New York Minute by Aryan Stephen

Author:Aryan, Stephen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

With O’Neill walking beside me, and two constables in uniform behind, I could almost pretend I was a cop again and they were part of my squad. The illusion was spoiled by Hawk-face and her protégé in front. Beyond them were the other two constables, clearing the way and keeping an eye out for trouble.

​“What’s her deal?” I whispered to O’Neill. “She looks at me like I just pissed on her shoes.”

​He winced but didn’t have a chance to answer. As if she knew we were talking about her, Hawk-face glared over her shoulder. I smiled and waved until she turned away with a sneer.

​“Can you at least tell me their names?” I asked.

​O’Neill considered it for a moment. “She’s Rivera and the greenhorn is Dallas.”

​“No talking!” snapped Rivera, who seemed intent on taking the fun out of everything.

​Even before I started recognising some of the streets, I knew where they were taking me. It was an ugly building, made of thick grey stone where the windows were narrow, lined with steel bars and the metal doors were reinforced. The roof was steep, edged with metal spikes and I knew there were also three hatches inside for easy access. If there was ever a siege, this was the place to be. Once the doors were closed, and the metal shutters bolted from the inside, it became an impenetrable fortress. It was also the same building where I’d worked for many long and difficult years, before leaving to become a private investigator.

​The central headquarters of the New York police department. What a shithole. Long before I left the Force, I’d come to loathe the building because of what it represented. It wasn’t the people, although some of them were hideous, and it wasn’t the work. It was the system.

​Like many others, I’d joined with noble intentions, bright eyes and a can-do attitude. I’d been determined to clean up the city, bring criminals to justice, and help my fellow humans. What I hadn’t realised, and what quickly became apparent, was that the police were a clean-up service. We weren’t there to prevent crimes, just solve them. The police always investigated after the fact. We waited until the body was cold, the robbery was done, the building burned down and the ashes were cool.

​It could have been different, but it wasn’t my problem anymore. I’d left the police, and all of its internal politics and bureaucracy, behind me. Or so I’d thought. And yet here I was, being marched up to the front door like a criminal.

​A single blue-panelled lantern hung outside the front door. A tiny dot of light that told people where to go when they wanted to report a crime. Rivera rapped her fist on the door and a few seconds later, a slot opened at eye level.

​“Let me in,” she said, not bothering to identify herself, which I knew was a breach of protocol. Even if you knew the person at the door, even if they were your best friend in the world, you were supposed to state your full name and the daily safe word.

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