Free In Plain Sight by Mike Knowles

you.”
    â€œLooks that way.”
    â€œCan’t be that way forever, mate. Something has to tip the scales eventually.”
    Morrison was right. No matter how crooked, he was still a cop, and no cop would put up with being pushed — they’re too used to being the aggressors. There was no telling the amount of clout he had. He didn’t fear bending the law to keep me from being printed or to get me out of the bed, so someone had to be on his side, someone big. Given enough time, he could spin the shooting at the club or fuck the ballistics reports. What I had on him only had a shelf life of a few days; then the scales would start to tilt in his favour again.
    â€œOriginal deal then,” I said. “I’ll get you a fish, and you’ll forget about me. Otherwise, I just cut bait and settle for taking you down with me.”
    There was no answer from the phone. I knew the cop was stuck where he didn’t want to be. He was working with a crook instead of turning the screws. He was off balance. I had to keep him there because as long as he was uncomfortable, I had room to move.
    â€œGive me a few days and I’ll be in touch. I need one thing though,” I said.
    â€œWhat? Haven’t I done enough for you?”
    â€œI need info on a name.”
    The cop’s voice became serious. He wanted me to lead him to something bigger. Any name I needed was something he could use to get ahead. I had to be careful about what I asked for — too much information could make me useless.
    â€œWhat name?”
    â€œRussian guy. I only got a first name: Igor. He’s not street level. He’s got enough clout to have that fat cop on payroll.”
    â€œI told you Miller’s no rat. He’s been my partner for years. I trust him with my life every day — he’s solid.”
    â€œSolid like you? The CPR and the business card you gave me didn’t seem by the books.”
    Morrison grumbled before hanging up, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. I swore under my breath into the dead connection. I had misread the cop. All this time I took him to be as bent as the rest of us, but I got it wrong. He was bent, but he didn’t see it that way. In his mind, he was out for the greater good. He was a cop, and nothing he did was wrong because he was the law. Letting me out of the hospital was justifiable because it meant something worse would come in. Worse still, if Morrison thought he was a good cop, he would never really let me off — it would conflict with his own fucked-up logic. He would string me along until he achieved whatever goal he thought meted out justice, then he would turn on me. I was on the other side, and to a cop that meant I couldn’t get away.
    It had been years since I had met anyone who saw the world in sides. Simple logic made for dangerous people; they were easy enough to predict, but they brought chaos down all around them. Morrison had blinders on; he took an oath and wore a badge, and he figured everyone else felt the way he did about being a cop. He couldn’t swallow the fact that one of his own people worked off the books for the Russians. He defended Miller twice when the evidence pointed to the contrary. That kind of myopia was like deep-seated racism; the kind that was bred into kids from the moment they took in air. His beliefs wouldn’t wash away, and he would always be at their mercy. Morrison was blind and determined. He wouldn’t forget about me, and he would trail that fat cop and the Russians along behind him until they could take their own shot. More people were going to get hurt before Morrison was done. I figured it was best that I was the one doing the hurting — I already had a head start.

CHAPTER SIX
    T he next morning, I went for breakfast at a Greek restaurant near the motel. Greece on King was too nice for the neighbourhood, and I took advantage before management clued in and decided to relocate. I slid into a