I couldn't see it. But John had a flaw. He trusted people, until they let him down.
I wondered if I should start seriously looking around for the culprit. In self-defense.
You have power, I reminded myself. You can call storms and lightning and water. You can kick ass if necessary. Yeah, and get my ass dragged in for a magical lobotomy for my troubles. Not a good situation. I was too aware of what Lewis had said. I hadn't used my powers at all, and even so, the Wardens were turning against me. If I used them now, even in self-defense...
As I rounded the corner heading for my car, I spotted a depressingly familiar white van. It was sequined with leftover rain that glittered orange in the rising sun.
Dammit.
Rodriguez was sitting in the driver's seat, eating the last crumbs of a Danish.
He had a tiny little LCD television plugged into the lighter on the dashboard, tuned to WXTV. He'd been watching-and no doubt enjoying-my morning's humiliation as Sunny the Wonder Idiot.
Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better.
"Having a good time?" I asked him. He wiped Danish from his mouth with a napkin, licked his lips, and sipped coffee. "Because this is getting old. Go home. I can't tell you anything."
"Sure you can," he said. "Hop in. Explain to me how you knew Tommy Quinn, and what happened to him. Confession is good for the soul."
"This is a waste of time. Yours and mine both."
"Well, I'm on extended leave, so my time is my own," he said. "And about your time, I don't particularly give a shit. You are going to talk to me. Sooner or later."
I was tired, pissed off, and felt violated by the morning in general; nothing like being the foam rubber butt of bad jokes to put you in a great mood to start the day. But even more than that, I was just tired. I felt... heavy. Exhausted. Gray.
And maybe that was why I made the snap decision to shoot my mouth off.
"Fine," I snapped. "Thomas Quinn was not a nice man, and if he was your friend, I'm sorry, but believe me, you're better off without him. He'd have stuck a knife in your back in a second if he'd thought it was worth the trouble. And I don't mean figuratively."
Rodriguez had gone still and very, very cold, watching me. Cop-cold, with a human fury burning somewhere underneath.
"Tommy was a good man," he said with deliberate calm. "A good cop. Good husband, and a good father." The fury underneath burned its way to the surface. "I saw him pull a six-month-old baby out of a burning building and puke his guts out when it died in his arms. You don't know a fucking thing. He was a good man."
I remembered Quinn, all those facets and impressions I'd had of him. I'd liked him. I'd feared him. I'd hated him. I hadn't known him at all, and neither had Armando Rodriguez, regardless of what he might think. People like Quinn weren't really knowable. They never showed you their true faces.
"He was also a murderer and a torturer and a rapist," I said. "But you know, nobody's ever just one thing."
I was walking away, digging for my car keys, when Rodriguez said from behind me, "Hold up. You said was. Past tense."
I kept walking, cold settling in between my shoulder blades. I heard the creak of metal, heavy footsteps on wet pavement behind me, and I had time to think oh, shit just before he grabbed hold and shoved me forward into the wet, slick finish of the Viper's passenger-side door. The breath puffed out of me; partly shock, partly the impact, and before I could even think about resisting he had both my arms behind my back, gripped in one huge hand, and the other hand holding my head down, pressed painfully against the roof of the car. My hair had fallen in a black curtain over my face, and it puffed in and out with my fast, scared breathing. I was off balance and shocked and my arms felt like they were about to be ripped right out of my sockets.
I felt myself reflexively reach for the air and water around me, and forced myself to let go of it. I had bigger problems than Detective Rodriguez.
Chapter Nine
"Settle down," he growled at