Middle Of Nowhere

   "She's lead on Sanchez, not you, right?"

   "So?"

   "So who's here asking for favors?" Shoswitz asked rhetorically. "It means what it means."

   "Which is?" Boldt asked.

   "Lou, do I have to spell it out?"

   "You have to spell it out," Boldt assured him. His face burned. His mouth had gone dry. Phil Shoswitz had been a friend for years—and here he was questioning Boldt's loyalty to his wife and family.

   Shoswitz continued working that sore elbow. "You two . . . you work well together," he said, drawing out the statement and meeting eyes with Boldt, who felt a hollow sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "She dumped that rich guy for good, I hear."

   "There's nothing there, Phil. Leave it alone."

"Of course not."

"You're pissing me off here, Phil."

   "How do you think I feel—we all feel—about your current enthusiasm for the job?"

   Politics. It hit him like cold water down the back. He had not expected Shoswitz to be so blatant in his support for Krishevski. Boldt felt stunned. Another ally down, and this one still wearing the badge, still working in the office. A friend. How many others on the job felt similarly? he wondered. How much internal sabotage was taking place in support of the Flu? "You were guild secretary for five years. I understand that, Phil." He tried to remind the man, "But you and I—we're not only bound by a different contract, we're bound by friendship. We're not guild members. Not anymore. Are we still friends?"

   Shoswitz huffed. Half a laugh. Half a groan. "This new chief shouldn't be playing games with people's wallets. Big mistake. Look at us," he said, indicating himself and Boldt. "Would we be here arguing like this if it wasn't for him?"

   "He's new."

   "He's a jerk. What does someone from Philadelphia know about this town?"

   "He's one of the best in the country. We both know that."

   "Strange way of showing it," Shoswitz said. "Pulling overtime. Cutting out off-duty work. It's asinine!"

   "A stadium went over budget. You want asinine? You

look at Liz's left forearm!" Boldt fired off. "They brought this into my house, Phil. They crossed a line."

   "Agreed," Shoswitz said quickly. "You have no argument from me there."

   "Don't I?"

   "Meaning?"

   Boldt said, "Tell Krishevski to bring forward whoever's responsible."

   "I'm forbidden from contacting Krishevski or anyone involved in the . . . absenteeism," Shoswitz reminded him. "Another wonderful decision from our new chief."

   "Krishevski will start a war, he keeps this up. Blue against Blue. What's that about? That has no place on this job!"

   "No one wants that."

   "Tell that to Liz. Or Sanchez. She's got her head screwed down so she can't move, Phil. She's a pair of eyeballs at the moment. Have you been to visit her? Has anyone? Where the hell is everyone? What if it was me or you who'd taken that fall? What does it take to get people back on the job?"

   "Promises," Shoswitz said. "That's where Mac Krishevski comes in. He's playing both sides of the fence, Lou. He has to."

   "Yeah? Well he should keep the bricks on his side of the fence."

   A hard silence settled between them along with the looks of betrayal from both men.

   "These files," Shoswitz cautioned. "Tread lightly. No one on this squad is going to want to hear that you're nosing around in their files. It doesn't look right, a Homicide Lieu stepping in and taking over a CAProp case."

   "I can't be worried about that."

   "You need to be."

   "No, I don't. What I need is those files. You have the authority to round them up for me." Boldt pressed, "I need you to do that. I need to see if the Sanchez assault fits into any kind of pattern your boys may have on the books."

   "Why do you think we file in triplicate?" Shoswitz asked.

   The Public Safety Building housed administration for all of SPD. Boldt understood the message. "They're here? Copies of all those reports are already here, regardless of precinct?"

   Shoswitz said, "Where else?"

   "You'll request them for me?"

   "They'll be on your desk in an hour," Shoswitz said. "But this conversation never took place. You thought of this on your own. You pulled a favor from someone in the boneyard. You play this however you want, but my name doesn't come up."

   "Priorities," Boldt said. "How long do you support a guy like Krishevski?"

   "To each their own," added Phil Shoswitz.

   "Yeah, sure," Boldt said in disgust. "Who are your own, Phil? These guys who walked off their beats? Or Sanchez over there in the hospital doing staring contests with the ceiling tiles?"

   "Be careful, Lou. You say that kind of thing in the wrong company and you won't be making any friends."

   "Are you the wrong company, Phil?"

   "Get out of here before I change my mind about those files."

   "I'm gone," Boldt said. He didn't add that he'd gotten what he came for, though he felt tempted to do so. He wanted the last word, but didn't take it. He left Shoswitz with the illusion of control. He accepted the promise of the files, savoring an undeclared victory.

* * *