Down & Out in Manhattan by Justin Callahan

Author:Justin Callahan [Callahan, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781499342055
Google: mi3ljwEACAAJ
Published: 2016-04-19T12:00:00+00:00

The day after Nat Weston was foolish enough to rattle the cage of upper management at Walsh Dahmer, he reported out in Queens for patrol duty. The next day a memo came down from personnel, detaching him from the 101 Precinct and assigning him, temporarily, as an “extraordinary liaison” to the transit authority.

The next day, as he drove to downtown Brooklyn to report for his new duty assignment, he tried to figure out what was happening. For instance, what the hell was an extraordinary liaison, anyway? Why was he required to report to a civilian, who he suspected wasn’t even a civil servant, but the boss of some nonprofit organization with a city contract? He really must have ruffled some important feathers, and now they were trying to bury him, literally. The Transit Authority, huh? They were sending him underground.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time, and realized he’d forgotten his watch. So he looked up toward the Watchtower clock, eight-thirty. He pulled up in front of the building on Livingston Street, parked the car in a tow away zone, and placed his OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS sign on the dash.

Nat walked briskly through the crowded lobby, took the elevator to the sixth floor, and rapped gently on the door to suite 617. A young black woman dressed in jeans and a blue flannel shirt opened the door. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, but she had a sensible look about her that appealed to Nat.

He smiled. “Good morning, miss. I have an appointment to see Don Mitchell at nine A.M.”

She returned his smile. “Good morning yourself. You must be Detective Weston.”

“Yes, I am.”

She stepped back to let him in. The office was one large room with six metal desks, only one of which was occupied. Nothing fancy about the room at all. The desk was occupied by a man of about thirty-eight, in good shape, speaking excitedly into a phone. A coffee machine sat on a table at the far end of the room, and the girl walked to it.

“How do you take your coffee, detective?”

Nat noticed the question was not if he wanted any, just how he wanted it. He laughed. “Black, no sugar. What’s your name?”

She handed him a steaming paper cup. “Tracy Willacy.”

The man hung up the phone and, in two long strides, was in front of Nat, his hand outstretched. “I’m Don Mitchell. It’s very nice to meet you, detective.”

Mitchell’s hand was firm and dry, his blonde hair beginning to gray at the temples. Nat decided that he was probably older than he looked. “It’s nice to meet you too, Don. Call me Nat.” Tracy handed him his coffee.

They all sat down and Don began, “I can’t tell you how gratifying it is for us to have a veteran police officer like yourself volunteer for the program.”

Nat smiled. He hadn’t volunteered for anything, but nobody had to know that. “Why don’t you give me some background information on what you do

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