“You know, I love this new air of mystery you boys have going. It’s sexy.”
Instead of responding, they turned up the chattering dispatch radio to drown him out. It took every ounce of willpower not to question the officers further when they pulled into NYPD
headquarters a few minutes later. His heart pounded in his chest as they pulled him out of the backseat, but he did his best to look bored.
This is it. I’m done.
No more instilling fear, no more resorting to violence to collect money owed to him. No more issuing orders to soulless men who didn’t know how to feel remorse. All done.
The officers led him through the entrance
and
every
head
turned;
animosity and disgust targeted him from all directions. Bowen ignored the twinge of pain from his cut lip as he grinned at his
rapt
audience.
“Afternoon,
gentlemen.” He wished he were wearing a hat so he could tip it. “Weather today is beautiful. Not a goddamn cloud in the sky.”
He didn’t have the pleasure of hearing any angry responses because the officers pulled him down a hallway, shoving him into the first interrogation room.
Irritation clawed at his throat over being pushed around, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of showing it. If he weren’t wearing handcuffs, he would have already swung on them and they knew it. They also knew he could easily take them both on and win. Fighting was in his blood. He did it often and he did it well. So he couldn’t contain his surprise when they removed the handcuffs. It even managed to distract him from his anger.
“All right. I give up. What the fuck is going on?”
“Have a seat.” The officer who’d driven them there kicked out the metal chair before leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
He remained standing, turning slightly when the interrogation room door opened again and an older man walked in, looking grave. Bowen’s eyebrows shot up when he recognized the man.
Police Commissioner Newsom.
He’d seen the man on television doing press conferences more times than he could count. That’s what he did. Sound bites to reassure the masses. Public relations. He sure as hell didn’t interrogate street toughs from Brooklyn.
Newsom tossed a file on the metal table and nodded at him. “Why the black eye, Driscol? Don’t you have men to do the dirty work for you now that you’re in charge?”
No way would he tell him the truth about his perpetual black eyes. He wouldn’t tell him that when he went to collect debts and the money wasn’t ready, he always let the other man take a swing at him before leaving his men to deliver the rest of the message. He welcomed the pain that came with that single blow, craved it even. Lately, it was the only thing reminding him he was alive. Sometimes he even hoped the mo ne y wouldn’t be available, as it hadn’t been last night. Bitterness flooded his mouth at the memory of the man’s desperate eyes when Bowen had shown up at his door.
No money for me, huh? Go ahead, take a shot at me. Do it. You’ll be glad you did it in an hour when you wake up hating me.
“Why am I here?” Bowen fell into the chair without answering Newsom’s question. “Not that I don’t appreciate the stellar hospitality.”
“Already you’re living up to your reputation as a smart-ass.” Newsom sat, scrubbing a weary hand over his whiskered face. “Look, I’m not here to play any bullshit games with you, so I’d appreciate the same courtesy.”
“Fair enough.” Bowen lit a cigarette.
“Shoot.”
Newsom’s jaw hardened. Behind him, the two officers shifted, but stilled when Newsom held up a hand. “We have a situation and I’ve been informed you’re in a position to help us.”
Bowen paused in the middle of his second drag of nicotine. “Help you?”
When the commissioner just looked at him, he laughed out loud. “Any minute now I’m going to wake up, right?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Newsom flipped open the file and scanned the contents.
“And in case you’re wondering, asking for help from some punk who we’ve been trying to take down for over a year wasn’t exactly my number one choice.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke toward one of the scowling officers. “Okay. What do you need my help with? I’d at least like to know the particulars before I turn you down.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
“Good. That’s what I was aiming for.”
Newsom muttered something under his breath, but all Bowen could make out was the word “mistake.” “How about I lay it out for you in black and white, then you decide?”
Bowen
stayed
silent,
watching
Newsom through a cloud of smoke.
The commissioner sighed wearily.