“So you said.” Curtis continued on for a few steps. “No offense, but you lost your job. How can that be anything but ‘bad’?”
They stopped at Vail’s car. Johnson rested her hands on the roof and glanced around. Satisfied no one important was around, she said, “I got a good guy letter.”
Vail nodded. “I figured.”
Curtis looked from Vail to Johnson. “What’s a ‘good guy letter’?”
“A letter from the commissioner saying you’ve retired from the NYPD in good standing.” Vail shrugged. “It basically lets you get another job in law enforcement so you can carry a firearm.”
“So the good guy letter ain’t actually a bad thing. But it’s not sounding so good, either.”
“Because there’s more to it,” Johnson said.
There always is.
“Remember the Martinez shoot about ten years ago?”
Vail jutted her chin back. “Yeah. Good shoot. You were cleared, no one had a problem with it. So what?”
“I had another shoot I don’t think you knew about. No problems with that one, either.”
“So what am I missing?” Curtis asked.
“I had one last month that was …” Johnson squinted. “Questionable. I was off duty. Actually, I was an off duty lieutenant, out for a drink with a friend in Jamaica. On the way back to my car I see this asshole, looks like bad news. Acting like he’s high, carrying what I think is a handgun. He’s harassing a couple homeless people. It’s late, a few minutes before 1:00 AM. I follow him, call it in. He goes over to some woman trying to sleep in an alley and puts the gun to her head. I yell for him to stop, drop the weapon. He turns to me with the gun. I shoot him before he can shoot me. Only turns out it wasn’t a real gun. Some fuckin’ toy pistol. No red tip.”
“Let me guess,” Vail said. “No witnesses, no video.”
“Right. Not to mention I’d been out with friends at a bar. And no, I wasn’t drunk.”
“Okay.”
“And,” Johnson said, “the guy was black.”
“So are you.”
“Probably the only thing that saved my ass.”
“Again,” Curtis said, “what was the problem?”
“Leslie was forced to resign in case it got out about the shooting.”
“I didn’t have a great relationship with my chief,” Johnson said. “So he didn’t have my back.”
“Someone did,” Curtis said. “If you got that letter from the commish.”
Johnson laughed. “Trust me. That was done to help the department more than it was to help me. It was done to save face. If the media found out, another unarmed black guy getting shot by a cop …”
“Too many dicey ‘issues’ with the shoot,” Vail said. “Once the media starts digging and finds the first two—they put ’em under the microscope. Remember, this is New York City. Big stage as it is. Stuff can get blown out of proportion. And you know how it is. Some good shoots can look bad. Depends on how you spin it.”
Curtis frowned. “No shit.”
“So we good?” Johnson looked at him. “Partner?”
Curtis pulled open his door. “We’re good.”
Vail pointed at Johnson. “I still expect a dinner.” She gave her a broad smile, then got into the car.
12
After stopping by her office, Vail walked into the relatively small mobile command center and found it crammed with several people. Curtis was not present, even though it was straight up 5:00 PM.
She had guests coming over for dinner and Robby was taking care of the meal, so she hoped this did not drag on past 6:30.
The oblong room was considerably more crowded than the first time she had been here: with four more large bodies, there was not a lot of clearance to move about.
“Okay everyone,” Hurdle said, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Let’s get this thing going.”
The door swung open and Curtis walked in.
Hurdle made a point of checking his watch and then making eye contact with Curtis. He was a no-nonsense leader. If he told you to be there at five, he meant it. And he was making sure Curtis knew he meant it.
“Let’s do some quick introductions.” He nodded at the far end of the room and a short, stocky Latino man in his thirties began speaking. “Ray Ramos, DHS, Homeland Security Investigations. You can call me ‘Rambo,’ like everyone else does. Did three tours in Iraq, then hooked on with West Virginia State Police for nine years before scoring the gig with HSI. Been on CARFTF almost two years. I got no wife and no kids and no siblings so I’ll be working this thing sunup to sundown. Pretty much.”
In other words, he’s got no life. Then again, I could almost be accused of the same thing.