Sore Loser by Mike McAlary

Author:Mike McAlary
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504021319
Publisher: Open Road Media

First Avenue, Upper East Side, Manhattan

Mickey pulled over next to a cabstand in the Seventies to let Francisco out. The inspector still had to fetch his daughter. He had told the guys with the warrant for Ginny’s apartment to wait until they’d left town to hit the place.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Francisco, I’ll let you out here. Go retrieve our prisoner from Central Park. I’ll meet you in an hour outside the precinct. Be standing on Madison at Seventy-eighth Street and I’ll pick you both up.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to drive Ginny to her apartment so she can get an overnight bag.”

Ginny looked at the cops, then said, “What about stuff for your prisoner, Dillon? She’ll be a bit gamy, gentlemen.”

“We’ll survive. Just go get her, Francisco.”

“She looks to be my size,” Ginny said. “I’m going to pack her a few things—a sweatshirt and a toothbrush at least. You can’t be Neanderthals, and I’m sure by now you guys know I can spare the underwear.”

“Francisco,” Mickey said. “Please explain the transportation rules to our prisoner, again.”

“Yeah, boss,” Francisco said, his eyes hardening. “But don’t forget Stoney Rivers, either.”

“Duly noted, Sergeant.”

Mickey smiled as Francisco backed onto the curb.

“Could you get in the front seat, Ginny?”

“Why?”

“Departmental policy, Ms. Glade.”

Mickey had to laugh at Francisco’s paranoia. Every cop knew the legend of the policy. Ten years ago, two second-grade homicide detectives had been transporting a woman to Rikers Island, along the Grand Central Parkway from Queens Central booking on Queens Boulevard in Kew Gardens. She was seated in the back of the detectives’ car. No one had searched the rear-cuffed prisoner, a young mother who had been arrested for credit-card fraud, before they put her in the car. And she had been left alone to go to the bathroom in the squad room. She had picked a combination lock and had stuffed a revolver down the back of her pants. She had pulled it out as the detectives slowed near LaGuardia Airport. Turning sideways in the backseat to aim the gun, the young mother had shot both unsuspecting cops in the backs of their heads, then grabbed their handcuff key. She’d fled the car, never to be seen again.

There were still floral arrangements hanging on the chain-link fence that separated the highway and the airport runway.

“Careful, boss,” Francisco said as the inspector and his witness/murder suspect sped away.

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