The Devils Teardrop

request.
    Lukas nodded at Cage.
    “Who’s your client?” Cage asked.
    “I don’t have to answer.”
    “Yeah, Andy, you do have to answer,” Cage said.
    “My client’s identity is confidential,” Sloan recited.
    Two more agents arrived. “Under control?” one asked.
    “Yeah,” Cage muttered. “Get him up.”
    They pulled him roughly into a sitting position. Left him on the curb. Sloan glanced down at the front of his pants. The wet spot didn’t embarrass as much as infuriate him. “Asshole,” he muttered to Cage. “I got a law degree. I know my rights. I wanta take a video of you beating off in the bushes, I can do it. I’m on a public street here and—”
    Lukas came up behind him, bent down. “Who . . . is . . . your . . . client?”
    But Parker leaned forward, motioned Cage out of the streetlight so he could get a better look. “Wait. I know him.”
    “You do?” Lukas asked.
    “Yeah. I saw him at the Starbucks near me. And I think someplace else too in the last couple of days.”
    Cage kicked the man gently in the leg. “You been following my friend here? Huh? You been doing that?”
    Oh, no, Parker thought, finally understanding. Oh, Jesus . . . He said, “His client’s Joan Marel.”
    “Who?”
    “My ex-wife.”
    There was no reaction in Sloan’s face.
    Parker was in despair. He closed his eyes. Shit, shit, shit . . . Until tonight every foot of tape the private eye might’ve shot would have shown Parker to be a diligent father. Going to PTO meetings, chauffeuring twenty miles a day to school and sports practices, cooking, shopping, cleaning, wiping tears and working on Suzuki piano with the Whos.
    But tonight . . . of all nights. Sloan was an eyewitness to Parker’s being right smack in the middle of one of the city’s most dangerous police actions. In harm’s way, his children lied to and entrusted to a baby-sitter on a holiday . . .
    Mr. Kincaid, as you know, the judicial system will bend over backwards to place the children with their mother. In this case, however, we are inclined to place them with you, subject to the caveat that you can assure the court there will be no possibility that your career will in any way jeopardize the well-being of Robby and Stephanie . . .
    “That right?” Cage asked Sloan ominously.
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. She hired me.”
    Cage saw Parker’s expression and asked, “This a problem?”
    “Yeah, it’s a problem.”
    It’s the end of the world . . .
    Cage surveyed the private eye. “The custody fight thing?” he asked Parker.
    “Yes.”
    In disgust Lukas said, “Get him outa here. Give him back his camera.”
    “It’s broke,” Sloan snapped. “You’re going to pay for it. Oh, you bet you are.”
    Cage undid the cuffs. Sloan stood unsteadily. “I think I sprained my thumb. It hurts like a bitch.”
    “I’m sorry about that, Andy,” Cage said. “And how’re your wrists?”
    “They hurt. I gotta tell you, I’m going to have to file a complaint. She put ’em on way too tight. I’ve cuffed people. You don’t have to make ’em that tight.”
    What the hell was he going to do, Parker was thinking. He stared at the ground, hands shoved into his pockets.
    “Andy,” Cage asked, “were you the one following us on Ninth Street tonight? An hour ago?”
    “Maybe I was. But I wasn’t breaking any laws there either. Look it up, Officer. In public I can do whatever I want.”
    Cage walked up to Lukas. He whispered to her. She grimaced, looked at her watch then nodded reluctantly.
    “Look, Mr. Sloan,” Parker said. “Is there anyway we could talk about this?”
    “Talk? What talk? I give my client the tape, I tell her what I saw. That’s all there is to it. I may sue you too.”
    “Andy, here’s your wallet.” Cage walked up to him and handed it back. Then the tall agent lowered his head and whispered into Sloan’s ear. Sloan started to speak but Cage held up a finger. Sloan continued to listen. Two minutes later Cage stopped talking. He looked into Sloan’s eyes. Sloan asked one question. Cage shook his head, smiling.
    The agent walked back to Lukas and Parker, Sloan right behind.
    Cage said, “Now, Andy, tell Mr. Kincaid who your employer is.”
    Parker, still lost in his hopelessness, listened with half an ear.
    “Northeast Security Consultants,” the private eye said, hands together in front of him, as if he were still cuffed.
    “And what’s your position with them?”
    “I’m a