Free Rough Justice by Andrew Klavan Page A

toyed with the yellow pencils in it.
    â€œWells …”
    â€œThe commissioner called him, didn’t he? Bush.”
    â€œJohn, I’m doing everything I can. I won’t leave you to twist in the wind.”
    â€œThat’s what happened, though, isn’t it? And maybe Bush sees a chance to dump me without my going to the competition.”
    She sighed. She toyed with the pencils. “The commissioner apparently feels you’ve had a grudge against Watts because he beat some drug rap a while back.”
    â€œSo send someone else to interview D’ Angelo.”
    â€œWe can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œGuess.”
    I threw my cigarette into her wastebasket. “Shit!”
    â€œServices are tomorrow at St. Patrick’s. Noon. Without him, we couldn’t even slip it to another paper.” She tapped a pencil against the inside of the cup. “But lookit. The lawyers are working full time …”
    â€œOh great. Can’t anyone stop them?”
    â€œDamn it!” The pencils flew in a yellow spray as she knocked the holder over with a swipe of her small hand. She looked up at me and the flint was in her eyes again. “There’s more at stake here than just your bloody Watts piece.”
    â€œHey. You’re telling me.”
    â€œI am telling you. You don’t understand what I’m up against.”
    â€œThat’s your job, sister. You don’t like your job? Go back and sell dog biscuits.”
    She leaned across her desk at me. Her cheeks were bright red. “He wants to suspend you.”
    â€œAnd as far as I’m concer … What? Who does? Bush?”
    â€œHe can cut you off completely. Without backing, without pay. Without even a lawyer.”
    â€œThe hell he can. He cannot.”
    â€œRead the contract, John. You’re under investigation for a felony. He can.”
    I stared at her. I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop myself. She might just as well have hit me. Without thinking, I even fell back a step. I even ran my hand up over my jaw.
    â€œHe wants to,” said Emma Walsh. “And the way the cops feel about you now, they’d be on you like dogs.”
    For a long moment after that, I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. After the night, after watching that boy die, after answering the cops’ questions, after going at it with Watts—to hear this now … Something just bottomed out in me, it felt like. My throat, already sore, felt tight. My head felt thick and muzzy. I stood, feeling the heat in my face, wiping at my face with my hand. I thought of that kid lying on my floor. I thought about his parents, his wife, the woman he worked for …
    What a loss, is what she said, we all loved him so much .
    â€¦ and somehow it all made sense to me suddenly. Watts being on the case. Bush dumping me. It seemed like it was what I’d expected, maybe what I deserved. I felt tired, too tired to fight it, now that it seemed so inevitable. I felt I had no choice but to just sit back and let it happen. Let it happen the way it had to, the way it should.
    When Emma Walsh spoke, her voice was quiet again, gentle, sympathetic. “Just get out of here for now, okay?” she said. “Go to the movies. Go to the races. Go away. Go home. Let me work on this for you. Let me do what I can.”
    I looked up at her absently. “What?” I hadn’t been listening.
    â€œGo home,” she said. “Get some sleep.”
    I nodded. I walked slowly to the door.
    â€œJohn,” she said to my back. “It was self-defense. Watts can’t change that.”
    But a voice answered her silently: A man is dead. Someone has to pay .
    It was a long walk back across the city room. The place seemed to have stopped cold now, gone silent. On the far side of the cubicles, the people at the city desk were watching me openly. Rafferty screwed up his face as I came on. Lansing stood beside