“And he was a real bastard to work with,” I said, staggered again by the passing of time.
“It saved your life,” he said.
That was true enough. “You didn’t think I’d make it.”
“Yes, I did. Robin, you should have seen Mapstone the first time he arrested this hooker we called Speedy Gonzales. He didn’t know Speedy was a transvestite.”
“Ha. Ha,” I said. “And I remember the night you almost single-handedly started a riot at the Marcos de Niza projects…”
“Two young studs still competing,” Robin said and laughed.
We were watching the Pete’s Fish ‘n Chips, which had been here as long as I could remember. The place had survived the building up of south Phoenix, which was once heavily agricultural and bounded by the Japanese flower gardens that ran on either side of Baseline Road. But south Phoenix was also the poor part of town on the other side of the tracks and the Salt River. That part still survived. Pete’s had outdoor seating on picnic tables next to the small building, lit by overhead fluorescent lights that cast a white glow out on the otherwise deserted streetscape. At the moment, half a dozen young Latino men sat there, holding court.
“I thought you said…”
“Be patient,” he said.
Sure enough, they paraded out to their cars and sped off going north. The picnic tables were entirely deserted for ten minutes.
Peralta shifted in his seat. “Here we go.”
A white SUV pulled in, its mandatory spinning hubcaps running. Four black guys stepped out and walked to the order window. They kept a loud hip-hop number playing out of the open windows. Lyrics about the wrong place at the wrong time.
“No colors?” I asked.
“There’s less of that now,” Peralta said. “They don’t want to give P.C. to law enforcement.” Probable cause.
We were no longer law enforcement, but in minutes we were out of the truck, waiting to cross the scanty traffic on Central. On Peralta’s orders, Robin waited in the locked cab.
“You ought to join me as a P.I.”
“No. Why would I want to spend every day with you out in that shack on Grand Avenue?”
“What else are you going to do? I sent you that lawyer, Judson Lee. His case seemed right up your alley. Robin could work with us, too. I’ve already got more cases than I can handle.”
“No. And why did you do that? You’re not my boss anymore. We’ll sell the house and move to Washington.”
“She’ll be back.”
“Says you, the master of successful marriage.”
“You lost one, too, Mapstone, so don’t be smug. Not that Sharon didn’t warn you about Patty.”
