The Guilty Plea by Robert Rotenberg

Jewish cop who was a good guy, and it opened doors for Greene. A year later there was a shooting at a backroom poker game down the street fromNick’s place, leaving one man dead. There were seven witnesses and no one was talking. After a few weeks had gone by, Greene dropped in to have a chat with Nick.
    “The tax people from Ottawa are going to hit the Danny. Do some audits,” Greene said over a glass of ouzo. “They think there’s lots of cash floating around the restaurants.”
    “The Danny, we’re always taking it in the neck,” Nick said. “Cops for everything. Parking. Garbage. We can’t even throw out a bag anymore.”
    “It’s ridiculous,” Greene agreed. “I know you’ve got nothing to hide, Nick—”
    “Of course not—”
    “I told them you were clean to save you the hassle. They’re not going to bug you.”
    Nick poured them both another glass, and the next day Greene had a name to give Hap Charlton, who back then was the homicide detective on the case.
    “Detective, such a long time. Who’s the beautiful young lady?” Nick said, walking with his usual limp to greet Greene in the doorway, taking Margaret Kwon’s hand in his own and bowing to kiss it. He wore a black-and-white uniform, his thinning hair slicked back over his narrow skull.
    “Nick, meet Margaret Kwon, a reporter from New York.”
    “My pleasure.” He let her hand go but didn’t take his eyes off her.
    “My pleasure,” Kwon said. “Keep calling me a beautiful young lady, I’ll come here every night.”
    Nick grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. “I have cousins who live in Queens.”
    “Nick has a cousin in every state in the union that a customer comes from,” Greene said.
    They all laughed.
    Kwon went to the washroom and Nick seated Greene at a small table tucked away at the end of the patio. The sound and smell of garlic sizzling in olive oil followed them through the big French doors.
    “Detective, I have a question for you,” Nick whispered, slipping into the seat across from Greene. “Most cops your age, I see them. Divorced. Always with the young ones. But you like more than a pretty face. And not so young.”
    It was almost eight-thirty, and the sky was still bright in the west. The last rays of sun lit up the clouds. Greene lifted the long menu. “Brains. I like brains. You serve them?”
    Nick smacked the table. He spotted Kwon coming onto the patio and waved her over. “Here comes your special dish.”
    Kwon smiled when she arrived at the table.
    Nick stood and bowed again. Unlike the tables inside, which were made of dark wood, those outside were covered in gaudy plastic tablecloths. He took it off in three efficient folds.
    “Why are you doing that?” Kwon asked.
    Nick looked at Greene and grinned. “The detective never eats in a restaurant with tablecloths.” He kissed her hand again and slipped away.
    “I love the street life out here,” Kwon said.
    “See that restaurant?” Greene pointed to the south side of the street. “That’s where they filmed the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding .”
    They ordered the house Greek salad for two and shared a plate of hummus and another of tzatziki, with olives on the side. Kwon told Greene that her two younger sisters were both doctors. “I’m a failure in the eyes of my father,” she said, “no matter how many cover stories I get.”
    Greene laughed. “The fate of all children of immigrants,” he said.
    She slid an olive into her mouth. “I’ve got something to show you.” She dove into the oversize bag she’d slung over the back of her chair and pulled out a small digital camera. “April Goodling in her hotel room at the moment she heard Terrance Wyler was dead.”
    Greene looked away. He watched the stream of people walking on the Danforth. Not a care in the world.
    “Don’t you want to see it?” Kwon asked. “I’m thinking of the headline: ‘April Rains.’”
    “Not my style,” he said. “Invading people’s privacy like