No getting past the feeling of clandestineness. The hour was odd, the location obscure. One-forty in the morning, a bar in Hollywood. Mot a glam bar. A small joint off Ivar where drinking was done by a select few night, morning and high noon. Drunks who couldn't remember their names, let alone unfamiliar faces. Perfect for clandestineness. The. meeting Soledad was having with Tashjian was on the extreme DL. IA cops were not cops that cops wanted other cops to peep them talking with even if all they were rapping about was the price of tea in China.
Soledad didn't like playing in the shadows. Up until recently her cop life had been about being in the open, being direct. A show of force. That- coming on strong about things-was as much of a weapon for MTacs as their HKs and Benellis and Soledad's own home-brewed piece. Working
DMI was all about rooting around, rooting around. Being a mole for IA on top of that was
It was what?
If DMI was about kicking over stones, was IA the slug under the rock?
Only days Soledad had been perpetrating a lie. Already she was sick of it.
"It does take getting used to," Tashjian counseled.
"I'm not going to be doing this long enough to get used to it."
"My hope was, in time, you would at least see the value in what you're doing."
"I see the value, but to me it's like seeing value at Kmart. Taking advantage and taking pride are two different things."
"I miss that, O'Roark." Tashjian tipped his glass to her. "I miss that sense of humor of yours. So slight as to be unique."
Whatever Tashjian was drinking-a mixed, lime-greenish thing-it was the girliest drink Soledad'd ever seen. A queer alky mick going dry on St. Paddy's Day wouldn't touch the stuff.
Yet…
The drink fairly glowed, was nearly hypnotic. Hard drinkers-and the few flies in the bar at that hour were nothing but-stared at Tashjian each time he raised his glass. Watched him as he lowered it. Licked their lips in sympathetic pleasure. Whatever Tashjian was drinking, before the night was done, everybody in the joint would most likely have one.
"I mean"-Tashjian returned the glass to the bar-"I'm assuming you're joking. I can't imagine you having something against value-priced shopping."
"We're talking about the job." Soledad kept on point. Soledad didn't want to string things along, spend one more minute where she was and doing what she was doing any more than necessary.
"We're talking about the job," Tashjian echoed. "Tell me about the job."
"You heard about the invulnerable John Doe?"
"Very slightly. I know the ME has the body, but DMI is in control of the situation."
"It's being… I guess it's being investigated. I'm not sure how the hell things work at DMI. Anyway, I'm on it."
"How did you manage that?"
"A senior lead was going to check out the body, I got an invite."
"And it went all right?"
"All right how? All I did was look at a body."
Tashjian stroked the condensation on his glass. "This senior lead; he trusts you?"
"He doesn't like me. My experience, someone doesn't like me, they're taking me at face value."
"I'm glad for that. Don't agree, though. I don't take you at face value, and I like you quite a bit."
"Don't get ideas. I'm engaged."
"I have none. But I'm flattered you think enough of me you have to put me off."
"I'm not… I don't have to put you off. I'm just telling you."
"And all the protest you're putting into the telling: Is that for me or for you?"
Fucking with her. Tashjian was fucking with her. Some guys golfed. Some built ships in a bottle. Tashjian's hobby, Soledad was pretty sure, was fucking with her.
"Can we talk about the freak?"
Tashjian nodded. "Has anything come to
light?"
"I've been out one time on this, and I was lucky for that much."
"Do you have a sense of the circumstances? Was it murder?"
"It's inconclusive. No poison, at least as far as the ME can tell. But how else you'd kill an invulnerable freak I don't know."
For a minute Soledad and Tashjian said nothing.
The sound track playing in the bar was ESPN from a TV. Ice kicking around in glasses. Hacking coughs.
Soledad didn't like being there, in the bar. She wasn't a drinker. Drinking reminded her of Vin. And that didn't feel real right; that she didn't want to be reminded of her instant fiance.
"Tashjian, how long you been with the PD?"
"Thirteen years."
Something funny about that to Soledad. Figures. Tashjian's been around thirteen lucky years. "Seen a lot in thirteen years?"
"My share."
"But not a dead invulnerable." "Can't say that I have."
"So if you did, If you did see one, it'd get your attention."
"And, finally, your point?"
"Seeing a dead invulnerable didn't much get Raddatz's attention."
"Raddatz? Tucker Raddatz is the senior lead you're working with?" Tashjian's thumbnail scratched at his chin: acknowledgment of the curiousness.
"Something I should know about him?" Soledad asked.
"Very distinguished officer. A short but memorable stmt with MTac. Memorable mostly because he was the sole survivor of a warrant served on… what's the colloquialism for metanormals with accelerated production of adrenaline?"
"Berserkers."
"Tore through the rest of his element as though they were rice paper. He was lucky to get away with just losing a hand. I think that's all he's lost."
"I can think of one other thing: any and all regard for freaks whatsoever."
"Is there something hinky to you?"
"I'm not a detective." Soledad, no permission asked, reached over, took Tashjian's glass, took a drink. Girliest thing she'd ever had. And it was good. "But I'm not sure I blame somebody who's been torn up by a freak for having absolutely nothing but hatred for them."
"Careful with your sympathies."
"I know what's at stake. I'll do the job."
"You misunderstand me. Whoever is responsible for the killings feels personally threatened by metanormals and is acting upon his or her feelings. And if they have no fear of freaks, do you think they would be afraid to deal with you? For your own sake, I would be gentle with this Raddatz."
The threat of things getting physical. The threat of violence and possible death that would have to be met in kind. Suddenly, Soledad was starting to like her new job.
Might as well have been talking with God. Maybe not God. How about the Holy Ghost? If nothing else, Officer Tom Hayes felt like he was talking with that one model on the cover of all those fitness magazines he was desperate to meet. Not that he felt sexual toward Soledad. But in a cop's life that was less than he'd dreamed of, sitting across from one of the most talked-about operators on the LAPD was a dream come true.
He wanted to ask Soledad about some of her exploits. Not fan boy-style. He honestly wanted a firsthand breakdown of truth from fiction. He wanted, he wanted to get her take on the job, on being MTac. He wanted very badly to know-her opinion-the best way to work up to G Platoon. Tom Hayes had a thousand questions for Soledad.
Sitting with him in the coffee room at Hollenbeck station, Soledad had only questions about the John Doe Officer Hayes had found.
The first had been: How'd you find him?
"Didn't really. Some kids had gone down in the river, were doing some boarding on the concrete. Saw the body, made the call."