The Drifter (Peter Ash #1)(83)

“What I believe,” said Lipsky, “is that the social contract is broken. Government has proven itself incompetent, and our elected leaders are driven only by greed for wealth and power. Corporations are no longer loyal to their employees or their customers, just their stock price. Executives no longer do what’s best for their companies, just themselves. Enron, WorldCom, AIG, Countrywide, JPMorgan. The list goes on.” He shrugged. “The only response for a rational person is to act in his own best interest. To take what you can get.”

“Oh,” said Peter. “I see. You’re a thief. That’s why you’re working with Skinner. A prince among thieves.”

The veterans’ center door banged open and Midden came through, towing a stumbling bear of a man by one unnaturally angled arm. “I got sidetracked by this guy. He must have been watching the truck.”

Detective Frank Zolot moved in an agonized hunch, his face a furious clench of pain. His other arm hung free like a pendulum, some essential connection no longer functional. His cheap suit was rumpled and torn.

Peter thought about Lewis, parked by the loading dock, not by the veterans’ center.

Midden wasn’t even sweating and there wasn’t a mark on him. Although from the black specks on his face and the grime on his fingers, Peter knew he’d been under the truck. But Peter couldn’t imagine how Midden had broken both of the big detective’s enormous arms without any visible effort. Midden was clearly the most dangerous man in the room.

Lipsky walked over. “What the fuck? Where’d this guy come from?”

Zolot’s lip lifted in a silent snarl. Midden handed Lipsky a black automatic pistol. It looked like a Glock. “He had this. He said he was a cop.”

Lipsky took the gun. “Where’s the plastic? Did you find it?”

“I think so,” said Midden. “Give me a couple more minutes.” He dropped Zolot’s arm and the pain on the man’s face eased. Midden fixed Lipsky with a pointed stare. “Don’t kill anyone until I get back.”

Midden held the stare until Lipsky nodded. Then Midden walked out.

Lipsky turned to Zolot. “Hello, Frank.”

“Fuck you.” Zolot’s injuries had not improved the detective’s mood. Although his broken arms rendered him essentially harmless, the heat of his rage still radiated like a glowing forge.

“Who else knows about this?”

“There’s a SWAT team gearing up in a parking lot three blocks from here. They have orders to shoot you on sight.”

Lipsky grabbed Zolot’s wrist and twisted. Zolot gasped in pain.

“Who else knows, Frank?”

The big detective opened his mouth. Nothing came out but an agonized yelp.

Peter sighed. He’d wondered if Zolot could deliver the cops. If his reputation was too damaged. Now he knew. Zolot was just another man caught in Lipsky’s web.

Lipsky shook his head and released the other man’s wrist. “Nobody believes you, Frank. They never did. Shit, just look at you. You’re in a bad way, partner.”

“You’re not my partner. You were never my partner. You were only out for yourself. How much did that asshole Skinner pay you to look away? What’s the going rate to duck a murder?”

Four hundred grand, thought Peter, understanding now. In neatly banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

“Frank, we had no proof,” said Lipsky. “The DA made the call, not me. Look in the record. We didn’t have enough to indict, let alone convict.”

“He paid the DA, too, in campaign contributions. But he killed her. You know it, I know it. We could have sweated that fucker. But we didn’t. He got away with murder. And now? Now you’re going to blow something up. What’s the rate for that, you cocksucker?”

“You eat what you kill, Frank,” said Lipsky. “You never did see it. Where the power is. Where the money is. Nobody’s going to make your fortune but you. If you want to inch along on your tiny little salary for the rest of your life, you go for it. You could have taken a risk. You could have forged ahead. But you stuck to your narrow little view. And look where it’s gotten you.”

Zolot looked at Lipsky as if he were a different species. “It’s called an oath, Sam. We swore an oath. Do you remember? To serve and protect. All the people, not just the people with money.”

“You’re a fucking dinosaur, Frank. Nobody cares about the people. Even the people don’t care about the people, they only care about themselves.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know why I bother. You didn’t get it then, you don’t get it now. And I’m tired of listening to your sermons. Good-bye, Frank.”

Lipsky raised the pistol and shot Zolot in the head.

The noise rang off the brick walls. Zolot crumpled to the dry and dusty floor, which soaked up the blood like bread under gravy. The smell of it was alive in the room.

“Jesus Christ,” said Peter.

“What?” said Lipsky, taking out a handkerchief and wiping down the weapon. His face was indifferent. “You thought I was going to let him live?”

“No,” said Peter. “But he used to be your partner.”

Lipsky looked at him, those X-ray eyes boring through him. “Partners are overrated.”

Felix returned with the hand truck to take another load of fertilizer. The stacks of bags were shrinking fast. “Hey, Cas.” Lipsky held out the pistol with his pinkie through the trigger guard. “This is for you. It’s loaded and live.”