LITMIR.BIZ

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shrugs. “Sorry. They are empty. For show only.”

      “No problem,” I say. “How is business?”

      He shrugs. “Could be better. But I don’t worry so much about it. A bi gezunt, eh? So long as you’ve got your health.”

      I hand him my card. “I think you already have one but here’s another. Call me if anything catches your eye. For sure call me if you see the woman again.”

      “That nafka!” he says loudly lifting the bone over his head. “If I call you, you better hurry before I bone her.”

      “Promise me you won’t do any boning,” I say, gently taking the bone from him and setting it on the counter.

      “I will, my boy. But you should know I live by this, “Call on God, but row away from the rocks.” He shrugs. “I have a temper, I’m sorry to say. My dear Hannah has been telling me for fifty years I need to control my temper. I try. It’s all I can do.”

      I squeeze his shoulder. “Try real hard, okay. For me?”

      He pats my face again. “I will try hard for you, my sweet boy.” He looks at Angela. “You take care of him.”

      Angela smiles.

      * * *

      Turns out, Angela is quite the health food enthusiast. She takes me to her favorite lunch place, a vegetarian joint where most of the customers look like they are in dire need of protein and Vitamin B-12. Angela says she eats meat but likes the sandwiches here. She orders one so stuffed full of vegetation it would overdose a rabbit. I order the same thing but to be funny I ask for four slices of ham with extra mayo, which couldn’t have shocked the skinny hippie dude behind the counter more if I’d slapped his mother.

      Angela says she has been doing yoga three times a week for about six years and weight training twice a week for about ten years.

      “Well, it’s obviously working for you.” Oh man. That sounded like flirting and could even be construed as sexual harassment.

      She blushes, as much as a black person can blush, and says, “Thank you, Sam,” all sweet and coy-like.

      Angela is an attractive woman and there is where the thought ends. The slow body scan she gave me in the office made me feel uncomfortable as did the smiles we exchanged in the car after our getting-to-know-you spat. Of course, it didn’t help we looked at naked men together, nor did Mister Axelbrad’s teasing. Now my comment about her having a nice body is like a gusting Santa Ana wind buffeting an out-of-control fire in a southern California canyon.

      Am I over thinking this? Hope so.

      It’s two p.m. by the time we finish lunch. We head toward the river walk where Mark and David were jumped, but there is construction in the area and not a parking place to be found, even for a police car. It’s getting late anyway so we head back to the office, and fill out reports about our conversation with Terrance at the bathhouse and with Efrem Axelbrad at Second Chance. I call down to Central Precinct duty sergeant and ask her to have the Old Town beat cars keep an eye out for the two women we were told about and get their names and other vitals.

      Angela and I fill in Steve and BJ on what we learned. Steve loves hearing about our arrest of the panhandler, especially liking the fact I used a couple of martial arts moves. “This is what I’ve been saying,” Steve says to the lieutenant. “Did you know ghosts sit around campfires telling Chuck Norris stories?”

      BJ isn’t amused by any of it and asks me to remain as Steve and Angela leave the office. Guess I’m in trouble already and I have yet to work a full day, but in trouble for what?

      BJ straightens some papers on his desk that don’t need straightening and clears his throat that doesn’t need clearing. “Sam,” he says, in his whispery, Alec Baldwin voice, his face still angled down as if reading a report, though his eyes peer up at me from under his eyebrows. “Between Steve, Angela, and me, we have ten combined years in Intelligence, during which not one of us has used physical force. You’re here one day and you’re doing your kung fu thing on a homeless person.”

      “He was about to grab Angela,” I say, sounding like a little kid alibiing his actions.

      “You couldn’t have backed away? You couldn’t have sternly warned him to leave you alone?”

      Is this guy for real? Now I‘m pissed off. I control it, though, and reply calmly, “I hear what you’re saying, boss, but if you’ve looked over my personnel file you won’t find one complaint for excessive force, and I have been in many beefs on the job. I do not abuse people and I do not insult my art or my teachers by using my skills unnecessarily. Check with any of my previous partners and they will tell you I am the last guy to use force.”

      “I’m glad to hear it,” the lieutenant says, his face still angled toward his desktop. I notice for the first time he has a serious comb over. “This position isn’t about jumping fences, doing karate chops, and shots fired. It’s a low-keyed job about gathering information. Period. And I don’t need to remind you this is especially important for you.”

      “Understood,” I say, gritting my teeth, and standing. I want to tell him next time I’ll do exactly the same thing if I think another officer is about to be grabbed, punched, or whatever, but I refrain. His little speech isn’t about me dumping a guy on his butt, at least I hope he’s enough of a cop that that isn’t what this is about. No, this is about him letting me know he isn’t about to be embarrassed and put on the spot by me.

      I’m well aware some cops dislike me intensely for what I did nine weeks ago. Well, welcome to the club because I hate what I did too. I destroyed a family, I shamed the PD, I instilled fear of the police in the people I’m sworn to protect, and I scarred my soul. I’ve been through hell over it and now after two months of confusion as to what I should do next, I made the decision to come back here to do what’s right. If my boss has trouble with it, and if anyone else has trouble with it, well, screw ‘em. And if my coming back gets to be too much—for them—I’m out of here.

      “I’m done, Sam,” BJ says, giving me all of his face. “Questions?”

      “None, Lieutenant.”

      “Good. It’s quitting time. See you tomorrow.”

      Steve and Angela ask if I want to have a beer with them and I decline, telling them I have to teach. Angela seems disappointed. Oh well.

      I get my pickup and head toward my school, stopping first to get a Whopper. I give Mark a call while chowing down in my truck.

      “How are you doing?”

      “Hey, Sam,” he says, with more life in his voice than I’ve heard since I’ve been home. “Your advice was all good. Your friend Rudy brought me home. What a live wire he is. Even had me laughing. He helped me in the house and with getting settled. And he volunteered to go to the grocery for me.”

      “Great, Mark. You sleep at all?”

      “I did. Got about five hours in and I feel pretty good. Well, maybe not good, my ribs are killing me, but I feel awake.”

      “Heard anything on your case?”

      “Nada. The Fat Dicks were in court all day so they didn’t work it at all. Babcock and Tyler checked on surveillance tapes in the area and talked to some construction workers, but they didn’t turn up anything. Hopefully tomorrow. How was your first day back?”

      When I tell him about my day with Angela, he laughs and then groans in pain. “You better watch out,” he says. “She is a looker. I’ve heard she’s a bit of a racist, but apparently she’s made an exception for you.”

      “You’re funny. I’m not even remotely inter—” Mark’s phone bleeps. “Sounds like you got a call, Mark. I’ll let you get it. I’ve got to get over to the school.”

      “Okay, pal. Thanks for taking care of me.”

      I head on over

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