Chapter Seven

 

DAVIS

 

I can feel the heat of the coffee cup in my hand. A rare treat. Usually the swill that they brew at the office has to suffice, but I'd say I did well enough to earn myself a trip out. They wrote my name wrong on the cup.

'Jada,' I told them. 'Jada, no H.'

But there's the fucking H, right there. I roll my eyes and set the coffee-sugar concoction down on the table to answer my phone.

"Davis," I answer.

The voice on the other side of the line is frantic, and one I recognize well.

"Jadah? Jadah, I have to come in."

"Hawkins?" I pretend not to be sure who I'm talking to.

I bring the cup to my lips for my first delicious sip, but I get a look from some college student who thinks I give a shit that she's trying to study here.

"Can you take your call outside?"

I can feel my face twisting up in frustration at her, but I made a New Year's resolution not to curse at civilians this year, and I haven't managed to break it yet.

So instead I take the call outside. I'm not going to get into this with some snotty little shit, anyways.

It's not until the door closes behind me that I remember my cup sitting there on the table. I forgot to bring it with me. I curse my bad luck as Hawkins talks into my ear.

"Davis, you said you were taking him in. You said I was—"

"Is this a secure line?"

"What? Fuck no. That's what I'm trying to tell you. A year, you told me. No, you told me six months. I need out."

"I'm sorry, did you think you get to tell me what to do?"

"Don't play fuckin' games with me, Davis, so help me—"

"It sounds," I tell him, "like the life's rubbed off on you. Maybe you'll be just fine out there."

"Not a chance. They know something's up. I don't know what the brother knows, but Ryan's going on a manhunt. It won't take him long—"

Hawkins shut up real quick, all of a sudden. He's probably not in a safe place to talk. I smile at it, smile because he took me away from my coffee and because I can't bring myself to give a shit about him.

"I don't understand what the problem is, Spider."

"You bitch. You fucking bitch. I can't believe you're trying to pull this shit right now."

"Pull what?" I use my most innocent voice, but he apparently isn't convinced by it.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you fucking harpy. If you don't pull me, I'm going to—"

I click my phone off and step back inside. I pick my coffee cup up off the table and pull it to my lips again, hoping to just God damn enjoy one sip of something for myself.

My phone rings again. I check the I.D., not planning on talking to Hawkins again. Maybe when he's learned who wears the pants in the relationship, I can pull him.

Until then, I'm going to let him stew a little. That should teach him. I jab the answer button when I see it's not him.

"What do you want?"

"Davis," the voice on the other end. Danny sounds like a movie star on the phone. Too bad he's never going to have movie star looks.

The snotty-looking college student's mousy hair practically stands on its end in fury that I would dare take my call inside. I heft my cup to show her I came back for a reason, give her a look that could kill, and head back outside.

Fucking college students, think they own the place just because it's right by campus and open 24-hours.

"Yes, it's me, did you have something you needed to talk to me about, or is this a social call?"

"You can be a real ass, you know that?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You heard from Spider yet?"

"No," I lie. It's easier that way. Life's easier that way.

"He says they've started executing guys."

"And he wants out, is that right?"

"That's exactly right, Davis. It's your call. What do we do?"

"We leave him. We can't exactly extract him guns-blazing, everyone would know something was up. And if he just disappears, then they know that the cop's gone."

"Jesus, Davis. He's going to get himself killed." I try to pause long enough to get a sip of my coffee, already feeling the heat seeping out of the cup into my hands. Danny prods me before I can get my drink. "You listening?"

"Well, we'll have to figure something out. But getting him out isn't in the cards. We need eyes on the inside of that organization, and you—and Hawkins—know it."

"That's a crock of shit, Davis, and you're the one who knows it."

"I'm the lead on this operation, and I'm not going to be questioned."

Hawkins fit in better with those drug runners than he ever did with cops. It was a feat that he'd managed to keep his nose mostly clean in the year that he'd spent there, but I've seen his file.

He doesn't always keep his nose clean, and they rarely find out how bad he's been hitting the dope until they start debriefing him. He's an addict, and worse, he gets too close to the fucking cases he works. I miss my chance to take another sip again, fuming about Hawkins.

"Well, you may be the lead, but you might not be lead of anything for long, if we get our informants fuckin' killed, Jada. You know that."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry. Davis."

"Better." I suck in a breath and put the coffee to my lips, already imagining the taste, imagining how much I'm going to enjoy it. A thought shoots through my head, distracting me from what I'm doing. "I'm not just trying to be a bitch, you know. It's not like I enjoy giving people shit, Danny. You know better than that. But just—I don't like being called Jada, not at work."

"I know. You're right. I should've thought it through."

"You don't blame me, do you?"

"Not at all, Davis. I'm going to give Spider a call back, tell him to dig in. We still need a man on the inside, like you said."

"And if we pulled him, it would only be painting a target on his back, and showing Beauchamp our hand. We keep this close to the chest."

"Exactly right. Sorry to bother you, boss."

"It's fine," I tell him, jabbing the button on my phone. I put the plastic cup to my lips and wait for the phone to ring again. It always comes in threes, I think to myself. Could I just be lucky enough to get away with only two calls?

I tip the cup slow, waiting for the phone to ring. Delaying that gratification just one more second, two more seconds, three…

When it finally passes my lips, it's exactly as I realize that it doesn't feel particularly warm in my hand, and it goes down my throat lukewarm.

Unsatisfying doesn't begin to describe it. I let out a long breath. No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way.

I like my coffee hot. Hot enough to burn the whole way down. As it is, it's barely warm. Barely. For an instant, I think about going back inside, getting myself another cup. Having to tell that fucking woman my name again keeps me from doing it.

Besides, I don't even want to drink this damn stuff, I tell myself. The coffee cup drops convincingly on the top of the garbage, and soon, Spider will no doubt be joining it.