He landed flat on his back. Hard.
“Officer down!” José hollered as he ran for his partner.
But there was no telling that SOB to stay still or even a chance to help him up. Veck jumped onto his feet like the fucking Energizer bunny and lurched over to the knot of officers who had surrounded the driver with guns drawn. Shoving the others out of the way, he ripped open the driver’s-side door and pulled out a partially conscious photo poacher who was one last pastrami and rye away from a heart attack: The bastard was as fat as Santa Claus and had the ruddy coloring of an alkie.
He was also having trouble breathing—although it wasn’t clear whether that was from inhaling the powder of the air bag or the fact that he’d made eye contact with Veck and clearly knew he was about to get a beat-down.
Except Veck just dropped him and dived into the car, pawing his way through the deflated bags. Before he could get hold of the camera and bust it to dust, José jumped in.
“We need that for evidence,” he barked, as Veck outted himself and lifted his arm over his head like he was going to slam the Nikon down on the pavement.
“Hey!” José two-handed the guy’s wrist and threw all his weight into his partner’s chest. Christ, the fucker was a big bastard—not just tall, but jacked—and for a split second, he had to wonder whether he was going to get anywhere with this manhandling bullshit.
Momentum turned the tide, however, and Veck’s back slammed into the side of the car.
José kept his voice calm in spite of the fact that he had to use all his strength to keep the guy in place. “Think about it. You kill the camera, we can’t use the picture he took against him. You hear me? Think, damn you . . . think.”
Veck’s eyes shifted over and locked on the perp, and frankly, the lack of crazy in them was a little disturbing. Even in the midst of manic, physical exertion, DelVecchio was strangely relaxed, utterly focused . . . and undeniably deadly: José got the sense that if he let the other detective go, the camera wasn’t the only thing that was going to be irreparably damaged.
Veck looked entirely capable of killing in a very calm, competent way.
“Veck, buddy, snap out of it.”
There was a moment or two of nothing-doing, and José knew damn well that everyone in the alley was as unsure as he was about how this was going to go. Including the photog.
“Hey. Look at me, my man.”
Veck’s baby blues slowly shifted over and he blinked. Gradually, the tension in that arm loosened and José escorted the thing down until he could take the Nikon—no way of knowing whether the storm was truly over.
“You okay?”
José asked.
Veck nodded and pulled his jacket back into place. When he nodded a second time, José stepped back.
Big mistake.
His partner moved so fast there was no stopping him. And he cocked that photog so hard, he probably broke the fucker’s jaw.
As the perp sagged in the hold of the other policemen, no one said a thing. They’d all wanted to do it, but given Veck’s little car ride, he’d earned the right.
Unfortunately, the payback move was probably going to get the detective suspended—and maybe the CPD sued.
Shaking out his punching hand, Veck muttered, “Someone give me a cigarette.”
Shit, José thought. There was no reason to keep trying to find Butch O’Neal. It was like his old partner was right in front of him.
So maybe he should give up trying to trace that 911 call from last week. Even with all the resources available down at headquarters, he’d gotten nowhere and the cold trail was probably a good thing.
One wild card with a self-destructive streak was more than he could handle on the job, thank you very much.
TWENTY-FIVE
Down in the training center at the compound, Butch kind of wanted to hate the surgeon out of loyalty to V.Especially given the guy’s Chippendale, half-naked routine with that towel.
God, the idea that piece of meat had been near Payne all undressed? Wicked bad idea on so many levels.
It would have been different if he’d been built like a chess player, for instance. As it was, Butch felt like John Cena had been macking on V’s little sister. How the hell was a surgeon built like that?