the Ducati. “There’s an old saying, Eddie, to go forward, you have to go back.”
“Whoever said that ain’t from ’round here.”
She eyed his windbreaker, the way his left elbow was clenched tight to his side, and how he leaned ever so slightly that way because of the weight of what was in his pocket. “You know, bro, if you want to carry a gun and not have the cops know, you’re gonna have to learn to walk a straighter line and loosen up your arm.”
Eddie glanced down at his left pocket and then looked up, grinning. “Got to protect yourself ’round here, Mace.”
“You find out anything, you let me know.”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, his veneers no longer visible.
Mace drove through the neighborhood, drawing more stares from folks sitting on their tiny porches or clustered on the street corners or peering out windows. A lot of peering went on around here, usually to see what the sirens were coming for.
She was not making this circuit just to celebrate her release. She wanted to let certain powers-that-be know that Mace Perry had not only survived prison but also was back on her old turf even if she no longer had a badge, gun, and the might of the MPD gang backing her.
But what Eddie had told her was troubling. Beth had apparently continued to investigate the case long after Mace had gone to prison, devoting scarce police resources to the matter. Mace knew several people who would use that if they could to attack Beth. Her sister had already done enough for her.
She finally turned around and rode back to the house. One of the cops on protection duty waved her down as she approached the barricade. She braked to a stop and lifted her visor.
“Yeah?” she said to the man, a young cop with a buzz cut. She could easily tell that he was an egg, meaning a rookie.
Sit on them until they hatch.
She remembered her T.O., or training officer. He was a vet, a “slow walker” who wanted to pull his shift as easy as possible and go home in one piece. Like many cops back then, he didn’t like women in his patrol car, and his rules were simple: Don’t touch the radio, don’t ask to drive, and don’t complain when they went to what cops referred to as the hoodle. It was a gathering place, usually a parking lot, where the police cruisers would cluster and the cops would chill out, sleep, listen to music, or do paperwork. The most important rule of her T.O., however, had been to just shut the hell up.
She’d endured that ride for one month before getting “checked out” by a sergeant and certified to roll on her own. And from that day forward Mace’s call signal had been 10–99, meaning police officer in service alone.
“I understand you’re the chief’s sister.”
“Right,” she said, not desiring to volunteer anything more than that.
“You were in prison?”
“Right again. You got another personal question or will two do it for you?”
He stepped back. “Look, I was just wondering.”
“Right, just wondering. So why’s a young stud like you pulling barricade action? You oughta be running and gunning and locking up and getting some court OT so you can buy a new TV or a nice piece of jewelry for your lady.”
“I hear you. Hey, put in a good word for me with the chief.”
“She doesn’t need any help from me on that. You like being a cop?”
“Until something better comes along.”
Mace felt her gut tighten. She would have given anything to be a blue again.
He twirled his hat and grinned at her, probably thinking up some stupid pickup line.
Her teeth clenched, Mace said, “Piece of advice, don’t ever take your hat off while on protective duty.”
The hat stopped spinning as he stared at her. “Why’s that?”
“Same reason you don’t take it off when you’re on a suspect’s turf. Just one more thing to get in the way of you drawing your gun if something hairy goes down. Egg.”
She double-clutched, popped a wheelie, barely avoiding his foot as he jumped back, and roared on into the garage.
CHAPTER 8
HER SISTER was waiting for her in the kitchen, fully dressed in a fresh uniform. A stack of documents was on the table in front of her.
“Homework?” said Mace.
“Daily Folder, Homicide Report, news clips, briefing for internal ops meeting. The usual.”
“You wear the four stars so well,” said Mace as Blind Man sniffed around her ankles and she scratched his ears.