Cordts flipped open his notebook. “The pit bull likes pullovers?”
Wilburn threw Cordts’s notebook on the floor. “Would you shut the fuck up?”
“I wanna know who he is, people,” Preacher said, “and I’m not talking about his name. I wanna know if that’s his white Camaro parked out front every day. That new school a couple blocks back behind the store is up and running now. We got kids coming and going. That part of the neighborhood is on the upswing. Fucking finally. I want it to stay that way. I am not giving back one fucking inch of territory. The only colors I want in that neighborhood are the school colors. Believe.”
“I hear ya, Sarge,” Wilburn said. “But I have a few thoughts.”
Preacher’s eyebrows hovered high on his forehead. “Proceed, then, Mr. Thoughts.”
“The store has started closing at night,” Wilburn said. “Eight, nine o’clock. I guess we’re not the only ones sick of those assholes.” He glanced around the room for affirmation. “That guy with the dog is out there during the day, but it’s a different cast of characters at night.” He glanced at his partner, Cordts, who intently read a page in his recovered notebook. Wilburn looked back at Preacher, his expression earnest. “And from what we’ve seen, it’s only a couple guys in lawn chairs at night, older guys, not a whole crew with cars and motorcycles and commotion like during the daytime. I can see the day shift getting after this case, but us, I don’t know what there is for us to find out. I don’t mind the work. It’s more of a manpower question. If we know the store is quiet at night, why dedicate resources?”
Preacher leaned forward, squinting at the speaker. He was pretending, Maureen knew, to read Wilburn’s name tag. She had no doubt Preacher knew exactly who he was. She saw Morello smile into his hand, happy to see someone else getting a ration of shit.
“Wilburn?” Preacher said. “Is that your name?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir was a good sign, Maureen thought. Wilburn was bright enough to know he’d stepped in it.
“This your first fucking day, son?”
“No, sir. Three years on the job, sir.”
“That makes it worse, Wilburn,” Preacher said. “Not better.” He stepped out from behind the podium, leaned his elbow on it. Maureen felt her stomach drop as Preacher’s eyes locked on hers. She was going to get her welcome whether she liked it or not. “Officer Coughlin, you have returned to us from your forty days in the desert. Shalom. You wanna tell us why I want us there at night when the guy I wanna know about is there during the day?”
Wilburn had turned in his seat to look at her, his expression grim. Someone, she realized at that moment, fancied himself an alpha dog among the patrol officers. That spot had been Quinn’s. Now it was vacant. Someone, she figured, had to rise and take it. It was the natural order of things. She didn’t think Wilburn would make it.
She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Because it’s easier to get answers if the guy we’re asking about isn’t around and watching out for who the neighborhood people are talking to. We roll right up on everyone midday and start making demands, shit gets shut down. Maybe moved to another location, and we’re back at zero. Worse, this guy now knows we’re asking about him. We want him to be the last to know we’re looking at him.”
Preacher smiled. “A gold star for Officer Coughlin. Wilburn, take notes.”
Maureen hated that she’d been forced to play teacher’s pet, but directing the question at her, and referring out loud to her absence, was Preacher’s way, she knew, of announcing to the squad that he had her back. The attention also meant, she hoped, that Preacher would put her on the store.
“Let’s change things up. Morello, you’re out of Central City; you’re in the Channel tonight, instead. Wilburn and Cordts, you’ve shown such initiative, y’all take the Washington corridor tonight. My gut tells me the lawn-chair guys are trying to make a statement, trying to reclaim some territory. We may have an opportunity there. They might actually want our help in the neighborhood for a change. Go find out if I’m right.”
So much for that, Maureen thought. Getting Washington Avenue meant Wilburn and Cordts got the store. Cordts spoke up. “I noticed those apartments next door, there’s ‘No Trespassing’ signs all over them now. That’s new.”
Preacher nodded. “If someone is holding a knife to the sweater-vest man’s back, I wanna help them sharpen it. Make me proud, gentlemen. On my night shift, we’re gonna make real cops outta you yet. ABT. Always. Be. Teaching. That’s how I do. Believe.” He waited. “Yes?”
“Yes, sir,” Wilburn said.
“We believe, sir,” said Cordts.