Seize the Night

in the commission of any crime. You don't have any right to seize them,” I protested. “I know my Second Amendment rights.”
    To Bobby, Manuel said, “You think I'm out of line, too?”
    “You can do what you want,” Bobby said.
    “Your board head buddy here is smarter than he looks,” Manuel told me.
    Testing Manuel's self-control, trying to determine if there were any limits to the lawlessness in which the police were willing to engage, Bobby said, “An ugly, psychotic asshole with a badge can always do what he wants.”
    “Exactly,” Manuel said.
    Manuel Ramirez—neither ugly nor psychotic—is three inches shorter, thirty pounds heavier, twelve years older, and noticeably more Hispanic than I am, he likes country music, while I'm born for rock-'n'-roll, he speaks Spanish, Italian, and English, while I'm limited strictly to English and a few comforting mottoes in Latin, he's full of political opinions, while I find politics boring and sleazy, he's a great cook, but the only thing I can do well with food is eat it. In spite of all these differences and many others, we once shared a love of people and a love of life that made us friends.
    For years he had worked the graveyard shift, the top cop of the night, but since Chief Lewis Stevenson died one month ago, Manuel had been head of the department. In the night world where I had met him and become his friend, he was once a bright presence, a good cop and a good man.
    Things change, especially here in the new Moonlight Bay, and although he now works the day, he has given his heart to darkness and is not the person I once knew.
    “Any one else here?” Manuel asked.
    “No.”
    I heard Feeney and the other deputy talking in the foyer—and then footsteps on the stairs.
    “Got your message,” Manuel told me. “The license number.” I nodded.
    “Sasha Goodall was at Lilly Wing's house last night.”
    “Maybe it was a Tupperware party,” I said.
    Breaking the magazine out of the Glock, Manuel said, “You two showed up just before dawn. You parked behind the garage and came in the back way.”
    “We needed some Tupperware,” Bobby said.
    “Where were you all night?”
    “Studying Tupperware catalogs,” I said.
    “You disappoint me, Chris.”
    “You think I'm more the Rubbermaid type?”
    Manuel said, “I never knew you to be a smartass.”
    “I'm a man of countless facets.”
    A subdued response to his questioning would be interpreted as fear, and any show of fear would invite harsher treatment. We both knew that the perverse martial law in force during this emergency had never been legally declared, and though it was unlikely that any authority would ever hold Manuel or his men accountable for high crimes or misdemeanors, he couldn't be certain there would be no consequences for his illegal acts. Besides, he'd once been a by-the-book lawman, and beneath all his self justification, he still had a conscience. Wise ass remarks were my way—and Bobby's way—of reminding Manuel that we knew as well as he did that his authority was now mostly illegitimate and that pushed too hard, we would resist it.
    “Don't I disappoint you, too?” Bobby asked.
    “I've always known what you are,” Manuel said, dropping the pistol magazine into one of his pockets.
    “Likewise. You should change brands of face makeup. Shouldn't he change brands of makeup, Chris?”
    “Something that covers better,” I said.
    “Yeah,” Bobby said to Manuel, “I can still see the three sixes on your forehead.”
    Without responding, Manuel tucked my Glock under his belt.
    “Did you check out the license number?” I asked him.
    “Useless. The Suburban was stolen earlier in the evening. We found it abandoned this afternoon, near the marina.”
    “Any leads?”
    “None of this is your business. I've got two things to say to you, Chris. Two reasons I'm here. Stay out of this.”
    “Is that number one?”
    “What?”
    “Is that number one of the two? Or is that bonus advice?”
    “Two things we can remember,” Bobby said. “But if there's a lot of bonus advice, we'll have to take notes.”
    “Stay out of this,” Manuel repeated, speaking to me and ignoring Bobby.
    There was no unnatural luminosity in his eyes, but the hard edge in his voice was as chilling as animal eye shine. “You've used up all the get-out-of jail-free cards you had any right to expect from me. I mean it, Chris.” A crash came from upstairs. A heavy piece of furniture had been tipped