Conklin sat beside me shaking his head, probably having thoughts like my own, which were so vivid that I could still hear the rat-a-tat-tat of lead punching through steel and see the faces of the bangers we’d just “put down like dogs.” I stank of gunpowder and fear.
We were alive not just because of what we knew about bad guys with guns, or because Conklin and I worked so well together that we were like two halves of a whole.
That had contributed to it, but mostly, we were alive and drinking because of the guy who’d dropped his AK and given us a two-second advantage.
After I’d downed half of my second beer, I told Conklin, “We weren’t wearing vests, for Christ’s sake. This is so unfair to Julie.”
“Cut it out,” he said. “Don’t make me say she’s lucky to have you as a mom.”
“Fine.”
“Two dirtbags are dead,” he said. “We did that. We won’t feel bad about that.”
“That guy with the AK.”
“He’s in hell,” said Rich, “kicking his own ass.”
Oates, the bartender, asked if I was ready for another, but I shook my head and covered the top of my glass. Just then I felt an arm go around my shoulders. I started. It was Brady behind us, all white blond and blue-eyed, and he had an arm around Conklin, too.
He gave my shoulder a squeeze, his way of saying, Thanks. You did good. I’m proud of you.
“Come back to the house,” Brady said. “I’ve got your new weapons and rides home for both of y’all.”
“I’ve only had one beer,” Rich lied.
“I’ve got rides home for both of y’all,” Brady repeated.
He put some bills down on the bar. Malcolm, the tipsy dude on my left, pointed to the dregs of my beer and asked, “You done with that, Lindsay?”
I passed him my glass.
It was ten fifteen when I got to Cat’s. I took a scalding shower, washed my hair, and buffed myself dry. Martha sat with her head in my lap while I ate chicken and noodles à la Gloria Rose. I was scraping the plate when the phone rang.
“I heard about what happened today,” Joe said.
“Yeah. It was over so fast. In two minutes I’d pulled my gun and there were men lying dead in the street.”
“Good result. Are you okay?”
“Never better,” I said, sounding a little hysterical to my own ears. I’m sure Joe heard it, too.
“Okay. Good. Do you need anything?”
“No, but thanks. Thanks for calling.”
I slept with Martha and Julie that night, one arm around each of my girls. I slept hard and I dreamed hard and I was still holding on to Julie when she woke me up in the morning.
I blinked away the dream fragments and remembered that Kingfisher would be facing the judge and jury today.
I had to move fast so that I wasn’t late to court.
Chapter 29
Conklin and I were at our desks at eight, filling out the incident report and watching the time.
Kingfisher’s trial was due to start at nine, but would the trial actually begin? I thought about the power outage that had occurred two days ago, followed by the bomb explosion and the threatening message that had read This was a test. Mala Sangre. And I wondered if Kingfisher had already left the Hall through the drain in his shower, El Chapo style.
His trial had been postponed three times so far, but I had dressed for court nonetheless. I was wearing my good charcoal-gray pants, my V-neck silk sweater under a Ralph Lauren blazer, and my flat-heeled Cole Haan shoes. My hair gleamed and I’d even put on lipstick. That’s for you, Mr. Kingfisher.