Part 21 (1/2)
”Are you d.i.c.king around, Zach? Because if you are, it's not-”
I shook my head. ”That's what she said. Meet her at Silvercup Studios.”
”Is it Spence? Is he okay?”
”She didn't say anything about Spence. She didn't say anything about anything.”
”s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t,” Kylie said, whacking the palm of her hand on the steering wheel. ”Of course it's about Spence. Why else would she want us at Silvercup?”
She flipped on the flashers and stepped on the gas, and the Batmobile lurched forward.
I buckled up my seat belt. The little old lady behind the wheel had been replaced by a crazy woman.
Chapter 52.
We blasted across the lower level of the GW Bridge into Manhattan and down the Harlem River Drive. ”Cates is already p.i.s.sed at me for my little run-in with Damon Parker,” Kylie said as she merged onto the FDR and kicked the Ford up to seventy.
”You flat-out accused the victim's brother of exploiting her death for his own personal gain,” I said. ”I'm not sure the department would cla.s.sify that as a 'little run-in.'”
”So if Cates chewed me out for that, what do you think she'll do now that she knows my husband has a drug problem and wound up in the ER twice in the past three days?”
”Who knows what Cates knows? She didn't say a word about Spence.”
”She didn't have to. She told us to drop what we're doing and meet her where he works.”
She got off the FDR at 53rd Street, turned right onto First Avenue, and shot up the ramp onto the bridge to Queens. We skidded into the parking lot at Silvercup fourteen minutes after Cates called.
A golf cart was waiting for us at the front gate. The man behind the wheel was Bob Reitzfeld, a former NYPD lieutenant who left the department after thirty years, then dodged what he called the ”death by retirement” bullet by signing on as a night watchman at Silvercup. Two years later, he was running the entire security team.
”How's Spence?” Kylie asked as we climbed into the backseat.
”Short term, he'll be fine,” Reitzfeld said as he navigated a narrow hallway between studios. ”They're sewing him back together in the ER. But long term, your boy's got a problem, and Sh.e.l.ley can't cover for him much longer.”
”How long has Sh.e.l.ley known Spence was using?” she asked.
”At least a month. That's when he first told me. But by now everyone in the cast and crew is aware of it. If he doesn't get clean soon, his career is going to be in the c.r.a.pper.”
”His career? How about mine?” Kylie said. ”Right now I'm the lead detective on a high-profile murder case. Tomorrow morning Cates may have me hauling in sixth graders for spray-painting their names on schoolyard walls.”
Reitzfeld eased the golf cart to a stop, turned around, and looked at Kylie. ”Let me get this straight-you think Cates is here because Spence got high and bowled over a couple of lights?”
”Why else would my boss show up at the studio an hour after my husband f.u.c.ked up?”
”Kylie, I know I look like the guy in the blue blazer who drives the golf cart, but I was a precinct boss myself for a couple of tours, and I can promise you that Captain Cates didn't trek out here to Queens to make you pay for Spence's sins. Because if she did, she wouldn't have brought the mayor with her.”
That caught both of us by surprise.
”The mayor is here?” Kylie said.
”Along with Irwin Diamond and Sh.e.l.ley. They're all waiting on you in Studio Five, and it's none of my business, but the last thing they need is a stressed-out cop, so I suggest you get your head together and put your game face on before you go in there.”
He turned back around, and we drove the rest of the way in silence.
”Thanks, Lieutenant,” Kylie said to Reitzfeld as he dropped us off in front of the studio. ”I'll be fine.”
”Don't tell me,” he said. ”Tell the guy you're walking into the room with.”
He pulled out and left us standing there.
”Go ahead,” I said. ”Look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that you're fine.”
”Of course I'm not fine,” she said. ”As soon as I heard we were coming here to meet Cates, all I could think about was that Spence was about to wreck my career.”
”Right now, there's only one person about to wreck your career, and it's not Spence,” I said. ”Let me know if there's anything I can do to keep you from self-destructing.”
”There is,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket and tossed me the car keys. ”For starters, don't let me drive when I'm this crazy.”
”Good call,” I said, taking the keys. ”Anything else?”
”Yeah...I know I haven't been the best partner these past two weeks. Do me a favor-set the clock back and give me another chance to make things right between us.”
”You got it,” I said.
What I didn't say was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to set it back two weeks or eleven years.
Chapter 53.
Studio 5 is one of the smaller studios under the Silvercup roof. Even so, it's at least fifty feet long and forty wide. Cates, the mayor, his consigliere Irwin Diamond, and Spence's boss, Sh.e.l.ley Trager, were waiting for us inside. They were at the far end of the room, standing in the living room set of a TV show I didn't recognize. Cates walked across the studio to meet us.
”Mayor Spellman is crazy as a s.h.i.+thouse rat,” she said.
”Isn't that Muriel Sykes's campaign slogan?” I said.
In times of stress, inappropriate humor has always been the glue that binds cops together, so despite the difference in our ranks and the gravity of the situation, Cates laughed out loud. She quickly covered her mouth and turned the laugh into a cough.
”What's going on?” I said.
”Muriel Sykes is about to hold a press conference,” Cates said. ”Irwin dragged the mayor out here so they can watch it, videotape some kind of reb.u.t.tal, and get it on the air before his entire campaign spins out of control.”