Lieberman's Choice by Stuart M. Kaminsky

he resembled Pat Riley, the coach of the New York Knicks.
    â€œEl Viejo,” said Emiliano, sitting up. “My men are getting a railroad here.”
    â€œI weep for you, Emiliano,” said Lieberman, moving to the last chair in the room, a metal folding chair with the paint chipping to show the dull metal beneath.
    â€œI appreciate that,” El Perro said sincerely. “Este puerco … ”
    â€œWhat did I tell you?” Querez interrupted with a patient smile. “You watch your mouth, or you’ll be learning sign language.”
    â€œI like him,” said El Perro, pointing at Querez.
    â€œWe got two of Del Sol’s gang on an armed robbery,” said Querez. “Wertzel’s TV on Crawford. Witnesses, even videotape. One of them has a prior conviction, one of them has a pair.”
    â€œHey,” said El Perro, standing up and filled with indignation. “We ain’t no gang. We’re a club, Tentáculos. We do good stuff. You know that, Viejo. We play baseball. You want to see our bats and balls?”
    â€œSientase, Emiliano,” Querez said, getting up from behind the desk.
    â€œI think you should sit,” said Lieberman.
    Emiliano Del Sol sat and played with his nose.
    â€œThey got Fernandez and Piedras,” said El Perro. “They wouldn’t do a thing like that. You know that?”
    Arturo Fernandez was a broomstick who always dressed in black and had a passion for very young girls. Piedras, whose real name was Jesus Montoya, was a violent hulk with no measurable IQ.
    â€œHow old are you, Emiliano?” asked Lieberman.
    El Perro shrugged.
    â€œYou’re twenty-eight,” Lieberman went on. “The last time I arrested you, you were fifteen.”
    â€œYou was the first cop to arrest me,” said El Perro with pride. “When I was a little crap-ball maybe nine, ten, verdad, Rabbi?”
    â€œWhat do you want, Emiliano?” asked Lieberman.
    â€œYou’re on the Shepard shit, right? Cop up there on that building who blasted shit out of his wife and some cop?”
    â€œI’m on it,” said Lieberman.
    â€œI know Shepard,” said El Perro. “Duro, hard, thinks he is El Dios himself. You gonna have a hard time getting him down. People gonna get dead.”
    â€œNow I see,” said Lieberman. “You’ve decided to go straight. You’re going to be a news analyst and you want me to get you a job on the Tribune.”
    El Perro stopped playing with his nose and laughed. He looked at Querez who was still smiling, and then at Lieberman, who wasn’t smiling at all.
    â€œI can get him,” said El Perro.
    Lieberman and Querez said nothing. El Perro went on.
    â€œWhen I was a kid, when you bust me I was the best burglar you ever seen, right?”
    â€œYou were talented,” Lieberman admitted. “But you got caught.”
    â€œI was a kid,” he said impatiently. “I ain’t been caught since I was fifteen, not that I done anything, except that one time by Shepard, and I got out of that. But it took you to really catch me, Viejo.”
    â€œI’m honored,” said Lieberman.
    â€œYou should be. Hey, I can do stuff cops can’t do,” whispered El Perro. “You know that. I go up there I got no rules.”
    â€œAnd in exchange for this gracious act of public service?” asked Lieberman.
    â€œFernandez and Piedras walk,” El Perro said. “Innocent men walk.”
    Lieberman looked at Querez, who blinked his eyes slowly.
    Silence.
    â€œPues, dígame algo,” said El Perro, looking at Lieberman.
    Querez pushed a button on his phone and didn’t answer. Less than three seconds later, two uniformed officers stepped into the room. Both of them were big. Neither was smiling.
    â€œFind out where we can reach Mr. Del Sol if we need him,” said Querez. “And escort him to the street.”
    El Perro stood up, looked at Lieberman