that I resembled a character in a slasher film. The paramedic had to dab a clotting agent on nearly every cut, and by the time he finished the collars of both my shirt and jacket were stained red. I wasn’t complaining, though. Just one look at the Audi—my beautiful fifty-thousand-dollar sports car—and you could see how lucky I was.
The Audi had been killed. It was still hung up on the signpost. One tire had been shredded, along with the front left quarter panel and headlight. A pool consisting of motor oil, radiator coolant, transmission fluid, and windshield wash had formed beneath it. From where I sat in the parking lot of the Seeger Square strip mall, it looked like blood—at least until the fire department doused it with a flame retardant foam that transformed it into a sickly pink color. A yellow, three-inch wide POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape had been posted. A pair of cops stood outside the tape and cautiously merged Arcade’s two lanes of traffic into one and directed it around the crime scene while a half dozen more stood inside the tape and examined bullet holes. I was surprised by how few gawkers there were. The diners inside the Great Dragon and Taqueria Los Ocampo restaurants couldn’t even be bothered to come to the windows and look out. Then again, it was the East Side.
Two of the cops made their way up to the parking lot. I recognized them both. If I had seen them at Target Field or the Minnesota State Fair, I probably would have waved.
“McKenzie,” Bobby said.
“Commander Dunston,” I said.
“You all right?”
I stretched my aching back.
“Fit as a fiddle and ready for love,” I said.
Bobby nodded toward the woman standing next to him, his partner of the past three years whom he once described as “young, beautiful, smart as hell.”
“You know the sergeant,” he said.
“Hi, Jeannie,” I said.
“That’s Detective Shipman to you,” she said. She was smiling when she said it, though, so I didn’t take her seriously.
“What happened, McKenzie?” Bobby asked.
“Well, Officer, I was minding my own business, driving down the street—”
“Don’t screw with me, McKenzie. I’m not in the mood. Who shot at you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess,” Shipman said.
“I can’t.”
“Does this have anything to do with your trip to Thunder Bay?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t know.”
“McKenzie, this isn’t just about you.” He pointed at the elementary school on the hill behind the mall. “Other people could have been hurt, too.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Bobby turned to the paramedic, who was packing up his equipment.
“Excuse us, please.”
The paramedic nodded and moved to the front of his vehicle and climbed in behind the wheel. Shipman started to drift back to the crime scene.
“Not you.”
Bobby turned back to me.
“McKenzie,” he said, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re godfather to my eldest daughter. You’re the executor of my estate. My mother—Mom called Sunday. She said to tell you that if you don’t have any plans, you’re welcome to spend Thanksgiving with the family at her place in Wisconsin.”
“That’s kind of her.”
‘There’s no way that I could bring myself to arrest you.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“Sergeant Shipman, arrest McKenzie.”
Shipman stepped forward while reaching into her bag for handcuffs.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” I said.
“Hands on the vehicle, McKenzie,” Shipman said. “You know the drill.”
“What’s the charge?”
“During the thirty-six hours I can hold you without a charge, I bet we’ll think of something,” Bobby said.
Shipman grabbed a handful of my sports jacket and yanked me off the bumper. She was surprisingly strong.
“Turn around,” she said.
“You made your point,” I said.
“Hands against the vehicle, assume the position.”
“Bobby?”
“McKenzie?”
“I don’t know who they
The Audi had been killed. It was still hung up on the signpost. One tire had been shredded, along with the front left quarter panel and headlight. A pool consisting of motor oil, radiator coolant, transmission fluid, and windshield wash had formed beneath it. From where I sat in the parking lot of the Seeger Square strip mall, it looked like blood—at least until the fire department doused it with a flame retardant foam that transformed it into a sickly pink color. A yellow, three-inch wide POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape had been posted. A pair of cops stood outside the tape and cautiously merged Arcade’s two lanes of traffic into one and directed it around the crime scene while a half dozen more stood inside the tape and examined bullet holes. I was surprised by how few gawkers there were. The diners inside the Great Dragon and Taqueria Los Ocampo restaurants couldn’t even be bothered to come to the windows and look out. Then again, it was the East Side.
Two of the cops made their way up to the parking lot. I recognized them both. If I had seen them at Target Field or the Minnesota State Fair, I probably would have waved.
“McKenzie,” Bobby said.
“Commander Dunston,” I said.
“You all right?”
I stretched my aching back.
“Fit as a fiddle and ready for love,” I said.
Bobby nodded toward the woman standing next to him, his partner of the past three years whom he once described as “young, beautiful, smart as hell.”
“You know the sergeant,” he said.
“Hi, Jeannie,” I said.
“That’s Detective Shipman to you,” she said. She was smiling when she said it, though, so I didn’t take her seriously.
“What happened, McKenzie?” Bobby asked.
“Well, Officer, I was minding my own business, driving down the street—”
“Don’t screw with me, McKenzie. I’m not in the mood. Who shot at you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess,” Shipman said.
“I can’t.”
“Does this have anything to do with your trip to Thunder Bay?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t know.”
“McKenzie, this isn’t just about you.” He pointed at the elementary school on the hill behind the mall. “Other people could have been hurt, too.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Bobby turned to the paramedic, who was packing up his equipment.
“Excuse us, please.”
The paramedic nodded and moved to the front of his vehicle and climbed in behind the wheel. Shipman started to drift back to the crime scene.
“Not you.”
Bobby turned back to me.
“McKenzie,” he said, “I’ve known you since kindergarten. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re godfather to my eldest daughter. You’re the executor of my estate. My mother—Mom called Sunday. She said to tell you that if you don’t have any plans, you’re welcome to spend Thanksgiving with the family at her place in Wisconsin.”
“That’s kind of her.”
‘There’s no way that I could bring myself to arrest you.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“Sergeant Shipman, arrest McKenzie.”
Shipman stepped forward while reaching into her bag for handcuffs.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” I said.
“Hands on the vehicle, McKenzie,” Shipman said. “You know the drill.”
“What’s the charge?”
“During the thirty-six hours I can hold you without a charge, I bet we’ll think of something,” Bobby said.
Shipman grabbed a handful of my sports jacket and yanked me off the bumper. She was surprisingly strong.
“Turn around,” she said.
“You made your point,” I said.
“Hands against the vehicle, assume the position.”
“Bobby?”
“McKenzie?”
“I don’t know who they
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