The October List

fucking useless view. But at least it was a view, unlike his cubicle, five or six or a thousand floors away, where the only thing he could feast his eyes on was the ass of Detective Laikisha Towne. Which was a lot to see. And that image appealed not in the least.
    Kepler now regarded the boxes and decided it was amusing, the labels. The boxes looked like they’d been here for months. So why hadn’t somebody just discarded them, per instructions?
    Welcome to the NYPD.
    The time was just after 11:00 a.m. You could smell old oil, garlic, fish – like you could in much of the building from time to time, depending on prevailing winds and humidity, given the proximity, and the relentless encroachment, of Chinatown. As for Little Italy: Arrivederci!
    ‘I’m hungry,’ Kepler said.
    ‘I am too. But.’
    ‘Where is everybody?’
    Surani didn’t know. So they took phone calls, they made phone calls.
    ‘Because,’ said Kepler, on his Droid, explaining to a perp he’d busted, now out on bond, ‘they wouldn’t knock it down any farther. It’s the best they’ll do, which means it’s the best you can do. Eighteen months. You can serve that standing on your head.’
    ‘Shit, man’ came Devon’s voice from the other end of the line.
    ‘Okay. Gotta go.’ Kepler disconnected, snuck a look at his warm brown arm once more. He didn’t tell anybody its source was the lamps of the Larchmont tanning salon, fifteen miles from home. He told people he jogged every day, he played golf, he swam.
    ‘That was Devon?’ Surani asked.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Eighteen months? Standing on his head? No way. He’s fucked.’
    ‘I know that. You know that. Devon will know it. Too bad but he shouldn’ta drove the getaway car.’
    ‘Which it wasn’t,’ Surani said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘The car. Nobody got away.’
    Kepler gave a laugh. ‘Captain’s late. They’re both late. And I’m hungry. You fucking ruled at trial yesterday.’
    Surani said with some modesty, ‘Yeah, that went good. I was happy. Good jury. I like good juries.’
    The two detectives bickered more than they complimented each other, and were sometimes downright insulting – but all forms of repartee were based on a similar affection. ‘Infuriating’ was a word that often arose.
    He and Surani had been lovers for the past seven years, and partners – in the professional sense – for four. Someday soon, one or the other would propose marriage. Kepler was pretty close to popping the question.
    And God save anybody on the force who made a single comment about it, lifted a single eyebrow, exhaled a single sigh.
    Kepler examined his phone again, to order takeaway. At the beginning of his address book on the Galaxy were three folders, !breakfast , !dinner , !lunch , the punctuation mark added so the files would stay first in line, before people. He was debating between the first and third – he was sort of in a pancake mood – when the brass finally cruised into the room.
    The promise of sausages and waffles went away, along with the phone itself, when the harried man, in a suit, strode inside. Wrinkled of face, boasting multiple chins, Captain Paul Barkley was in his late fifties. He carried the round belly of somebody who ate when it was convenient for him, not when the long hours and necessities of a case required him to grab breakfast to go when it was really lunchtime, or vice versa.
    Still, the man had a rep as righteous as Kepler’s tan – and far more genuine. Everybody knew Barkley had paid his dues and he carried bullet scars to prove it, according to legend. So none of the detectives griped, at least not too much, and definitely not to his face.
    ‘Gentlemen.’
    ‘Captain,’ Surani said. A nod from Kepler.
    ‘Busy day,’ Barkley muttered and looked at his iPhone to prove it. Read a text. Sent a text, ignoring the men.
    Kepler’s stomach protested. Waffles. He wanted waffles. Or maybe a club sandwich.
    Barkley snapped, ‘So, what’s this about? Request for an undercover op?’
    ‘Right,’ Kepler said.
    ‘Where’s Detective McNamara?’
    ‘On the way,’ Kepler said.
    ‘Well, get started.’ Barkley raised an intimidating eyebrow. Impatience ruled.
    ‘Well, you know, sir, we’re not sure. We didn’t put it together.’
    ‘It was—’ Surani stopped speaking and looked behind the captain, into the doorway. ‘Here’s the mastermind of the op. She can give you all the details. Hey, Gabby!’
    The beautiful but severe woman stepped into