"Look, I'm not hassling anybody. I did my time. I'm legit now."
"No, bad cops're never legit. Once bad, always bad. Like a whore. She may give up the business but she'll always be somebody who got dicks up her ass for money. Am I right?"
"I just want to get a job, something going, get on with my life."
"How's the guy you beat the crap out of, Nick, you got busted for? I heard he had brain damage or something."
"Come on, please." Nick wasn't going to give Kall the I'm-innocent speech. A shield like this'd never believe it and it'd only rile him up more.
Kall turned to Von, who was concentrating--way too much--on his salad.
"And who is your little friend here? What's your name?"
Von swallowed, looking guilty as sin. "Jimmy Shale."
"Whatta you do for a living, Jimmy?"
"Can you ask me that?"
"I can ask you what you beat off to at night. I can ask you where your boyfriend likes you to kiss him. I can ask--"
"General contracting and construction."
"For who?"
"A bunch of companies."
"Most guys I ask, they give me a straight answer. They say Helmsley or Franklyn Development. You say a bunch of people."
"Well, Officer--"
"Detective."
Von was leaning back and staring up coldly now, attitude flowing from his eyes. "Well, Officer Detective, the fact is I work for a lot of people. Because I'm good at my job and a lot of people want me. And I'm not real happy, the way you're talking to me."
"Really? And your happiness counts why, Jimmy?"
Nick'd been thinking the worst that could happen was that the cop would find Von's gun, bust him and then w
ord would get back to Nick's PO that they'd been together and there'd be a hearing and Nick might very well get his ass kicked back inside for the violation. But there was one step past worse: Von would decide Kall had pushed him too far and would pistol whip him or even empty five blunt .38 slugs into the asshole detective's body. No, four into his body and one into his face, just in case he was wearing a vest.
Nick tried, "Look, Vince, let's just take this down a notch, okay? I'm--"
"Shut up, Carelli." Leaning toward Von. "You, asshole. Lemme see some ID."
"ID. ID. Sure." Von, that weird grin on his face, wiped his fat lips with his napkin and placed it back in his lap. Then he started to reach for his pocket. "I'll show you some fucking ID."
Yes, he was going for his gun. Kall was dead.
And so was Nick.
He assessed angles. From the depth of the booth he couldn't leap forward and wrestle the gun from Von's hand. If he shouted to Kall that Von was armed, he'd be admitting he knew.
Von started to rise, hand near the piece.
But just then a staticky voice crackled from Kall's belt.
"All units. Ten thirty. Carjacking in progress. Four One Eight Fourth Avenue, Bay Ridge. Two black males, twenties, believed to be armed. Silver Toyota. Late model. No tags at this point."