A bored twenty-year-old girl looked up from her US Magazine and popped her gum at him. "Welcome to Burgorff's. Can I help you?"

  "Is Mister Phelps working?"

  "What can I help you with, sir?"

  Reynaldo paused, "I was told to speak with him about a job."

  She reached under the counter and came up with a clipboard and a pen, "Fill this application out. Make sure you put your address and three references."

  Reynaldo took the clipboard as the girl went back to her magazine, studying the glossy two-page layout of the Kardashian sisters. "Excuse me, is Mr. Phelps here, though?"

  She huffed and looked back up at him, voice thick with impatience, "No. He isn't here."

  He picked up the pen and was about to write something, stalling to gather his resolve. "Do you know when he will be back?"

  "He's off today. He'll be back tomorrow. Okay?"

  "Okay," he said. "I'm going to take this application with me and fill it out at home. I'll bring it back in if that's okay with you."

  She was already back into her magazine, looking down as she said, "Whatever you want."

  He folded up the application and slid it into his jeans pocket, stepping back from the counter as he congratulated himself on his first successful completion of an undercover assignment. He turned around to look for where the dressing rooms and suddenly froze in place at the sight of Marissa from the ambulance crew, staring directly at him. She threw her hand in the air and called out, "Officer Rey!"

  Reynaldo glanced back at the Customer Service counter and saw the girl look up at him curiously. He turned back to Marissa and hurried forward, reaching out to catch her by the elbow as he hissed at her to "Be quiet."

  She pulled her arm away in surprise, "What's the matter with you?"

  "I'm working," he mumbled.

  She looked at his sweatshirt and jeans and said, "You quit being a police officer?"

  "No," he said. "I am working. Doing something. Keep your voice down."

  She instantly looked at the people around them and lowered her voice, "You mean you're undercover?"

  Her eyes lit up like dark galaxies of glittering stars as she looked at him and Reynaldo smiled slightly, "Yeah."

  "In here?"

  He nodded. "You want to help me?"

  She grinned at him, "Hell yeah. What do I have to do?"

  He took her by the hand and said, "Come in the dressing room with me."

  Marissa yanked her hand back, "You ass. Goodbye."

  "I was being serious," he called out to her.

  "I know you were, but I'm not that kind of girl, jugador."

  Reynaldo waved his hand at her as she walked away but stopped to scope out the way her round backside looked in the tight, low slung jeans she was wearing. He caught the briefest glimpse of her purple thong peeking just above the waistline. "Madre de dios," he muttered to himself as he headed for the sign marked: Dressing rooms, three clothing items at a time.

  He snatched a few shirts off the nearest rack without looking at the sizes and turned into the hallways, seeing a series of dressing rooms lining the walls. Beige paint peeled off their metal surfaces and on the one closest to him, Reynaldo could see the shredded white backing paper where a dozen stickers once covered the door. He opened it and walked in, throwing the shirts down on the bare bench. There was a mirror and a few hooks but nothing else in the room, save for a tall string of thumbtack holes that lined the corners of the walls from the floor to the ceiling. Reynaldo ran his thumb over the holes, imagining where they'd once fastened the stuffed animals Paul Moses had described.

  He looked up at the ceiling, searching the tiles for missing pieces where a camera could peek down, but there was nothing. He stepped back to inspect the mirror, wondering if Phelps' camera was recording him from the opposite side of it at that very moment. Reynaldo quickly pulled off his sweatshirt and picked up one of the shirts from the bench and went through the motions of trying it on. He was glad he'd ditched the gun and badge after all.

  "Well?"

  Reynaldo slid into the passenger seat and shut the door as Frank shifted gears and pulled out into traffic. "He still works there. The girl at customer service was a bitch, but she said he'd be in tomorrow. I grabbed an application. I figure I can drop it off to him tomorrow and talk to him if you want."

  "Smart," Frank said approvingly. "How about the dressing room?"

  "It wasn't set up anymore, but it definitely used to be. Maybe Phelps got spooked after the incident Moses was talking about. I looked around for other cameras, but I didn't see anything."

  "That doesn't mean much," Frank said. "God knows what kind of surveillance shit you can get on the internet nowadays."

  "Well, I tried."

  Frank nodded. "Anything else happen in there?"

  Reynaldo instantly thought of Marissa and decided it was better left unsaid. "Nope. Everything else went fine."

  "All right, good. Congratulations, Rey-Rey. You successfully pulled off your first undercover operation. It was glamorous wasn't it? Just like in the movies, right?"

  Reynaldo laughed, "Yeah, the really, really boring ones."

  "Listen, one more thing about this kind of work. It's important, so pay attention. You cannot tell anybody, and I mean anybody, about your operations. Not your girlfriend, not your mom, not your fellow police officers. Especially not your fellow police officers."

  "Why? Do you think there is corruption?"

  "Not necessarily," Frank said. "Sometimes there is, but what's far more dangerous is stupidity. See, everybody likes to be a big shot. Everybody likes to be in The Know, right? As sure as I'm sitting here, they'll be at a bar somewhere and after a few beers, they'll start running their mouth. I've seen drug investigations go up in flames because a cop said the wrong thing to the wrong person who ran off to make a phone call. It wasn't out of malice or greed or any of that. Just complete ignorance. Do yourself a favor, Rey-Rey. Save that dummy from himself and don't tell anybody shit."

  "I understand."

  As Frank spoke, Reynaldo pictured Marissa running back to the ambulance squad to tell them all what had happened. He pictured one of the medics picking up a phone and calling his good friend Freddie Phelps, or his brother-in-law Freddie Phelps, or his fellow pedophile child porn addict Freddie Phelps, and saying, "You're not gonna believe this. Some asshole cop was in your store doing an undercover operation. They're onto us. Burn everything."

  "But that's nothing to worry about for now," Frank said. "You did good. I'm proud of you."

  "Thanks, Frank," Reynaldo said. He shifted in his seat and turned to stare out the window.

  "Hey! That reminds me," Frank said. "While you were in there, I looked it up. It was Colombia."

  "What?" Reynaldo said.

  "Colombia. Where they have sex with the donkeys. There's movies, books, festivals, the whole thing. It's part of their culture."

  "Is this how you spend your time, Frank? Learning about the disgusting things people do so that you can talk about it later?"

  "It's my job to know about this stuff, Rey-Rey. Sooner or later, it all comes in handy."

  The station's parking lot was full by the time they returned. Three of the cops who'd worked the night shift were bleary-eyed, staring hatefully at Frank as he walked toward them. "This better be good, O'Ryan. I had to pull over on my way here and sleep in my car because I was afraid of getting in a wreck."

  "That's your fault for not sleeping on duty," Frank said.

  "It's different when I have to sleep in my car," the cop said. "I sleep better when I'm being paid."

  Frank chuckled and held up his hands as a sign of defeat, "Anyway, don't blame me. I was just doing what I was ordered to."

  "What the hell's this about us not getting paid?" someone else said.

  "I'm wondering the same thing. Where's Boxer? I tried to yell at him about it yesterday but he scurried off."

  "Nobody's seen him," the cop said. "His car's here, but he's not."

  "All right," Frank said. He looked at his watch, "Well, let's go in and get this over with."

  There was one box of donuts on the table in the meeting room with a single box of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and a stack of white Styrofoam cups. No plates or napkins. No cream, no sugar. The first few cops through the door swarmed the table like carnivorous bugs, devouring the contents of both boxes in seconds, leaving nothing for the second wave and laughing at their complaints.

  Frank moved toward the back of the room and stood on the farthest wall, keeping watch over everyone else. At two minutes to twelve, the supervisors walked into the room, followed by Officer Brian Boxer. As Mister Jones and Mister Frederick took their place at the front of the room, they waved for Boxer to stand at their side. "Did everybody get something to eat?" Mr. Jones said.

  Nobody answered, until Boxer finally spoke up and said, "Thank you for picking that up for us, sirs. We appreciate it."

  Mr. Frederick nodded and said, "Well, we're glad everyone could make it on such short notice."

  "Not everyone," Frank said. "There were a few I couldn't reach."

  Frederick's mouth tightened but he managed to shrug and say, "Well, you'll all bring them up to speed, I'm certain. So, Mr. Jones and I first want to say that we are aware you've all been working under some difficult conditions. It's been a rocky few years here, but for the most part, you've all managed to protect and serve this community without a hitch."

  "For the most part?" someone mumbled.

  "Obviously, Mr. Jones and myself weren't in office during most of that, so we can't really comment on what occurred previously. Luckily for you, we are here now and we both feel that what this department could truly benefit from, what you, the officers who rely on us to provide you with the right resources to do such a difficult job, could truly benefit from right now is some experienced leadership."

  "That's right," Mr. Jones said. "After extensive conversations with various members of your department and consulting with other township supervisors in the area, we've decided on a course of action that will both reaffirm your belief in us and the public's belief in you."

  The cops in the seats turned to look at one another, looking to see who the various members of the department might be, but everyone shrugged and shook their heads. Only Boxer, Frank noted, was staring at the floor. That answers that, he thought.

  "So, without further ado, we'd like to introduce your new Acting Chief of Police."

  The side door opened again and Frank's eyes widened as Highway Patrolman Donoschik and Wally Tovarich Junior both marched into the room, both of them dressed in Manor Farms uniforms with their hats pulled down so low the brim was sitting on the tip of their noses. They marched in lockstep and came to a halt in front of the crowd of off-duty cops and turned to face them. Donoschik raised his head and called out, "Ah-ten-hut!"

  Nobody moved, except for Donoschik and Tovarich who both snapped a salute as the side door opened again and Manor Farms Chief Wallace Tovarich walked in. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Frank whispered.

  Chief Tovarich took his place at his son's side and said, "At ease, gentlemen. And ladies," he quickly added. "You have a female officer here, if I'm not mistaken."

  "She's not here this morning, sir," Boxer said.

  "Anyway, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, your supervisors have approached me and asked me to oversee this department during this time of unprecedented trouble. I will be maintaining my duties to Manor Farm as I take on this new responsibility, but rest assured, I am up to the task."

  Frank raised his hand and aimed it at Boxer, "Wait a second. Did the PBA authorize this? We already have an acting chief."

  Boxer shouted back at Frank to not interrupt the Chief and the cops in the crowd all raised their voices in protest. Corporal Donoschik came around the Chief's side and started shouting, "Stand down! That's an order! All of you, stand down!"

  Both Mister Jones and Frederick raised their arms to quiet everyone down and Jones said, "There are certain things at play here regarding Officer Iolaus that all of you might not be privy to. Let's just say that we wish him well in his road to recovery, and once he's able to return to full duty, we'll take it from there."

  Chief Tovarich smiled thinly at them all and said, "I appreciate your loyalty to your former superior officer. I trust you'll afford me the same. I'm tough, but I'm fair."

  Behind him, both his son and Corporal Donoschik nodded and mumbled, "That's right."

  "My orders will be detailed and complete. If you follow them as you are instructed, you will never have any problems. I can be your best friend, or your worst enemy. If you cross me, I will burn you down. Down to the ground."

  "Without a sound?" Frank said quietly, making the cops around him cover their mouths as they snickered. "So don't mess around?"

  "I'll be making some necessary changes to your department to streamline things. Extraneous duties will be covered by my Manor Farms divisions to free up resources for the street, where it counts. Further, select officers from this department will be given the chance to form an elite Highway Task Force, headed up by Corporal Donoschik."

  Frank raised his hand, "What kind of extraneous duties?"

  Chief Tovarich smiled at him and said, "Investigations."

  "I figured."

  "Because I cannot be here on a full-time basis, I'll be placing a liaison in the department so that you can receive immediate assistance if I am not available." He looked back at Wally Junior and held out his hand for his son to come to his side, "Effective immediately, all command decisions and requests will be forwarded to the Deputy Superintendent Tovarich."

  Wally Junior's face brightened as he looked out into the crowd, lording over the cops seated before him with supreme satisfaction.

  Mister Frederick tugged on the Chief's sleeve and said, "Technically, it's not until tomorrow morning, Chief. That's the soonest we can get it sorted out with our insurance carrier."

  Frank raised his hand again, "So he's not our boss yet?"

  "Not technically speaking," Frederick said. "But for all intents and purposes."

  "Good, then I can't be insubordinate when I say this." Frank pointed at Wally Junior and said, "Almost two years ago this fucking simpleton interviewed for our police department and was rejected because he didn't have the common fucking sense to help a woman screaming for help. He finally got hired by his daddy. Since then, he's worked in the station and has no street experience. Now you expect me and all these other guys to take orders from him?"

  "How about you clean out your ears, O'Ryan?" Corporal Donoschik shouted. "Not from him. Orders will be given from the Chief, through the Deputy Superintendent. Or is that too complicated for you to understand?"

  "No, I think I understand all too well," Frank said. "We'll be dealing with someone who can issue any order he wants as long as he uses the caveat: My daddy wants it done this way."

  Wally Junior knocked his hat back and stormed forward at O'Ryan, but the Chief grabbed his son by the arm and held him firm. He looked back at Mister Frederick and Jones and said, "It's one thing to be insubordinate, but at the very least this officer is in violation of using rude and offensive language in a public forum. Surely you have that in your procedural book at least."

  "I…I don't know," Jones said. He looked at Boxer, "Do we have that?"

  Boxer looked at Frank and sighed, "I'm not sure how it applies, but listen. I've talked this over extensively with the supervisors and the Chief, guys. It really is for the best, for all of us. I'm sure, as long as we work hard and do our jobs just like we've always done, everything will be fine."

  "What do you get out of this, Boxer? They making you part of their fancy highway task force, is that it? You'll finally get to be some traffic faggot who gives tickets to little old ladies on fixed incomes?" Frank shouted.

  "You're one to talk, Frank," Boxer whined. "You've been on that drug task force for years!"

  "That is enough, Officer O'Ryan!" Mr. Frederick said.

  "You know what? I think you're right," Frank said. He headed for the door and stopped to look back at the three Manor Farms officers, "Fuck you, fuck you, and definitely fuck you."

  "Be in my office tomorrow morning at 0900 hours, Officer," Chief Tovarich hissed.

  "Sorry, I'll be on vacation," Frank said.

  "Who approved that?" Chief Tovarich said.

  "I did, as a matter of fact. Since you aren't in charge until tomorrow, I just approved myself to use all my vacation time, holiday, and comp time for the entire year. See you in six months."

  Frank slammed the meeting room door shut and jogged toward his car, worried that if he stopped he was going to turn around and choke the living shit out of that insipid bastard and the sludge standing at his side. His hands were shaking as he tried to get his car keys out of his pocket. "Hey! Frank! Wait!"

  He turned around to see Reynaldo racing across the parking lot toward him, "What?"

  "You okay?" Reynaldo said.

  "Hell no, I'm not okay. I'm sick of these fucking assholes playing games with our livelihoods like this. I'm sick of the whole fucking job."

  "Were you serious about taking leave?"

  "Dead serious. You think I'm going to stick around for this bullshit?"

  "What happens when you come back?"

  "I'm not coming back."

  Reynaldo looked at him, "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I'm not coming back. Period. I'm going to get a CDL or my Act 235 or something. Fuck it, I'll work construction, but I am not coming back."

  "Okay," Reynaldo said gently. "Sounds good. Listen, go home, chill out, try to relax. Things will settle down around here."

  Frank opened his car door and said, "Goodbye forever, Reynaldo. I'm not coming back."

  "I know," Reynaldo said. He raised his hand to wave at Frank as he pulled out of his parking spot. "Talk to you soon."

  "No you won't because I'm never coming back," Frank called out through his window.

  "Okie dokie. Adios. Bye bye."

  Special Agent Dez Dolos leaned forward to get real close to the suspect's sweaty, bewildered face. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Miguel. Where is the gun your brother gave you after he shot that store clerk?"

 

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