The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(24)
This guy doesn’t look untrained to my eye. He looks like he’s flying, and he captured the bad guys. My brain stutters. There’s actually someone out there in a cape. Someone I might know fighting crime.
Matteo’s words strike me too. Drug feuds. Possible double agents. The past and the present rattle around together in my head. It seems like this comic book is everywhere I look: drug wars, just like in the original Hooded Falcon. The discovery that Casey Senior had planned on ending the comic but his son kept it going. Then there are my coworkers. Kyle or Simon is potentially in bodily danger for some ill-placed role-playing, if that’s what they’ve been doing. And to top it all off, there’s the possibility of a dirty cop—a story line straight out of the vintage THF.
“We need to talk,” I say to Matteo. He’s been silent, letting me stare at the tablet, where I’ve frozen the blur into a smudge of black suspended on the screen. First the bust on the docks. Now a bust in the warehouse district. The cape. The similarities between the comic book and reality are too much for me to deny any longer. Someone is out there masquerading as the Hooded Falcon, following a drug ring that seems to mimic the original books. But can I trust Matteo? Would he tell me there is a dirty cop if he is the dirty cop? Doubtful. I refuse to admit that I make snap judgments about people, despite what Lawrence says, but I will admit to having fantastic instincts about people. And all my instincts about Matteo say he’s as true-blue as Captain America.
I blow out a breath. He’s not going to be happy when I tell him I’ve been keeping stuff from him. No way out but through. I open my mouth to spill my inner demons when we’re interrupted by a knock at the door, and Matteo motions in a younger officer carrying a white paper bag.
“Ah, here’s our lunch. Ms. Martin, I’d like you to meet our youngest narcotics officer. Officer James, our comic book consultant for the case, Michael-Grace Martin.”
I smile at the sandy-haired officer, but he doesn’t return the gesture. He simply shoves the food at Matteo and mutters something about not being a delivery driver. Oh, how I can identify with that. I am Officer James at my office. The fetch-and-carry kid.
“He seems nice.”
Matteo rolls his eyes. “He’s in a hurry to make detective and doesn’t take kindly to things he sees as beneath him, but he’s good at his job. Uncanny instincts when it comes to drug dealers. Now, what were you saying before?”
I tell him about everything—from Kyle’s and Simon’s sudden interest in a nerd fitness group to Lawrence’s journal—as quickly as I can. I feel a pang of remorse about betraying L’s confidence, but I stop short of mentioning that I have copies of the journal in my possession. I told L I wouldn’t show anyone else; I’m simply letting Matteo know it exists. Technically I’m keeping my promise.
To Matteo’s credit, he doesn’t break his calm and professional demeanor while listening to my list of confessions but runs his hands through his hair and over his stubbled chin. When I finish, he closes his notebook and sits back. “This is likely someone you work with—maybe Kyle or Simon. Someone who knows the comics as well as you do. Someone with either something to prove or a misplaced Robin Hood complex. We’ve got to stop whoever this is before they get themselves killed.”
“But why can’t you just be glad someone handed you some bad guys, throw them in jail, and go your merry way?”
“Because this person is ahead of us. And while it works in comic books, it doesn’t work in the real world when citizens take the law into their own hands. Truly, I’d like to figure out who this masked avenger is, find out what they know, and either work with them or take over. I get the feeling there’s a reason they’re tipping off the police instead of making a report. It doesn’t seem to me like this is your average backyard role-player.”
I raise my eyebrow, impressed that he even knows those words.
He ignores my incredulity. “It’s close enough to what you’re telling me about the comic to drive me mad—we’re looking at a road map but don’t know how to read it. These criminals are not nice people. I want to keep our vigilante from getting hurt, so we need to find him.”
His serious face is doing serious things to my insides when I should be more concerned that I’m the one they hope knows how to read the road map.
Matteo continues to study me. “Are you still willing to consult on this case for us, assuming, of course, that your alibi checks out? I’m sort of breaking procedure by bringing you in so early, but time is of the essence with this case.”
The chance to watch a real-life comic book plot unfold and help save my idiot coworkers from repeating history and stirring up a drug feud that could land LA on its backside? Not to mention the apparent capes and costumes in play? A real-world superhero. It’s like my entire life has led to this. My name is Inigo Montoya, and I’ve just found the six-fingered man.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
He freezes me with his gaze, and a zing of electricity shoots down to my toes. It isn’t a quick once-over or the analytical scan of a cop looking at a suspect. This is deeper. Matteo takes stock of my person—everything from my ballet flats to my sarcastic quips, sizing me up as a partner. The way he inclines his head in an indistinct nod gives me the impression that I haven’t come up wanting in his appraisal. “I have some paperwork for you to fill out while you eat your sandwich.”