been right in front of where Frank Pappalardo’s nephew had been peeled like a grape. The CSI unit had done their thing and cleared the site, and then a commercial cleaning crew had come in to make sure none of the club-goers in the neighborhood took selfies with the aftermath. Not that there had been much blood or guts. But still.
And man, you could smell that bleach.
“Did he threaten you?”
“I’m not afraid of Gigante,” she said.
Officer Anthony McCordle had “Good Guy” stamped all over him. Underneath the brim of his police hat, his honest face seemed to struggle to contain the not-happy expression his mood had cast his even features in, and his hand went to the holstered gun at his hip. Like he was protecting her from the mob even though the two of them were alone.
“This is bad.” McCordle shook his head. “I never should have given you—”
“There’s going to be retaliation, though, right? I mean, I don’t know much about the real-world Mafia, but all those movies and books can’t be wrong. If you kill your rival’s nephew, you’re in trouble. Right?”
McCordle looked around at all the not-much-to-look-at. The alley was barren of even trash cans and empty liquor bottles, although that didn’t mean it was destined for a Caldwell tourism ad. There was a not-so-thin coating of city grunge on the buildings and the pavement, the whole lot of it like a stall shower that existed in a world free of Oxi-Clean. In contrast, McCordle’s shiny new patrol car, which was parked about fifteen feet away, was an example of routine maintenance and care that would never be replicated in this neighborhood.
“Look, I think I’m going to wait for Bill, okay?” McCordle dropped his eyes and stared at the ground, like he didn’t want to be sexist, but some internal code of chivalry demanded that he treat women like crystal vases. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
For a moment, she was tempted to go Annie Oakley and shoot out his taillight, proving viscerally she was armed and had good aim. The trouble was, Caldwell had an ordinance whereby you couldn’t discharge a firearm inside city limits. McCordle thought his conscience was bothering him now? He should see what happened when she put him in the position of having to arrest her for a weapons violation and some willful destruction of police property—or let her go because she was a nice little girl who’d done an oopsie.
“Bill’s in the hospital with Lydia. She’s having problems with the pregnancy.” As the officer’s eyes swung back up, Jo shrugged. “So you’re going to have to deal with me. It’s either that or you go to the national media, and can you really trust them to keep your identity a secret? I’m very sure there’s an official CPD policy against leaks to the press, and those CNN and Fox News people won’t hesitate to give your name up to your superior if they think it can get them even better access. But you can trust me. I’m local, and I have a helluva lot less to lose than Anderson Cooper does.”
Hell, she had nothing to lose. She was just an online editor. But that was not a card she was going to play here.
McCordle’s shoulder piece went off with a squawk. As a bunch of 10-Mary somethings came out of the little speaker, he tilted his mouth down and made a response in code.
“I gotta go.” He leaned in toward her, as deadly serious as a Boy Scout could get. “Don’t reach out to Gigante again, and I’ll tell Bill directly that he shouldn’t do that, either. That old man doesn’t value human life, and he is not afraid of anything. He’ll put a hit on you without blinking an eye.”
“Don’t shut me out, then. I promise not to go near Gigante, but you’ve got to keep me in the loop.”
McCordle walked off toward his patrol car. Given the way he was shaking his head, she had a feeling he was regretting the whole damn thing. Sure he wanted to snag the bad guy, but if he could have run a rewind on getting involved with civilians with laptops and bylines, clearly he would have preferred to make better choices.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Jo muttered as she looked over the notes she had made on her pad.
Considering the blue lights that started flashing and the sound of McCordle’s siren firing up, the cop had been called in on something serious,