the rank taste of his failure. Somewhat recovered, he nodded and managed to find his words. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Attempts to explain his insanity were futile, so he focused on dabbing up the water clinging to the gun. There was nothing to say. He choked in a career defining moment. Plain and simple. Cory’s massive pride backed up into a far corner of his brain, and he figured it might never come out again from pure shame.
“He’s here.”
Cory caught Brian staring at a dull-gray, Ford Crown Vic making an unhurried jaunt across the parking lot. He knew it had to be police by the black ramming bar attached to the front grill and an alley light fixed over the driver side mirror. The heavily tinted windows and no insignia perked his interest.
“Is it a detective’s car?” he managed to croak out.
“Yep.”
The vehicle performed a perfect half-circle and came to a halt two slots over from the store’s cart receptacle. “Old piece of shit,” he said under his breath. Brian caught it anyway.
“It may look ancient but outruns whatever you throw at it. Max won’t drive anything else.”
“Max?”
“Detective Maxwell Browning. It’s Senior Detective, but you’ll never hear him say it. Good cop. Tough. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Still holds the record. He came in at twenty-two right out of the Marine Corps. By twenty-six he made vice. Moved to homicide seventeen years ago. Knows his stuff.”
Cory knew Brian wasn’t full of shit as Detective Browning exited the vehicle. There wasn’t an ounce of newness anywhere on the man. He caught sight of calm features some might even call handsome, strong jawline, thick slashing brows, and a nose experiencing a break at one time. Browning appeared to be in his early fifties since only the sides of his short black hair were doing a little of the salt-n-pepper thing. He reckoned the guy close to six-two, if not already there.
“Damn, he’s big,” Cory whispered.
“For sure. Keeps in shape too. If he’s not pulling a long case, you can catch him at the precinct gym at five every morning. I think he’s ran a groove into the track.”
The athletic build became clear when he removed the dark suitcoat matching the pants and hung it up in the back. A time worn leather gun holster cinched over thick shoulders conformed to his wide back. The black dress shoes were clean, but not too shiny. He couldn’t imagine a brute like this wearing anything but combat boots. He nudged Brian on the arm.
“Don’t they usually roll in pairs? I don’t see anyone else inside.”
“Just Max. Lost his partner, Fergus McLellan. Died on the job eight years ago. Won’t take on another one. Tried. Doesn’t work.”
“Ah.”
Browning rolled the sleeves on the white dress shirt, revealing thick forearms. He stuffed a small notepad and a couple of blue surgical gloves into his back pants pocket. After a quick adjustment to a thin black and grey tie, he glanced up. Piercing blue eyes zeroed in on the two of them. His chin raised in time to Brian’s respectful nod. The man’s walk was slow and purposeful, as if strolling up to a bowling alley for a relaxing game and a bucket of beers with his homies. If anything, the dude was comfortable in his own skin.
“Hey, Max,” Brian called out.
“Brian. Long time. You first on scene?”
The deep, rugged voice didn’t surprise Cory in the least. It fit him.
“Yeah, but Martinez and Higgins are inside clearing the premises. Butch just arrived. He’s keeping the witnesses on the other side of the building by the ice machines. It’s beyond fucked in there. You’ll want to talk to the guy in camo leaning against my unit. You catch the call out?”
“Yep. One perp. Female. Blue minivan. Heading east on I-40. How many down?”
“Don’t know, yet.”
Belly cramping as intelligent, all-knowing eyes arrowed his way, he sensed Browning drilling a tunnel into his skull and figuring out quick what a goddamn pansy he was. As soon as the calm gaze drifted down to the obvious puke marring the once pretty grass, Cory felt his neck and face ignite. He fought everything inside to look up and face the music.
“You new, kid?”
He knows damn well I am. “Yes, sir.”
“Everyone gets some form of tarnish in the beginning. Rite of passage. They’ll dog your ass over this until the next new boot fucks up. Laugh and take it or they’ll eat you alive.”
He snorted while stuffing the bottom half of his tie between two buttons and securing it inside his shirt.
“At least you didn’t fuck up my scene. I’ll make sure they give you points for gut control. Might shave off at least a week of torture.” On a deep grunt, he bumped knuckles with Brian, turned, and walked away.
Cory felt like he’d popped out of a vacuum as the seasoned detective moved further down the walkway. “Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for pulling me out before I hurled in there. He’s the last man I ever want to piss off.”
Brian nudged him on the shoulder and chuckled. “You’ll be fine, kid. He’s stingy on handing out advice to someone he doesn’t know. Consider yourself privileged. Come on. Let’s help with the interviews. The faster you dive back into the thick of things the sooner the guys bore of razzing you. Ready?”
Gun shoved back into the holster, Cory inhaled a deep breath and straightened his spine.
“Sure. Why not. At least I didn’t piss my pants. Think they’ll give up a few more points?”
He shook his head and followed in the wake of Brian’s soft laughter. They both knew it was just the respite before the evil shit waiting for them at the end of the building dug its claws back into their hearts.
Chapter 3
Max studied the crowd of Bagwell customers now experiencing the aftermath of adrenaline leaving the body at a rapid pace. Docile bodies perched on the curb tried to keep their heads from wobbling on loose necks as the EMTs continued tending minor cuts and scrapes. He looked down at his notes.
Butch, Brian, and the new kid pulled enough info out of them to confirm six stood one register over from the hot zone and considered themselves lucky enough not to have taken a round in the back as they tripped over others throwing themselves to the floor. All reported the same thing: Heard the shots. Woman with dark hair holding a gun. I ran. All planned on buying lottery tickets tonight.
On instinct, the remaining followed the stampeding herd as they fled from whatever monster lurked up front and saw nothing of consequence. After finding the rear doors dead-bolted, they clustered on the back dock, clamped hands over mouths unable to stop crying, and prayed the beast from hell wasn’t making
