I show my retirement badge and ID to security and I’m given a visitor’s sticker. After I stick it on my suit jacket I place everything from my pockets, including my keys, on a metal stand and then walk through the metal detector. I’m not carrying, so it stays quiet.
We take the elevator to the third floor and then walk to a secured door off the glassed-in reception area.
We walk along a short hallway to an open area with six old wooden desks that look like they’ve recently been moved out of storage. Every desk is cluttered with files and has a desktop computer with a large screen. Only one of the desks is occupied, by a young guy, heavyset, dressed in an expensive suit. He looks up at me.
“This is my partner, Detective Curtis Hicks.”
We shake hands, then he nods and sits back in his chair.
“That’s my desk,” Davidson says, pointing to a corner spot.
He takes off his suit jacket and slides it over the back of his chair, sits, and then scoots his chair on wheels back against the wall.
“Have a seat,” he says, directing me to a chair against the wall near the corner of his desk.
He grabs a fresh memo pad off a stack of pads on his desk, pulls a nice silver pen out of his shirt pocket, and writes the date and time on the top line.
“So you’re looking…” he begins, and then pauses, with a thoughtful expression. “You’re looking a bit tired and overworked.”
“You got some nice bags under your eyes too, bub.”
“Yeah, but I’m not retired. Your days should be spent fishing, drinking good scotch, and loafing around. Instead you’re off chasing bad guys.”
“You’re forgetting—I went out at seventeen years and I was lucky to get forty percent. I gotta work.”
“I always wondered why you left so early. Your boy Luna said you got burned out.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“I was telling my partner here that you’re sort of a legend.”
“Sort of? Is that like the minor league of legends?” I smile.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.” He looks at his partner. “But he is, Hicks. Dude made more district court drug cases than his whole unit put together. In fact, all the overtime he was making put him into six figures.”
“I did all right,” I add.
He turns back to me and says, “No surprise you burned out, Frank. You worked too damn hard. Your seventeen years was like thirty. So are you and Costello like ‘together’ or something?”
“Fuck no,” I say, as if I’d never consider it, which is a lie because we do have something going, I just don’t know what the hell it is.
“I always liked her, even if she did turn and go to the other side.”
“She’s good people. Work she gives me keeps me going, so I’m thankful.” He’s grinning.
“Yeah, fuck that. You work to get the dopes we lock up out. What’s with that?” his partner interjects.
“Give it a break, Hicks,” Davidson tells him.
“It’s all right. I get that a lot, but mostly from rookies.”
Hicks puffs out a grunt.
“I get the occasional mope,” I continue, like I don’t take offense. “Mostly it’s white-collar shit, though, and nothing having to do with hurting children, so you don’t have to worry about me getting one of your fucking peds out. Wouldn’t work that kinda crap even if I was offered.” I turn back to Davidson. “Certainly don’t know how you can work it either.”
“It can be tough,” Davidson says. “We pick up a variety of cases, but mostly those that deal with pedophiles on the Internet. Our commander at Youth Division called the supervising agent at the FBI who’s in charge of this unit; because of the interstate aspect and since it involved abducting a minor for prostitution, he took it. So now it’s on my desk.”
“They got you partnered with the FBI?”
“They’re good people to work with. I’m hoping I get a take-home vehicle out of the deal.”
“Feds do have the best cars. What about Fairfax County PD? The little girl told me she lives there. They in on this?”
“FBI all the way. They took it over, but we’ll keep them in the loop.”
“Well, I know you’ll follow it through at least.”
“You want a soda or something?” Davidson asks.
“I’m good.”
“I know you have to roll, so let’s get started.”
“Tell me first how it went the other day. You get those pieces of shit?”
“Yes. In fact, I want to show you some pictures. Tell me if you recognize any of them.”
He opens a thin case file beside the computer keyboard on his desk, pulls out two Police Department Identification Number photos, and hands me one of them.
“What about this guy?”
I take the photo and immediately recognize it as Shiny.
“Yeah, he’s one of them. I think that’s the one they call Angelo. I just call him Shiny ’cause of his hair.”
I hand the photo back. Davidson examines it again.
“Does look like he goes for the hair product.”
“Yeah, Brylcreem or some shit like that, and he probably nets it every night,” Hicks says.
Davidson chuckles, slips the photo back into a manila envelope, and hands me another photo.
“I recognize him, too.”
“No nickname for this guy?” Davidson asks.