Free Don't Look Twice by Andrew Gross Page B

be right up,” Hauck said to Vern, reaching for his jacket.
    He was just processing the paperwork now to let the kid go.
    His cell phone rang. A number he didn’t recognize.
    â€œTy…”
    Hauck was surprised to hear his brother’s voice. “Warren…”
    â€œChrist, Ty, I called as soon as I heard. Ginny called me. I’m up in Hartford. Jesus, are you alright?”
    Warren was two years older. He’d built a tidy law practice for himself up near Hartford, gotten cozy with a bunch of the movers and shakers up there. Built the big house for himself and Ginny. Kids in some fancy school. He never seemed to have much time for anyone, even getting the cousins together. It had been that way for years. Hauck couldn’t even remember what had drawn them apart.
    â€œYeah, Warren, I’m alright.”
    â€œWhat about Jessie?” Warren asked. “I heard she was there too.”
    â€œShe’s okay as well. Just a little shocked. She’s back in Brooklyn with her mom.”
    â€œCan’t exactly blame her, can you? This is fucking crazy, Ty! Right there in town…What kind of riffraff are you letting through there these days, anyway? The TV’s saying it’s revenge?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Hauck said. “Maybe.”
    â€œThat you got someone in the pen?”
    â€œI can’t exactly talk about that right now. You looking for a gig, Warren?”
    His brother chuckled. “Not exactly my clientele, little brother.”
    Hauck’s thoughts went to the hundreds of times he’d wondered why they were no longer close. Growing up, they had shared a room until Hauck was ten. Fought over who rode “shotgun” in the family car, dibs on the bathroom. Like a lot of brothers, they were always challenging each other. On the court. For friends. Always rivals.
    â€œWhen I heard…” Warren said tightly, seemingly unableto finish. “You know I rely on you, Ty. Anyway, where the hell else am I gonna turn to get my clients’ kids out of those traffic tickets, right?”
    â€œYeah, I figure you owe at least the kitchen in that house of yours to me,” Hauck said, laughing.
    â€œAt least.” His brother paused. “You know, we ought to get together, Ty. It’s been way too long. What are your plans for Thanksgiving? You could come up.”
    â€œThat might work,” Hauck said, taken by surprise. “Lemme see.”
    â€œYou could bring Jessie. The cousins could get together. We haven’t done that in a while.”
    â€œNo, we haven’t. Sounds good, Warren. But maybe just me.”
    â€œWhatever. Sounds like a plan.”
    There was a knock on the glass. Brenda, tapping her watch, pointing upstairs. “Listen, Warren, I gotta scoot…”
    â€œGo ahead. I just wanted to hear your voice. Let you know I was thinking of you. You nail these bastards, huh, bro? And hey—Thanksgiving, right?”
    â€œThanksgiving,” Hauck agreed. “And, Warren…” He wished he could think of something more meaningful to say. “Thanks for the call, guy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    H auck knocked on the door of the chief’s office, at the end of a long hall lined with portraits of past chiefs, overlooking Mason Street.
    What he found wasn’t a surprise.
    â€œCome on in, Ty…”
    Fitzpatrick rose, dressed in a V-neck sweater and a plaid shirt. Seated across from him were two men, one balding, ruddy complexioned, in a navy sport jacket and open shirt. The other was black, stocky, in uniform: tan suit, crisp dress shirt, club tie. Even on Sunday.
    â€œTy, I want you to meet Jim Sculley…” The balding man stood up and put out his hand. “And Stan Taylor. They’re from—”
    â€œI’m pretty sure I know where special agents Sculley and Taylor are from,” Hauck replied. For a year after 9/11, he had been an NYPD liaison officer to