Soledad's look was: I don't follow.
Gayle smiled an" of course you don't" smile."First day on the job, what do you do? You murder a metanormal."
"I didn't murder that thing. I enacted an Executive—"
Gayle waved her off."Semantics. You took him out, a particularly nasty piece of business this metanormal you enacted an Executive Order on. Your weapon, the bullets: They work. How many cops' lives do you think would have been saved if they'd" — head ticked toward Rysher—"started using your gun when they first got your specs? But they didn't. They had the facts, they had your work and they ignored them because they didn't want to queer their money deal. They took thirty pieces of silver over people's lives. So after you take out the metanormal, some ass-covering's got to be done. They've got to make it seem like a big thing that you broke regulations. Start an IA investigation, start digging around in your background. Start planting speculation about whether or not a black woman can handle the job. Maybe you're not just a bad cop. You're incompetent. Maybe you're a crazy bitch too, with all kinds of psy-chodrama."
Everybody looked over to Tashjian. Tashjian'd made a sound like a laugh.
Again, Gayle to Soledad: "Smoke and mirrors; they make enough noise about you being useless, nobody asks about your gun. Except you're not useless. You're not a hysterical little girl. Out on your own, on the street, regulation side arm, you put down another metanormal. All of a sudden you're just about a hero. All of a sudden if somebody doesn't do something, people are going to be throwing you parades, and you and your gun're going to be front and center again. So what does somebody do?" Talking to Soledad, looking at Rysher, Gayle gave it to him with both barrels: "He tries to pin a cop's death on you, the lousy little weasel."
"Who do you think you are, coming into my office—mine—and accusing me—"
"Did I use your name? I don't think I used your name. Somebody open a window. It's getting guilty in here."
Muscles so tight Rysher could barely move his jaw."That you would even believe you could question my integrity. I have spent more years in this department, protecting citizens, fighting those freaks than you have ever—"
"Freaks? That what you call them?"
"That's what they are."
"Really? And are black criminals niggers? Hispanics spies? You know, even in trying times, political correctness has its place."
"I've got a name for you. It rhymes with cunt."
Gayle's smile in reply said his slap had no sting."You sit there pretending to be a man of law and order, but your stripes don't hardly fit. This really how you want to do things? You want me to start making the rounds to the media?"
"And, and do what? Talk about your, uh… it's nothing, but, uh…"
"You're stammering."
"It's speculation."
"Journalistic careers are made on speculation. All those twenty-four-hour cable news channels? They got a lot of time to fill, and they know how to speculate the hell out of something. I know the LA Times'll eat this up. I'm betting they can speculate you from behind that chair right onto the street."
With all the admiration Tashjian owned: "You have to like this one. You really have to like her."
"Thank you," Gayle said to Tashjian. To Rysher: "At any rate, this is your last chance."
"My last…!"
Soledad thought if he could, if he could get away with it, there was a very real possibility Rysher'd yank out the service piece he hadn't drawn in some eight years and open a hole through the center of Gayle's head.
Rysher's counter was simple."What kind of speculation are you going to get out of the fact O'Roark" — back to O'Roark—"was carrying an unauthorized piece?"
"Actually she was field-testing a new side arm under the auspices of the Governor's Office and the state police." Gayle took docu-ments from her bag. She held them for a second, for one dramatic beat like she was holding a loaded gun. She tossed the documents onto Rysher's desk. The slap of the paper to wood catching everyone like a thunderclap.
And for a long moment, even in the smallish office, the noise seemed to echo off.
Gayle noted, she noted with the glee of someone who enjoyed handing another person a fatal beating: "Yeah, that governor. Our governor. All approved. Retroactively, but, you know…"
On the top document: the official seal of the state of California. It was unmissable. It was also, very much, undeniable.
"Thi—this is a municipal matter." Rysher, not even looking at what lay before him. Afraid to look at it, same as a guy facing a firing squad would rather take a blindfold than see what's coming."It's outside the governor's purview. It's not his concern."
"The governor's purview is the state of California. His concern, for the minute, is that no more citizens get killed."
"And you don't think that's my concern? We've just lost four men."
"He lost a wife, two sons and six hundred thousand people. You want to give him a call and talk about loss?"
No, Rysher didn't. No right-minded person wanted to compare losses with Harry Norquist.
Flipping a hand toward Rysher's phone, Gayle asked: "You want to give him a call and tell him why you're going against his orders?"
Rysher went back to handing out some quiet contempt.
"I've got a direct dial. Let's make the call." Gayle was eager with her gloating."Let's do it. I promise you, all the favors I had to pull, the mountain I had to climb: He did not like having to get into this. I promise you more, he will not like having to explain things to you."
And Rysher looked at what lay on his desk. He didn't pick it up, didn't read it. Didn't need to. From where it was, a few ex officio-sounding phrases jumped out at him, told Rysher plainly how things were. He was against a wall, hard and cold. He knew it. It was obvious all around. Still, Rysher kept looking for a way out.
Soledad, real carefully, tried to give him one."I don't care about anything else. I'm willing to put aside what got us where we are. What I care about…" Mindful of Gayle, mindful people beyond Parker Center didn't know the full truth of things: "This is about what's going on out there right now; what we're all about to face down. I'm willing to let everything else go if it means no more good cops get killed. If I don't have to sit on the sidelines while—"
"I'm not letting officers under my command run around with that," his contempt no longer quiet,"contraption!"
"You let them run around long enough without it and all your cops got was dead." Before Rysher could cut her off, Gayle kept on with: "Just Soledad; that's all the governor's stipulating. A field test goes on, she keeps the piece, she's back on MTac." Gayle brought it all home with: "You act right, you can still get out of this with your pension."
A threat heaped on the bargains and deals didn't matter. Rysher wouldn't convince."And you can just get out. I don't care if you do have the governor in your pocket. G Platoon is still mine to run. These are still my cops. I have a right to impla—"
Rysher noticed, just then got around to noticing, that at some point during the squabble Tashjian had moved away from him. He'd moved to the other side of the room. The side with Gayle and Soledad and, in absentia but very much present, Governor Harry Norquist.
It was done. Rysher'd lost without even being aware of the moment the loss had occurred."The only… It was never about…" Right there's where he let it go.
Gayle made a broad show of checking her watch."Well, I've got a Pilates class to make." She smoothly raised up, held out a hand to Tashjian."Very nice meeting you."