? Once you’re dead you’re dead.

Joey stared at him. A rather morbid thought for a fine night like this, my friend, surrounded with such lovely, living delectables on the eve of your great adventure. What’s got you on this kick?

Riley motioned for the waiter to bring him another Dos Equis. You ever wonder what happens when you die, Joey? Do you go to heaven or hell, or do you just disappear? Is there really a difference between dying in a woman’s arms or being blown away by a psycho?

Joey eyed him with suspicion. Is this a trick question?

Nope.

Joey scratched his ear. You used to do this to me all the time when we were partners. You’d ask a seemingly innocent question then pull the rug out from under me and make me look like a jerk.

You are a jerk. Riley’s beer arrived and he killed half of it. Landon wants me to get a psych evaluation. Thinks I’m outta control.

Joey looked uncomfortable. What’s Rebecca think?

Riley shrugged. We’re done man. Through, finito.

Joey gave him a sympathetic look. Ah, too bad dude, great tits. His eyes were still on the young blonde, who had joined a gaggle of sorority friends. Personally, I don’t think it makes a damn bit of difference how you die. Screw meaning. Dead is dead. I want to die getting my ashes hauled. I want to be jiggled to death on a sea of boobies. Women don’t like to roll your bones when you’re a corpse. So long as you don’t suffer, that’s what matters.

I guess. Just seems to me if you’re going to die anyway you should make it matter. Take two or three losers with you to hell. Deliver them in person.

Joey looked concerned. We see gruesome stuff, dude. It can sour your outlook. A peaceful death is a good thing. A rare thing. You gotta move on. Maybe that psych eval ain’t such a bad idea.

Bullshit, Riley growled.

Well, I’m just sayin. Look, going away for a while might be just what you need. Take your mind off things. Maybe you need a change of pace. Joey rose from the table. That girl will haunt my dreams if I don’t talk to her. See you in a minute.

Good luck. Riley watched Joey’s retreating back. If only life were that simple.

Joey returned, jubilant. Got her number. Her name is Deana. Read it and weep, you bastard, I still got it.

Let me see that, Riley said. He took one look at the number and tossed it back. You got it all right. You got boned, sucker. This is the number to the Suicide Crisis Hotline.

Joey gripped his hair in both fists. Ah man. Shoot me, Riley, shoot me now.

With pleasure.

CHAPTER TWO

I

Three days on the road on a motorcycle does wonders for a man’s outlook. Fresh air, sunshine, rednecks yelling obscenities at you on the interstate, now that’s living. A Kentucky State Trooper pulled him over as a disreputable character. When he flashed his gold shield the Statie waved him on, but not without a suspicious glance at his leather jacket and bandana headgear.

Although twelve hard hours can get you from Brooklyn to Tennessee, Riley was in no hurry. He took what he thought of as the scenic route, stopping at biker bars and roadhouses along the way. About a half day’s ride away from Adoration a small joint outside of Louisville called Eddie’s Truck Stop attracted his attention. It seemed like as good a place as any to stop for lunch. The décor was a mixture of country/western kitsch, Christian artwork from the sixties, and curled, sun-blasted menus crucified to the wall with petrified cellophane tape. Every surface seemed lightly coated with a patina of grease, and from over a faux fireplace a threadbare deer’s head with a missing eye seemed to wink at him with lascivious good cheer.

The red-and chrome vinyl booth emitted a wheezy, prolonged sigh when he plopped down, and a red-haired waitress with an enormous Band-Aid on her neck served him a cup of lukewarm sludge while he checked his cell phone messages. The digital voice informed him he had three new ones.

BEEP. Matt, Landon here. Just wanted to wish you luck on your assignment. You may be happy to hear Roddy is about to have a heart attack when he found out I sent you away instead of serving up your balls on a jello mold. Report in when you get there. Bye, you bastard.

BEEP. Listen, it’s Rebecca, you prick, don’t expect me to be here when you get back. I threw all your junk out and burned the rest. I don’t need you, you limp dick. For your information I have a new boyfriend that knows how to treat a lady. He gives me what I need all...night...long.

I’ll bet you give him just what he needs too, Riley thought. An ulcer and ruptured eardrums.

So you can go to hell, I hope you rot and die, I hope some raccoon kills you and eats your face. Bye, loser.

Do raccoons kill people? He made a mental note to look into that.

BEEP. Oh yeah. In case I didn’t make myself clear, WE’RE THROUGH.

Riley cleared the messages and waved the waitress over.

The waitress sauntered over, chomping gum like a ruminating cow. What can I do you for honey?

I need more coffee, darling, Riley replied. My girlfriend just dumped me.

She shook her head. Her upswept red hair rocked like a schooner in drydock. Ain’t that a shame? Awful thang.

Not really, it was a long time coming. How about a slice of that pie too?

Comin right up darlin’. Riley watched the waitress as she swayed to fetch his order. Her exaggerated walk stretched the thin beige fabric of the skirt across alternate hips. She was definitely sending signals. He looked at the monocular deer’s head. What would you do pal? The deer winked at him and answered in Joey’s voice, schtupp her brains out, you jerk. Look at them titties.

He looked in the mirrored wall. She saw him watching and winked. Riley smiled at her.

The flirtatious waitress returned in a moment with an enormous piece of pie garnished with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Why thanks, he said. He hesitated, thought what the hell, and asked, Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?

The waitress looked regretful. I cain’t honey, the rules are we can’t fraternalize with customers during workin’ hours. She smiled. You’re awfully cute though, I like guys with chin dimples. I get offa work in an hour, if you want to go drinkin’ to get over your heartache. I know a dancing place too.

Riley returned the smile. That’s the best offer yet. But if you don’t mind, what happened to your neck?

She touched the huge Band-Aid. Oh that’s just my boyfriend. He chewed me a big hickey.

Riley covered his mouth with a curled finger. Well, won’t your boyfriend mind you partying with me?

She shook her head. Nah, he’s in jail. I only see him ever two weeks. What he don’t know ain’t gonna kill him.

Riley gave her hand a squeeze. I’m deeply impressed by your compassion toward a broken-hearted out-of-towner.

She winked. It’s what you call Southern hospitality sweetie.

Then I’ll see you in an hour. I’ll be the guy on the Harley with the big grin.

She shrugged. Another bad boy. Whatcha call my downfall. She tallied up his bill, jaws really working the gum. You can pay at the front. See you in an hour, my name’s Charlene.

Riley finished half the pie and less of the battery-acid coffee. Occasionally he and Charlene exchanged glances and he gave her a small smile, but his heart wasn’t behind it.

This used to be fun. A night of drinking and screwing ahead of me. Joey would be proud. As though reading his thoughts, Charlene the waitress winked at him and he raised his cup as though toasting the evening ahead. She seems to be looking forward to it, so why did he feel like he was only going through the motions?

Phil was right. He was a long way from fine.

It wasn’t as if he’d any choice in the matter. If he’d acted differently, Flutie would be dead.

Everything was going fine. The undercover job was running smoothly until Ferreira grabbed Flutie ,and Riley found himself locked out of the club wondering how it had all gone so wrong so quickly. Worse, he’d been ordered t0 stand down and let Rodriguez handle the situation.

This is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

Riley paced in front of the squad car. A half-dozen police vehicles, lights flashing, clustered around the gentlemen’s club. Uniformed officers, weapons drawn, stood by their cruisers shooting nervous glances at each other and toward the building. An Urban Assault Vehicle squatted like a pugnacious bulldog near the curb. None of this was Riley’s idea. Riley wanted to handle the hostage situation himself. He’d practically begged, yet within ten minutes the Emergency Services Unit bulldozed their way onto the scene. Lieutenant Rodriguez of the ESU shouted orders while his men assumed tactical positions around the perimeter.

He kicked at a crumpled Payday wrapper on the ground. All they need are elephants and the circus is in town, he thought.

Flutie might already be dead.

Hang in there Flute, he said into the radio, even though the Brazilians probably ripped the wire from his partner’s earring as soon as they realized he was a cop.

Who gave us away? Someone must have for everything to go off the rails so quickly.

Riley ran a hand over his grimy, unshaven jaw. The seedy look he adopted for this undercover operation wasn’t much of a stretch from his everyday appearance. A few days of chin growth, a couple of skipped showers and he was the picture of a junkie hired thug. He cultivated the pasty complexion of someone well-acquainted with the Mexican Horse. He even threw in a junkie’s nervous twitch and psychotic glare, although most of his co-workers would testify that the latter quality was a permanent element of his personality.

It should be me in there. Flute’s too young. He didn’t have the salt to pull off something like this. Damn the Captain.

It was a tried-and-tested procedure: work your way through the suppliers up to the big man. It took time and money, but the payoff was worth it. Ferreira would smell a salty dog like you a mile away, though, Matt, Landon had said. Flute here looks young and innocent. Besides, that old Brazilian fruit likes pretty boys.

Miguel Ferreira. Rodriguez’s magnified voice blasted from a megaphone. This is Lieutenant Rodriguez with the Police Emergency Services Unit. We have you surrounded. Release your hostage and come out unarmed with your hands up.

Riley muttered under his breath. Where do you get your lines, Roddy, HBO movie of the week? Riley knew Rodriguez played the scenario straight by the rules and regulations manual. The problem was this wasn’t a typical scenario. That fool was going to get Flutie killed, and he was going to do it by the book. Damn, damn, damn.

The young patrolman looked at him. What did you say, sir?

Nothing. Just watch yourself out here.

Yes sir. The kid fingered his firearm and jumped at a sudden noise. A cat. It was probably his first real crisis situation.

Landon: We’ll groom Kevin to look like a bored young Yuppie millionaire trying to bust into the business. You’ll be his enforcer, you grubby bastard. It’ll be perfect.

Only it wasn’t perfect. Ferreira set a trap for them and Riley only lucked out because he lagged behind. He couldn’t find a place to park his Harley. Flute walked right into the arms of Ferreira’s goons.

How did they know? How did they know we were cops?

One of the ESU guys called out, The doors are locked, sir.

Riley banged the top of the patrol car and the rookie flinched. Of course the doors were locked. Did Rodriguez assume Ferreira was going to roll out the red carpet?

Assuming Flutie was still alive, he was the Brazilian heroin supplier’s last bargaining chip. If Rodriguez shock-and-awed his way in there, as he usually did, Ferreira and his men would open fire. There would be casualties on both sides, among them most certainly Flutie.

We spent too much time setting this up for it to go sour. Six weeks living among the scum of the earth to nail this guy.

How did they tag us?

The grenadier and two other ERU personnel prepared to launch chemical grenades through the front windows. Rodriguez gave the order and the grenadier fired the weapon. The grenade broke through the g-string of an improbably-endowed blonde painted on the window and fumes emerged from the jagged hole. Good shot, someone said. Someone else laughed.

A gunshot, then a shout.

Rodriguez glanced toward the front door, listened to his headset, nodded and made a slashing gesture with his hand. Take it down! he barked into his megaphone. Four ESU officers ran for the door wielding the battering ram.

Screw this, Riley said.

He ran for the alley, where earlier he parked his Harley.

He made sure his gun was fully loaded and returned it to his shoulder holster. Walking the bike to the side of the building he had a good view of Rodriguez’s men hammering the front door. Riley shook his head. These were good men, good officers. It wasn’t their fault they had a knothead for a boss. But Riley had an idea—sort of—that may save these men from serious injury if not outright death. But for his half-assed plan to work at all, timing was crucial. Riley had to act just as the door came down. That fool Rodriguez made sure everyone in the club had their eyes and guns on the door by announcing his every move to the world with his megaphone. But the front door wasn’t the only way into the building.

Riley mounted the motorcycle and gunned the engine.

The ESU guys hit the door once, twice...

Now.

Gunning the engine, Riley drove the bike toward the large reflective side window. He had no idea what lay directly on the other side. Riley watched his own reflection grow larger and larger, closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

The window exploded as he crashed through it into the nightclub.

Shards of glass cascaded around him in a silvery hailstorm. A cluster of off-duty dancers at a table next to the window snorting lines of cocaine shrieked as shattered glass showered over them. They scattered in all directions when the rear tire of his bike spun aside their hastily-abandoned table.

His eyes tried to adjust to the dark, neon-lit room. He shook glass from his hair like a dog shedding water and looked around the club.

Where are they? Where the hell are they?

The front wheel of his bike barked against the tile floor. He gripped the motorcycle with his knees fighting to stay seated. He heard shouting. Ferreira and his thugs milled around at the far end of the club near the bar. He saw Flutie, still alive, but badly beaten, restrained by a gargantuan African-American holding a straight-razor to his throat. The young cop looked scared, but not panicked. Good boy.

Ferreira himself stood between two well-dressed Hispanics armed with machine guns.

Riley’s rear wheel grabbed the floor just as the thugs opened fire toward the front entrance, aiming with sniperlike precision. The ESU team burst through the door and into the arms of an ambush. The gangsters had of course overheard Rodriguez’s amplified orders and waited for the men to come through. There was no sign of the gas cylinder. As it turned out it landed in the men’s room.

Riley revved the engine of his Harley and pulled his gun. Pulverized glass flew as he spun out toward the bar. He shot one of Ferreira’s thugs before the man could deploy his weapon against the ESU team. The man fell against the bar with a surprised look on his face. The second man, thinking the ESU team shot his partner, opened fire toward the front door. The ESU team flung themselves to the floor, most of the officers still too nonplussed at having the element of surprise turned against them to open fire. Riley made a sharp ninety-degree turn, tires squalling, and shot the second man in the chest.

None of the ESU guys seemed to be seriously injured, saved by ballistic vests and confusion.

The motorcycle’s rear wheel toppled a table, and Ferreira heard the commotion. Realizing his sanctum was violated by yet another intruder, his eyes darted from the scrambling ESU agents to Riley.

He addressed the massive African-American holding Flutie. Stop! Marcel. Kill the policeman if anyone moves.

Riley paused twenty feet away, his gun steady. It’s over Ferreira. You’re under arrest.

Ferreira laughed. Drop your weapon. I’ll kill your man. Marcel my love. Show them.

Marcel waved the razor in the air. I’ll peel him like a potato. Like a little white potato.

Flute breathed hard, but no longer looked sacred. Take him down, Matt!

Riley killed the engine. Okay, Ferreira. Have it your way. Holding his gun in a loose grip he raised both hands. How did you tip we were cops? Riley, using a silent code he and Flute had worked out between them for use during their undercover work, signaled: Don’t move. Someone shouted his name in the distance.

Flute signaled back: Roger that.

Ferreira grinned. It was simple love, you see...

Riley aimed and fired.

The bullet hit Flute’s hoop earring before nailing Marcel in the neck. Flute pushed the man’s arm away and the razor glinted as it spun in the air, a patina of blood tinting its edge.

Ferreira screamed and reached inside his jacket. Riley shot him in the shoulder and Ferreira, crying out in a high-pitched voice, collapsed to the floor. Blood stained his cream-colored suit. Flute dropped on the drug dealer and took his weapon.

The ESU officers rushed in and stood in a semi-circle around the three dead criminals. Ferreira insisted he was dying and begged for someone to call an ambulance.

Riley leaned the bike on its kickstand. He walked over to where Flute stood, rubbing his neck. You okay, kid?

Flute looked at his fingers. I’m bleeding, Riley. He cut me.

It’s just your ear, Kevin. He tilted the younger man’s head for a closer look. I shot your earring off. Sorry.

Flute touched his ear, looked at Riley, at Riley’s motorcycle, and at the shattered window, through which the first rays of dawn shone. He blinked several times. I thought that bastard had cut my throat and I was hallucinating. When I saw you flying through that window I just knew I was dead. I expected to see Jesus riding that Harley. But it was your ugly ass. You are a buck crazy bastard.

Riley picked a piece of glass from his hair. My plan lacked finesse, but it was all I could think of on short notice. He kicked Ferreira, who cringed. Get up, you son of a bitch. You’re under arrest, in case you haven’t noticed.

Rodriguez, who ran in behind his men and surveyed the wreckage with unadorned disapproval, grabbed Riley by the lapel of his leather jacket and got up in his face practically nose-to-nose. You’ve gone too far this time, you lunatic. You’re in serious trouble.

Riley punched him.

At least Flutie was alive. But Phil didn’t see it this way. He yielded to pressure and exiled Riley to a crap assignment in the sweltering Southeast.

II

The next morning Riley awoke with a hangover, a taste in his mouth like wet dog, and Charlene the red-haired truck stop waitress snoring like a bandsaw near his shoulder. Sometime in the early hours of the morning she’d lost the large Band-Aid, and Riley blinked at the size of the love-bite bestowed by her jailbird