Probable Cause - Excerpt
Buy
“I liked it better when we met at the lake,” Jed says. He stuffs a wad of Skoal between his cheek and his jaw and kicks up the dirt around home plate.

“I liked it better when you didn't have an opinion,” Noise says. He puts his foot up on the bleacher step, twists to stretch his spine.

“It’s a ballpark,” Fiore says from the top bleacher. “Weiss should feel right at home.”

Weiss comes around the corner, having finally relieved himself behind the dugout. They’re at East River Park, on the edge of the beat, taking a break from patrol—or more correctly, taking a few available minutes to ready Weiss for his initiation.

“Weiss, catch,” Jed tosses him a dirty tennis ball he found stuck in the chain-link fence. Weiss throws it back with impressive accuracy, but Jed dodges it.

“Nice one, Pagorski,” Fiore says.

“I’m not gonna touch that ball. He didn’t wash his hands.”

Noise lights a Kool 100. Weiss smells the sweet, poisonous menthol smoke as he climbs up to the top of the bleachers and sits next to Fiore.

“So you got a taste of it tonight, Weiss?” From Jed.

“Yeah,” Weiss figures the less he says the better right now.

“Hardly,” Fiore cuts in. “Those guys in the 24th are fuckin’ soldiers. By the book. Our only job is to make arrests and we walked, no collar.”

“Someone else handles their problems,” Noise says, “makes them look bad.”

“What makes them look bad is that they’ve got armed parolees getting poon in the Fluky’s parking lot,” Fiore says. “It’s a family establishment. We were trying to get some dinner.”

“Good polishes up there,” Jed says, spits in the dirt.

Fiore nods a shut up, continues: “I see the girl—”

“Unit 2024 respond,” the dispatcher’s voice cuts in over Weiss’ radio. They wait for her exchange with 24 to make sure they won’t be called in.

Noise blows a stream of smoke into the night air. Weiss watches it rise and float, quiet and thick in the humidity, like a specter.

“24, go ahead,” from the car.

“Backup request at a traffic stop at Lake Shore northbound at Bryn Mawr…” Weiss turns down the radio; they won’t be needed.

“So you saw the girl get in the car,” Jed picks up Fiore’s story.

“She was barely old enough to be in high school. And they’re in the car making out, whatever. I don’t know if she’s hooking, or running away, or some pedophile’s got her on a leash. So I tap on the window, just curious, and the first thing I see is the guy’s .22. In plain view. Like it’s nothing.”

“No fear,” Noise says.

“Fuckin’ gangsters,” out of Jed’s mouth, before he spits.

Fiore summons Noise with a two-finger wag; Noise climbs the bleachers.

“They found a sawed-off baseball bat, Imperial Gangster insignia carved into it, under his seat,” Fiore says, taking Noise’s cigarette for a drag. “He said it was a gift from the girl.”

“So thoughtful.” Jed again.

Fiore takes another drag of the Kool 100, hands it back to Noise. “The girl was so young, no fuckin’ clue, until Ramos shot the stars out of her eyes. Showed her pictures of the guy’s last victim.”

“Breaking the news: worst part of the Job,” Noise says.

“What’s worse was watching her defend the shitbag,” Fiore says. “She loves him; he’ll take advantage of that. He’ll tell her lies; she’ll learn to be disappointed. And you can bet she’ll stick by him until one of them winds up dead.”

Weiss thinks of Melia, arms crossed in the parking lot, loyalty her defense. “I hope the girl makes it.”

“If you’re worried about the girl, Ray,” Jed says, “you should have gone into social work.”

“He didn’t have a Chinaman at DCFS,” Fiore says, referring, as they always do, to Lieutenant Don Weiss.

“I didn’t have a Chinaman, period,” Weiss says. “I got my star on my own.” He’s taken endless flak over his father’s position in the department since the day he put his last name on the application. His dad didn’t help him get the job; in fact, his dad is the reason he has to prove himself tonight.

Noise flicks his cigarette away, looks at Fiore. “Let’s hear the plan.”