Rysher was without expression.
Tashjian was in the office. The guy nearly blended with the paneling.
Some perfunctory pleasantries were passed back and forth. Gayle and Soledad sat. Rysher sat behind his desk. Tashjian stood a little to the side, a little behind Rysher. It was like he was working backup.
There was a pregnant pause.
Gayle said: "It's always hard to know where to begin in delicate matters like this. So let me make the first gesture. I was thinking," smiling to Rysher,"you could just apologize to my client, give her her position back. That's all we're asking for." To Soledad: "That's all you wanted, right?"
Rysher's expression frosted over into a cool stare."Miss Senna, it's not your place to ask for anything."
"I'm being nice up front, and believe me, that's not easy. So let's close things out while I'm still in a mood to be civil."
"You're not helping the situation by being snide, Miss Senna."
"I don't need help, and you calling me Miss is just pissing me off."
Tashjian smirked, appreciative.
Soledad's head dropped.
Things were going south, were headed that way fast.
"I think, for your own sake, you might consider some other representation." Rysher was talking to Soledad, concern loaded in his voice."The fact is the situation… I'm sorry, but it's going to be very serious. If your counsel doesn't take it seriously… well, for your own good I'm telling you to make considerations."
From Gayle that got a laugh."Now you care about her well-being?"
"I care about the well-being of every officer in my command. I especially care when their lives are put in danger by cops who don't seem to give a damn about how things work."
"And, gee, you'd be meaning who?"
Rysher, talking past Gayle, talking right to Soledad: "Is this who you wish to have representing you?"
Gayle: "Representing her for what?"
"O'Roark, is this the counsel—"
"Hey, Rysher!" Gayle's voice cracked like a whip."Do not ignore me. I'm not one of your cops. I'm one of the taxpayers. You make your living off my dollars. You work for me, not the other way around. I asked you a question."
Rysher said nothing. The fingers of his right hand drew up some. Going on, talking as if he hadn't been interrupted: "Where we go from here depends on you, O'Roark." Softening: "Soledad…"
First time she'd heard him use the name in… how long had it been? The way he used it was tender. Tender like the fake soft touch of an abuser compared to his punch. It came to Soledad that Gayle had been very correct concerning things about Rysher.
"If you're willing to cooperate, if you're willing to accept your responsibility in the death of Officer Bannon—"
She was up, moving toward Rysher's desk. Gayle's hand grabbing her arm, pulling Soledad back, sitting her back down. Her voice, though, her voice kept hard-charging at Rysher."… Such bullshit! No! No fucking way are you going to—" The death of Reese? They were going to put Reese's death on her? Everything else, every other possible eventuality for the conclusion of things Soledad had prepared herself for, was ready to take. A reprimand, getting kicked off MTac, out of the LAPD: Any or all of that would've been fine. Not wanted, but handleable. But what she could not take, what she would not allow, was for them to blame her for what happened to Reese."She saved my life. I would never…" To Gayle, frantic: "Tell them it's bullshit!"
Still tugging at her arm: "Soledad…"
"I had nothing to do with her dying!"
Rysher, all full of lament: "Soledad, I… I did not want this."
Soledad to Gayle: "Do something!"
"If you would consider stepping aside quietly. I could still… we could still work something out. Otherwise…" Rysher extended a hand toward Tashjian.
Tashjian put in Rysher's hand documents collected in a file. He took out a stick of Big Red, popped it in his mouth.
Tears in her eyes, now Soledad was grabbing at Gayle's arm: "Do something!"
If Gayle did anything more than remain where she sat, you couldn't tell by looking at her.
With all the mournfulness he could pull together Rysher said: "Upon completion of an exhaustive investigation conducted by Internal Affairs Division, it has been concluded that you were grossly negligent in the execution of your duties. Based on these findings, I regret I have no choice but to turn the matter over to the District Attorney's Office with the recommendation—"
And Gayle said: "How many contracts does the city have with gun manufacturers?"
Rysher stopped talking but didn't respond to Gayle.
Gayle said again: "How many contracts to purchase weapons does the city have with gun manufacturers?"
"What difference does it—"
"Heckler and Koch, Benelli, Smith and Wesson, Colt, Remington, Robar… And that's just the hardware MTac uses. All very specialized weapons. Expensive weapons."
Turning toward Soledad, Rysher shut out Gayle."Soledad, I will personally contact a PPL lawyer if you need—"
Again, Gayle: "They are very expensive and very specialized weapons, right?"
Same as flesh-eating bacteria, Rysher couldn't ignore Gayle."You want MTacs to make calls with their empty hands?"
"Now, how are you going to kill innocent metanormals without guns?" Gayle quipped.
Rysher started to say something.
Gayle cut him off with: "Sometimes I let my politics get the best of me. But fact is, the city spends hundreds of thousands of dollars purchasing weapons each year, every year. Over seven hundred thousand. And that's just in Los Angeles. Add up all the contracts from every PD in America, its tens of millions of dollars."
"It's a fact, yes." So what? was Rysher's subtext.
Soledad, missing it too, prayed Gayle had a" what." She looked to Tashjian. He chewed his gum. The finger of his right hand swept back and forth, slowly, across his left palm. He was bored.
"The point," Gayle talking,"is these manufacturers are probably real thankful for their big green PD contracts. The point is these manufacturers know how to show their gratitude to the guys who keep their coffers filled. I'm not saying they're kicking back money. I'd never say that about people who make things to kill other people with. And most everybody's too wise to payola anyway. But maybe when, say, a guy who was really helpful to one of those com-panies retires from a PD, he could pretty easily have himself a very nice consulting job waiting for him to help pad out his pension."
Rysher had nothing to say.
Gayle kept on."Only, one day, you, the department, start getting submissions from one of your own about a garage-built modification of a specialty market weapon designed for killing metanormals. And on paper the thing looks like it could actually work. Problem is, you start using that gun, HK, S&W, Benelli and the rest, they lose their contracts, lose all that money. And I'm guessing these companies aren't going to want the guys who've lost money for them around as consultants. But having a gun look good on paper is nothing. Papers have a way of getting lost. Or tossed in a shredder in the middle of the night. And nobody has to hear about the gun. Except the person who modified the gun—I like to call her Soledad—ends up on MTac. Then she actually has the balls to ignore regulations and use her piece. And that's what screwed things up, isn't it?"
Rysher had nothing to say.
Tashjian had quit drawing lines on his hand, was listening intently. He wasn't bored anymore.
Literally Soledad was gripping the edge of her seat.
"You really going to make me step this all out?" Gayle said to Rysher.
Rysher picked up a pen off his desk, kind of played with it some. He replaced it. That's all he did.
Turning to Soledad, Gayle leaned in toward her, lowered her voice, reducing Rysher and Tashjian to a supreme state of nonrele-vance. Every bit of her body language said: Never mind the boys. It's just you and me, babe."Do you know what this is about, this little witch-hunt? It's not about using a gun that wasn't approved. It's about using a gun they didn't approve years ago."