The Second Girl(17)

“I always wondered why you left so early. Your boy Luna said you got burned out.”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“I was telling my partner here that you’re sort of a legend.”

“Sort of? Is that like the minor league of legends?” I smile.

“No, I didn’t mean it that way.” He looks at his partner. “But he is, Hicks. Dude made more district court drug cases than his whole unit put together. In fact, all the overtime he was making put him into six figures.”

“I did all right,” I add.

He turns back to me and says, “No surprise you burned out, Frank. You worked too damn hard. Your seventeen years was like thirty. So are you and Costello like ‘together’ or something?”

“Fuck no,” I say, as if I’d never consider it, which is a lie because we do have something going, I just don’t know what the hell it is.

“I always liked her, even if she did turn and go to the other side.”

“She’s good people. Work she gives me keeps me going, so I’m thankful.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah, f*ck that. You work to get the dopes we lock up out. What’s with that?” his partner interjects.

“Give it a break, Hicks,” Davidson tells him.

“It’s all right. I get that a lot, but mostly from rookies.”

Hicks puffs out a grunt.

“I get the occasional mope,” I continue, like I don’t take offense. “Mostly it’s white-collar shit, though, and nothing having to do with hurting children, so you don’t have to worry about me getting one of your f*cking peds out. Wouldn’t work that kinda crap even if I was offered.” I turn back to Davidson. “Certainly don’t know how you can work it either.”

“It can be tough,” Davidson says. “We pick up a variety of cases, but mostly those that deal with pedophiles on the Internet. Our commander at Youth Division called the supervising agent at the FBI who’s in charge of this unit; because of the interstate aspect and since it involved abducting a minor for prostitution, he took it. So now it’s on my desk.”

“They got you partnered with the FBI?”

“They’re good people to work with. I’m hoping I get a take-home vehicle out of the deal.”

“Feds do have the best cars. What about Fairfax County PD? The little girl told me she lives there. They in on this?”

“FBI all the way. They took it over, but we’ll keep them in the loop.”

“Well, I know you’ll follow it through at least.”

“You want a soda or something?” Davidson asks.

“I’m good.”

“I know you have to roll, so let’s get started.”

“Tell me first how it went the other day. You get those pieces of shit?”

“Yes. In fact, I want to show you some pictures. Tell me if you recognize any of them.”

He opens a thin case file beside the computer keyboard on his desk, pulls out two Police Department Identification Number photos, and hands me one of them.

“What about this guy?”

I take the photo and immediately recognize it as Shiny.

“Yeah, he’s one of them. I think that’s the one they call Angelo. I just call him Shiny ’cause of his hair.”

I hand the photo back. Davidson examines it again.

“Does look like he goes for the hair product.”

“Yeah, Brylcreem or some shit like that, and he probably nets it every night,” Hicks says.

Davidson chuckles, slips the photo back into a manila envelope, and hands me another photo.

“I recognize him, too.”

“No nickname for this guy?” Davidson asks.

“No. He stays at the house, though.”

“And how do you know all this shit?” Hicks asks.

His tone is a little hard, but I still don’t let it get to me. I am surprised Davidson doesn’t put him in his place.

“’Cause I sat on the place for a bit,” is all I tell him.

I hand the photo back to Davidson, and it goes in the manila with the other one.

“That’s all you got?” I ask.

“Those were the only two that showed up.”

“Well, there’s two more,” I say, knowing there’s three, but I keep Jordan Super Fly stuffed in the suitcase to myself, for obvious reasons. “They were probably still working Sixteenth and Park while these two went back to the house to re-up.”

“Yeah, probably. That’s why we had a lot of the boys in that area stopped and identified. Most of them didn’t have any identification, and the ones that did were probably fake.”

He takes out three more photos and hands them to me.

“These guys had records, though. Didn’t lock them up, but I pulled these to show you.”

I look them over one by one. One of them I recognize as a crackhead that frequents the area of 16th and Park. The other two, young Latino boys, I don’t know.

“No, not these boys.”

I hand them back.

“Would you recognize the other subjects if you saw them again?” Davidson asks.

“Hell yeah. The two you got, they talking?”

“No. They lawyered up right away.”