Page 65 of Under Cover
After the last few days of living on stress, beer, and pizza, his stomach rumbled unhappily, and he fought off a yawn.
“One word, Iliana. Fiber. You have no idea how lucky you are to be able to eat a bran muffin and an apple without defending your life to every scumbag in Brooklyn.”
Her eyes widened, and she went to her drawer, coming out with a packet of laxatives and some Tums. He took one of each gratefully and washed them down with coffee he’d bought from a local place, and then handed her the giant kiddie-pool-sized cup of the same brew that he’d gotten as well.
She took the cup and swigged before sighing. “Crosby, this is bad. This is so bad.” She wasn’t talking about the coffee.
He nodded. “Yeah, in one way it really is. These fuckers are organized, and they’re everywhere. I spent my time exploring Brooklyn yesterday, and I had two tails. The good news was they were easy to shake, the bad news is they know where I live ’cause they’re paying my rent.”
She pulled back her glossy black ponytail, the movement accentuating her trim figure, and he had a moment of regret for the fact that it was never going to have worked out for them. She really was cute.
“So what’s our play?” she asked, looking at him worriedly. “I mean, I’ve worked really hard to build a clean house here—and if you think that’s easy, being Latina and being in charge of Active Crimes, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Crosby nodded. “See, I’m just here to harvest information. The good news is I was a good fuckin’ flatfoot. Hire me. Use me. Let me do a flatfoot’s job, and when I see what McEnany has planned, I feed that to you and feed him a false report in return. You get all the bennies and none of the noise, you understand?”
She nodded, looking resolute. “Yeah—itisgood for me. But not so good foryou, Crosby. Like I said, you already look like shit.”
He grunted. “Man, I got no fuckin’ place to sleep. They got the Sons of the Blood division chief’s son coming up to my room to make sure I don’t call the wrong people.”
At least that was Junior’s excuse for showing up—Crosby was starting to believe Junior just liked the fact that Crosby had no inclination to casually lash out and backhand him like his father or his friends.
Iliana nodded, crossing her arms in front of her uniformed chest. “Most undercover operations give us a little time to organize, get our operator some place for decompression, make sure there’s some safe spaces. We don’t got that for you, and that means we’ve got to move quick. Anything you need me to do?”
“See, McEnany has me here to front for the Sons, but he’s trying to impress someone. Somebody in the upper echelon—PD or Alphabet, I’m not sure—is gonna be watching me, seeing if I get in tight with you. So if people start checking on my progress, getting nosy. If someone you never heard from before wants to know if that Rick Young is a fast-track guy? You need to tell Harding’s people.”
She nodded. “I’ve got a couple of names already. Courtland Cavendish, police commissioner’s lawyer. I’ve never heard from him before, but suddenly I’ve got a memo on my desk from him. About you. Marshawn Devereaux, NYPD brass, who was apparently asked to push your transfer through but hadn’t met you himself, and Marcy Beauchamp, also from the police commissioner’s office, who was told you were an up-and-comer and needed to pull somebody since she’d just lost a couple of people she really valued.”
Crosby grunted, nodding. “Okay, I don’t recognize those people….” He frowned. “Except Devereaux. I’m not sure why the name rings a bell. But good. That’s who we’re talking about. Rick Young shouldn’t have a fan club yet. And that’s the sort of stuff I can’t get while I’m off being Rick Young. Now I’ve got to tell you something so you can push it to Vice. There is alotof product flooding the streets from our particular area.” He pulled out a dime bag he’d let Creedy push on him the night before, just in case he changed his mind and needed a little taste. “It’s tagged—” He indicated a stamp, a revolver, because you might as well shoot yourself as take this shit, right? “—and from what I can see, it’s pretty potent.” He’d needed to caution two of Creedy’s thugs the night before because he’d been afraid they’d OD out of sheer carelessness. “I’m guessing it might be cut with more than a smidge of fentanyl, you know, ’cause first responders don’t have enough to do.”
She took the packet and put it into an evidence bag that she had him sign before signing herself. Smuggling drugs into the precinct hadn’t been easy; he’d needed to cut the seam in the waistband of his trousers to fit the thing in under his belt.
“Wow,” she said, letting out a breath. “Anything else you can tell us about the drugs?”
He shook his head. “Only that I get the feeling some cops are turning a blind eye. One of the guys asked me if I wanted some baggies to flash in case—and I quote—‘my blue brothers start giving me shit.’ So if you’ve got any cops who are using….”
“This might be the stuff,” she said on a sigh. “This is fabulous. Don’t take this the wrong way, Crosby, because I realize you’re not the elephant who shit on my stoop, but….”
“It’s still a lot of shit,” he said, agreeing. “Look, if it’s any consolation? I’m here, in your department because you are so fucking squeaky clean, they can’t get a cop in edgewise. I wasn’t sent to Vice or Robbery/Homicide. I was sent to Active Crimes, where all the shit is going downright now. So they want somebody who can maybe not suck their guys into the system.” He shrugged. “Turns out that’s what my old job trained us to do—not look at the system, just look at getting the victims out of a bad sitch so we can get the perps. So I can do the job you need me to do, keep the victims from getting sucked into the system, and maybe figure out who the real bad guys are, all while letting the Sons think they got a guy in play.”
She shuddered. “Yeah. Sounds like an easy win. Except somebody’s gotta be you.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “God, it’ll be worth it if I can cop a nap in a crib or something. I just….” He shuddered, and she nodded.
“Can’t do it every day, but if you’re really hurting, you can use my couch.” She indicated the couch in the back of her office. “And there’s a crib in the squad room if you need it. Active Crimes tends to run hot, so there’s not a lot of use for it. If nobody’s there and you’re off shift, go for it. Fuck McEnany—tell him you’re doing paperwork, right?”
Crosby cracked a quiet grin. “Right. Now, where do you want me?”
She sighed, then turned to pull out a file she’d obviously had ready. “Here’s your beat,” she said, “as well as a patrol breakdown of the precinct and hot spots. You’re with a veteran training officer and his rookie for the first week, then you’re on your own, but you need to know you’re their backup. I….” She didn’t turn the file over. “Look, Crosby, this is hard. I know you’re a nice guy, because let’s face it, you didn’t give Gail all that help for the living conditions.” Her apologetic smirk was the closest thing he’d gotten to an acknowledgment that they’d been lovers once.
He reached out a gentle hand to take the folder. “Your couch was better for my back,” he said softly. “And you both needed a certain thing at that time. I’m glad I could help.”
For a moment her lower lip crumpled. “You’re nicer about it than I was,” she said, her eyes on the floor as she gave up the folder. Then she raised her chin and met his eyes. “And I… I’m still broken. But I’m asking you to be the kind of cop you just bragged about. To take care of my guys, my veteran and my rookie, and make sure they’re okay as best you can. I….” She shook her head. “I know that your unit is hot shit, and I’d have Gail in my division any time. I just need to know I’m being responsible here.”
He nodded and swallowed. He knew the horror stories of UC cops who’d left a trail of human wreckage in their wake. Cast-off families, burned sources, as many people in the morgue as in jail. “You know what I like about SCTF?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“We have the resources to help people. Cops don’t. Cops stop crime, and the good divisions have contacts—social services, rehab, that sort of thing. But our division is about minimizing the damage path. Why else do we have guns and badges, right?”
She nodded, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth.
