Free Tick Tock by James Patterson

fiasco, no doubt. I drummed my fingers on the workbench as I eyed the half-full bottle.
    Why not just get drunk and let the world go straight to hell? I certainly had a good excuse. Several, in fact.
    As I stood there weakly and wearily pondering the Scotch bottle, beyond the front door of the garage I heard steps on the porch and the doorbell ring.
    “Hey, is Juliana around?” a voice called out.
    The voice belonged to Joe Somebody-or-other, some tall, friendly nonpsychotic high-school kid from up the block who kept coming around because he had a crush on Juliana.
    “Hey, Joe,” I overheard Juliana say a second later.
    “Do you and Brian and the guys want to play roundup again?” the sly Breezy Point Romeo wanted to know.
    “Can’t tonight, Joe, but I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” Juliana said curtly before letting the door close in his face with a bang.
    That was odd, I thought, heading outside and up the porch steps after Joe left. I knew my daughter had a bit of a crush on the lad as well. What was up?
    I figured it out when I saw Juliana through the new front window. She was sitting on the couch, laughing, painting Bridget’s toenails as Fiona and Shawna and Chrissy waited their turns. I spotted Jane sitting in the recliner with cucumber slices over her eyes.
    I stood there shaking my head, amazed. Juliana knewhow upset this whole Flaherty thing had made her little sisters, so she had scratched her plans in order to comfort them with some sister spa time. While I was itching to crack the seal on a bottle of booze, Juliana was stepping in, stepping up.
    “Let’s have a hand for father of the year, Mike Bennett,” I mumbled as I plopped myself down on the front porch swing. I was still there when Mary Catherine came out. She frowned at my sad, self-pitying ass as she sat down beside me.
    “And how are the Flahertys?” she asked.
    I looked at her, about to deny my visit to the neighbors. Then I cracked a tiny smile.
    “Bad news, Mary,” I said, looking off down the sandy lane. “Which is about par for the course lately, isn’t it? For this vacation. This city. This planet.”
    She wisely went back inside and left me alone with my black mood. When my work phone rang a half hour later with my boss’s cell number on the display, I seriously thought about throwing it as hard as I could off the porch. Maybe taking a couple of potshots at it before it landed, my own personal Breezy Point clay shoot.
    Then I remembered what my son Trent had said two days before. Who was I kidding? Vacations were for real people. I was a cop.
    “This is Bennett,” I said into the phone with a grim smile. “Gimme a crime scene.”
    “Coming right up,” Miriam said.

Chapter 26
    AS I DROVE THROUGH Queens twenty minutes later, I thought about a documentary I once saw on cable about the annual NYPD Finest versus the FDNY Bravest football game.
    At halftime with the score tied, the firemen’s locker room was about what you’d expect: upbeat, healthy-looking players and coaches encouraging one another. The NYPD locker room, on the other hand, was about as cheerful as the visitor’s room at Rikers. In place of a traditional pep talk, red-faced, raging cops opted for screaming horrendous obscenities at one another and punching the lockers like violent mental patients.
    No doubt about it, we’re a funny bunch. Not funny ha-ha, either, I thought as I arrived at the latest atrocity, a murder scene along an industrial service road in Flushing.
    I was a little fuzzy as to why I, of all people, needed to come to this godforsaken place in the middle of the nightwhen I was already up to my eyeballs in the bombing case. But I was pretty sure I was about to find out.
    Beside an electrical pylon at the top of the access road, half a dozen detectives and uniforms were taking pictures and kicking through the weeds, accompained by police-band radio chatter. In the far distance behind them, cars continued zipping by on the lit-up Whitestone