Howtown by Michael Nava Page A

Rossi what had happened—putting himself in the best light, of course—and then listened to Rossi’s reply, his anger was replaced by petulance.
    He clanged down the phone. “I thought I told you to get out of here,” he snapped.
    I got up and made my way to the door, where the other cop still stood, his expression troubled as I edged past him.
    “Uh, what should I do?” he asked Morrow.
    “Let him go.”
    “Thanks, kid,” I told the cop. “See you at Winchell’s.”
    Mention of Winchell’s reminded me about breakfast, so I headed over to the doughnut shop, where I bought a large coffee and a sugary bran muffin and sat down to leaf through the packet I’d extorted from Morrow. I’d just finished the medical examiner’s report—rather well-written, considering the subject matter—when someone said. “Hi.”
    I looked up. It was the young cop, cruller and coffee in hand.
    “Hello.”
    He smiled tentatively. “You sure pissed Morrow off.”
    “You helped.”
    The kid shrugged. “He gets like that sometimes. He don’t mean nothing by it.”
    “Did he tell you to follow me?”
    “It’s my regular break.”
    It looked like he planned to stand there until I asked him to sit down, so I did. “What’s your name, again?”
    He squeezed into the chair across from me. “Ben Vega,” he said, setting his breakfast down. He extended a hand flaked with sugar.
    “Henry Rios,” I replied. His palm sported a weightlifter’s calluses. “What did Morrow tell you?”
    “He didn’t—”
    “Come on, Ben. Cut the crap.”
    He got points for grinning instead of affecting indignation. “He told me to keep an eye on you, that’s all. He’s just pissed, is all. He won’t even remember by the time I get back.”
    “You seem to know him pretty well.”
    “We’ve known each other since high school.” He tapped the papers. “What’s this?”
    “ People versus Windsor . You know about the case?”
    He nodded. “Sure, everyone does. He’s the child molester. How can you defend a guy like that?”
    “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that question I’d be retired by now,” I replied. “So do you really want an answer or were you just asking so you can feel superior to me?”
    Startled, but game, Vega said, “Yeah, I want an answer. Really.”
    “Well, the answer changes depending on the case,” I replied. “Sometimes I defend someone because I think he deserves a break, or maybe just because I like him. And sometimes I do it because, whatever the guy’s done, worse has been done to him.” I grinned. “And sometimes I do it for money. And sometimes I do it because no one else will. Like this case.”
    “A guy like that don’t deserve a defense,” Vega said, biting into his cruller.
    I shrugged. “Well, there you are, the bottom line difference between cops and lawyers.” I sipped my coffee. “Is Morrow always so cranky?”
    Talking as he chewed, Vega said, “He arrested Windsor the last time.”
    “In the child molest case?”
    Vega nodded. “Before he was Homicide he worked Sex Crimes.” He gulped some coffee and took another bite of cruller, eating with a child’s avidity. “He was pissed off when the DA dumped the case. I guess he took it personal and …” He trailed off, flustered. “Listen, you’re Windsor’s lawyer. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
    “You haven’t told me anything I wouldn’t have found out anyway, Ben. Finish your doughnut.”
    He munched away, scattering sugar across his shirt. “You like being an attorney?”
    “I’ve been at it so long I’ve stopped thinking about whether I like it or not. It’s just part of who I am. What about you? You like being a cop?”
    “It’s okay,” he said, hesitantly. “I liked it better when I was on patrol.”
    “You’re not now?”
    “They got me working the counter, doing paperwork and like that. I pulled a muscle in my back, that’s why,” he explained.
    “Lifting weights?”
    He