"I'm not PC with shitheads, and shitheads don't have what it takes to bag a freak."
"Yeah? What's your theory, O'Roark?"
With her nonresponse Soledad made it plain she didn't, have one. Not one she'd articulate.
"Then forget about leading," Raddatz told her. "Learn to follow."
Up at a CO's check-in Panama was talking with a couple of corrections officers. From the body language he was being confidential. Soledad approaching. The COs looked up, gave a look: Shh, shh. Here she comes.
Part of Soledad wanted to give a grin to their frat-boy antics. Part of Soledad wanted to walk up, coldcock one as a roundabout way of wiping the shine off all their smirking ivory faces. Even the one Latino CD was right then ivory to her.
Raddatz collected Panama. The trio started heading out. Before they cleared the joint Raddatz pulled off. Said he had to pee. Soledad thought more likely he wanted to give her time with Panama. Let things get hashed now so they wouldn't have to be dealt with on the drive back.
A couple of seconds of standing around before Panama looked like he was working his way, working his way toward clocking Soledad.
And right when he was at the very least going to smack her with every hard word he could think of, Soledad cut him with: "Good play in there; you taking it rough, me looking soft. Scared of you, Panama. She was scared to hell of you. Soon as you left she opened up like a wet paper sack. Don't ever think I've seen a cop play things so smooth. You know what you're doing. I don't have to tell you that, but you know what you're doing."
Panama stood where he was. Flesh pink. Rage useless. No way to get satisfaction. A eunuch watching a porn flick. So he huffed and puffed at Soledad. Balled a hand into a fist.
Soledad took a stick of gum out of her pocket and unwrapped it and started to give it a chew. Then, finally, she gave Panama some attention. Both eyes straight to the face. Her forbearance mocking his fury.
By the front of the building, back from his faux piss, Raddatz called to Panama, to Soledad.
Panama, Soledad; they wouldn't take their eyes off of each other. It's like they were worried in a moment's flinch the other would reach for their gun.
Soledad said: "Go. You don't get to walk behind me."
"You're a fucking cunt."
"Respect it. It's where you came from. Go."
Panama went, went right past Raddatz, out for their car.
As Soledad arrived to him, Raddatz asked: "You two done?"
"Done. Unless we're just getting started."
I live for simplicity. MTac afforded me a very simple lifestyle. Find a freak. Kill a freak. Unless it kills you first. Simple.
Your life's not cluttered with a lot of friends because civvies don't understand you and coworkers tend to die off with regularity.
Simple.
You shut down, you close up, you isolate. By yourself in your apartment, on the Santa Monica promenade high noon on a Saturday. Either, or. You're alone.
That makes your life all about you.
That makes life simple.
So all this complexity is driving me crazy. Sensing death, knowing it's coming for me, only to find out it's hitting my mother instead. Working undercover against guys who might be doing a more proactive version of what I believe in.
Dealing with a woman separated from her kid. That hurts. I know. My mother had separated herself from me.
And, oh yeah, I'm getting married.
I would say it's looking like a Vegas wedding, but I think it'll take more than a couple of quick "I do's" at the Little White Chapel to cover the sham of things.
But making my situation with Vin legal's the least complex part of my life. I don't really love him, I'm just going to marry him. So really, I'm just like a thousand other chicks who've quit love and are only looking to graduate to a state of blind permeance in their lives.
What's complex:
A cop whose head I wanted to beat with my cane, a freak sympathizer I actually feel sympathy for. Violence and death unseen but all around. It's all that which I can't figure.
I don't care for my inability to navigate my own
life.
As I approach thirty, I don't need for my life to require an ever-increasing amount of attention.
But then, as I approach thirty, I realize I never thought I'd live this long.
A shower. Hot water. Some kind of a soak. She had, Soledad had a tangible urge to physically do something about the dirty way she
felt. Felt.
Felt, just from the "you so smart, Joe"-ing she'd done with Panama. The cowering, the virtual bootlicking to avoid conflict and maintain good graces had left in her mouth the taste of Panama's filth. On top of that the tack hadn't particularly worked.
Jesus.
This wasn't, she was sure, the way Tashjian operated. Tashjian, Soledad was damn sure, didn't lower himself for anybody for any reason.
But Tashjian came at people head-on.
Soledad was working a cerebral Delta Force, coming up out of the mud on someone's intellectual rear to…
To stab 'em in the back.
Right when Soledad was coming to grips with her choices, she had an annoying way of queering her own deal.
So, she proffered herself, here's the new bargain: do your work, Soledad. Get to the real. If real was Raddatz and his cadre were on the bad end of things, well, then, take 'em out. Then kick 'em.
What the hell? They're down, right? Might as well get a few shots in. To Panama for sure.
Panama was top of Soledad's list of people to which she'd hand out a few nasty blows.
But that was for later.
For now: the truth, and getting to it.
“Officer O'Roark?"
"Yeah?"
"This is Officer Hayes. I was the one who found the freak," he said in case Soledad couldn't put name with face. Wasn't an issue. He'd very much been in her thoughts.
"What's doing, Officer?"
"I… I wanted to give you a call. Wasn't sure if, if this is strictly right."
Soledad gripped the phone. Her anxiety: A request for a date was coming.
"I wasn't sure, but there's some things going on I think you should know about."
The call wasn't about the two of them getting together. Some other kind of shit was imminent. Shouldn't be a surprise. Soledad couldn't recall, seemed like she couldn't remember the time the phone had ever rung with some good news.
She asked: "What's going on?"
"I'm not real sure, ma'am. That is, I know what's going on, but I don't know what it means. If it means anything."
"Just play things back for me."
"Is it safe to talk or: the phone?"
Jesus Christ. Soledad hadn't even thought about that. And the fact that Hayes had…
Shit was most assuredly coming.
For any ears that might be listening, playing things oil; "Course it is, Officer."
"Of course it is," Hayes parroted. "I only meant-"
"Just play tilings back."
"Had an investigator come around the other day, asked me if I had ever talked with you." "An Investigator?"
"DMI."
"What was his name?"
"It was Raddatz, ma'am."
Soledad held down her phone for a sec. She brushed the antenna over her teeth. Finished with that, with a mindless act that bought her space to think, putting the phone back to her ear:
"… O'Roark? Officer O'Roa-"
"Yeah, I'm here. So Raddatz comes around, talks to you. Asks you what?"
"Asks me if you and I ever talked, and about what. I told him."