The Subtle Art of Brutality

“And the labs written in the ledger?”

“All in the complex,” I say. “I assume. I didn’t go to the doors and knock. But if the ledger is accurate Nicky has his budding operation spread throughout the complex. He told me the manager was a client who was letting him crash. He said the manager was on ‘extended vacation.’”

“Where do you think he dumped him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet this punk has a rap sheet a mile long.”

“I’m sure he went down for distribution somewhere before now. His book keeping and operation, clients, all that, it’s too experienced for this to be his first start.”

“I’ll look into it. So, what do I tell Captain Flemming?”

“Tell her to go fuck herself.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Tell her some tweaked out Big Fry addict who was pissed at Nicky for a raw deal decided to be a real bitch and stole the ledger and gave it to the first cop he saw.”

“I’m the first cop a pissed off junkie sees?”

“Yup. Sounds solid enough.”

“We have done busts on less.”

“Oh, and I should tell you, you’ll find some dead bodies.”

“Naturally.” Clevenger eyeballs the ledger and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes. He’ll adjust the story a little bit before he tells Flemming. He knows she won’t buy it because she’s never been a real cop. Real cops know that sort of thing happens here and there. Maybe not to every cop, but it does happen. “Where you going now?”

“Back to my office.”

“Want a lift?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to think.”

“You get some sleep. Tell Molly I said hello.”

I slug his elbow and walk off into the snow, shadows trailing a thin line of smoke behind me.

23

Clevenger was his academy class president.

He did well in patrol and was qualified as an FTO for two years before Molly got pregnant. A detective’s test coincided with their pregnancy so Clevenger put in for it and was selected. The raise was nice but two weeks later they lost the baby.

“Your new partner will be late reporting,” the captain said. Up to this point I had heard Clevenger’s name a time or two but that was it.

“Why?” I ask. “His pussy hurt?”

“Took some time off. His wife miscarried or something so he wants to be with her. I guess it’s bad.”

Those were the first and last ill words I put out into the world against Graham Clevenger.

“Coffee first,” I said to Clevenger when he finally did arrive at the homicide bureau.

We stewed in silence for a moment. Clevenger knew me by reputation and said later while he was glad to be partnered with SAPD’s most brilliant, handsome, cultured and successful detective he would be lying if he didn’t admit he was also intimidated. I do that to people.

“There’s a place called Gina’s Kitchen on the 8600 block of West Fulsom Boulevard that makes it the best,” Clevenger said.