Free The First Law by John Lescroart

the street.
    “Where are we going?” Glitsky asked on the outer steps.
    “I thought Lou’s. Sound good?” Batiste broke into a jog and Abe had no choice but to follow across Bryant and down to the floor below the bailbondsman’s place, where Lou the Greek’s had operated continuously as the legal community’s primary watering hole for nearly thirty years. The last of the lunch crowd was finishing up and they had no trouble finding a booth under one of the small, elevated windows that, because Lou’s was below ground level, opened at about gutter height to the alley outside.
    Lou was a hands-on and voluble proprietor who knew everybody who worked at the Hall of Justice by first name. He came by before they’d gotten settled and offered them a once-in-a-lifetime deal on the last couple of servings of one of his wife’s inspired culinary inventions, Athenian Special Rice. “Minced pork, scrambled eggs, I think some soy sauce, cucumber and taramosalata. Everybody’s raving about it.”
    “Taramosalata,” Glitsky said. “That would be fish roe dip?”
    Lou grinned. “I know. I told Chui the same thing, but that’s why she’s the genius. The taramosalata is like anchovies, just included for flavor. You don’t even taste it.”
    “I bet I would,” Glitsky said.
    “It sounds terrific, Lou,” Batiste said, “but I don’t think we’re eating. Thanks.”
    Lou wasn’t five steps away, putting in their orders for tea and coffee, when Glitsky spoke. “So this isn’t about Jerry Stiles and his department’s overtime.”
    Batiste checked the surrounding area. No one was in earshot, and still he leaned in across the table between them. “I thought it’d be helpful if we had a talk, Abe. Just you and me, man to man, friends like I think we’ve always been.”
    Glitsky thought that the friendship they’d always shared would not have allowed one to peremptorily summon the other for a serious discussion of issues during work hours, but he only nodded. “No think about it, Frank.”
    “Good.” Batiste folded his hands on the table between them. “I know you haven’t been exactly thrilled with the new job. I sympathize. I spent a year before I got homicide in personnel records, so I know. It’s been what now, a couple of months?”
    “Four, but the time’s just flying by.”
    A pained look. “That long?” Batiste sighed. “Well, I’m aware of you up there. The rest of the administration is, too. It’s not going to last forever.”
    “I thought it already had.” But the comers of Glitsky’s mouth turned up, for him a broad smile. He was keeping it light and friendly.
    “Well, I’m sure it does seem that way, but I’ve got my eye out for a chance to get you out of there. Lateral or up, either way. Getting back to homicide isn’t even out of the question.”
    “That’s good news, Frank. Thank you.”
    Lou returned at that moment with their drinks, and it broke their rhythm. When Lou walked away again, a silence fell. At the window by their ear, the rain picked up. Batiste put some sugar into his mug and stirred thoughtfully. Glitsky blew over the surface of his tea.
    Finally, Batiste found the thread again. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it would be well worth your while if you could just hang in there a little while longer. You’ve got great support across the board, Abe. You’ve been a hero and now you’re putting up with this . . . this waste of your talents for the good of the team. Don’t think people don’t recognize this. Don’t think it doesn’t matter.”
    “Well, that’s gratifying,” Glitsky said.
    “I mean it. It should be.”
    “It is.” Glitsky put his mug down, leveled his eyes across the table. “So why am I hearing a ‘but’?”
    Now Batiste broke a small and formal smile. “Could it be that finely honed and well-deserved reputation for cynicism?”
    Glitsky allowed his own expression to match Batiste’s. “It could be that, but I’m thinking