Let the Devil Out (Maureen Coughlin #4)(13)

Maureen laughed. “C’mon, Preacher. There’s never just one favor. Admit it. Skinner finally decided to bring me back because the FBI showed up and gave him a chance to do them a favor. I do this favor for the feds and I get my job back. I’m not stupid. Nobody’s doing anything for my benefit. I’m the perfect puppet. Quid pro quo, little bird.” She rubbed her eyes, sat on the bench. “Here I am accusing you of being the FBI’s bitch, when in the end, it’s me who’s going to be their bitch.”

“I don’t know for a fact,” Preacher said, emphatic, “that your reinstatement continges on you talking to this FBI guy, but, whether it does or it doesn’t, doing the feds a solid can’t hurt your chances. You’re a good Catholic girl. Don’t think of it as a price tag, think of it as penance.”

“I gave up that Catholic shit,” Maureen said.

“Then think of it as karma,” Preacher said. “I don’t judge. Think of it as a mutually beneficial opportunity of which you’ve been availed. I don’t much give a shit how you sell it to yourself. Just, for once, make the Man happy. It won’t kill you. I’ve dabbled in it in my three decades on the job and I survived. And I remind you, if the bosses wanted to be cruel to you and roll around in their own shit in the process, which wouldn’t be a first for this department, criminal charges around this Quinn thing and the Gage murder are a real possibility. You gotta live with that. You gotta factor that in.”

“And I remind you,” Maureen said, “this bird can sing. Factor that in.”

“Sing about who?” Preacher said. “Quinn? His partner Ruiz? Not much point to that, is there?”

Maureen knew there was a third name Preacher had left off the list. His. He knew he didn’t need to say it, that she’d register the omission.

“Listen to me, Coughlin. The best thing that could’ve happened for you did happen. The people in power, they’ve decided they need you. That only you can do what they need done. Be smart. Take advantage of it. Pride has no place in this job we do. Results are what matter. Favors. Debts. Information. Get your badge back so the Man can forget about us and we can get back to doing the work we were put on God’s green earth to do. Catching the bad guys. Believe.”

Maureen got up from the bench. “Speaking of bad guys, I saw Dice yesterday. Downtown.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Preacher said. “Not my case. Not even my district. Not your case, either. And you’re not a cop again until tomorrow. So shit that happened yesterday needs to stay there.”

“She had nothing to say about Leary anyway. Except that there’s been people looking for her. I think maybe Solomon sent someone after her, to protect Caleb.”

“What did I just say? What did I just say to you about yesterday?”

“What? She followed me to my car and started talking. I was at the Spotted Cat having a drink and she saw me. I think she needed money, really. I think that’s what it was about.”

“And you just decided, hey, while I’ve got you here, let me ask about that murder suspect you know.”

“It wasn’t anything,” Maureen said.

“Then why tell me about it?” Preacher asked. “Why mention it?”

This motherf*cker, Maureen thought. Honesty. Up to a point. “I thought you’d be happy to hear the girl’s not dead. That’s what I meant by bringing it up.”

“I am glad,” Preacher said. “I am. When you’re official again, reach out to Atkinson, let her know Dice is breathing and in town. Then maybe stay this side of Canal Street for a while.”

Maureen pulled her heels to the small of her back one at a time, stretching her thighs. “I’m with you. I am.”

Preacher was giving her that disapproving look again, like every wrong thing she had done over the past few weeks was scrolling across her body like a movie on a screen.

Maureen bounced on her toes. She was ready, more than ready, to start running again. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? I said I heard you.”

“Make sure you hear this, too,” Preacher said. “Tomorrow you’ll be back at work. So if there’s any business you need to finish up, anything pressing or lingering that you need to get out of your system before you come back, go ahead and let the devil out tonight. One last blowout, one last hurrah, whatever. Because tomorrow you need to be ready to be a cop again. One hundred percent.”

He waited for her response.

He knew, Maureen thought. Somehow, some way, Preacher’s preternatural cop intuition told him she’d been up to no good. Like when you were out on patrol and you talked to a guy on the street about the Saints or the weather, and you just knew somehow he had something in his pockets that he shouldn’t have. Like whatever impulse, she thought, that had told her to pull over that pickup truck with Clayton Gage at the wheel and Madison Leary in the passenger seat. Maybe Preacher didn’t know the specifics of what she’d been getting up to at night, Maureen thought, but he knew something was going on. And he knew it was wrong. Maybe he didn’t know how far she’d gone, but he knew she’d strayed from the one true path.

“And leave Solomon Heath alone,” Preacher said.

“I haven’t said two words to that man since I worked his party.”