Forced Entry by Stephen Solomita Read Free Book Online Page A

inspired by intense cop curiosity, went unanswered. Moodrow was on the run; he was feeling great; he’d speak to them on Saturday night.
    Tilley decided not to wait. With Rose, the kids and Moodrow’s date around, there was no way he was going to get any straight answers. He wouldn’t even be able to ask the questions. Thus his presence in Moodrow’s apartment on Saturday afternoon while Moodrow prepared for his date.
    “Whatta ya think of this suit?” Moodrow asked, taking it out of the plastic garment bag and holding it up to the light. “It’s only a couple of months old. Cost me two hundred at one of the showrooms on 7th Avenue. I know the owner pretty well. Did him a favor once.”
    Tilley eyed the plain, brown wool suit Moodrow offered for his inspection, concluding that it had so little to distinguish it, it might have been any age younger than shiny and any price lower than expensive. “I think it’s the real you, Stanley.”
    “Do the ‘real me’ a favor and don’t be a smartass,” Moodrow replied evenly. “I wanna make a good impression. She’s a fucking lawyer .”
    “Does that mean she specializes in litigation involving intercourse?” Tilley, who expected no answer and got none from the imperturbable Stanley Moodrow, still paused for effect. “Don’t be a prick. Tell me how you met her.” Tilley sipped at his Budweiser speculatively. “You know everything about Rose and me, probably including our love life. I gotta know how you met this broad.”
    “You know what Rose would do, if she heard you say ‘broad’?” Moodrow asked innocently. “She’d serve Lower East Side prairie oysters tonight.” He paused long enough to giggle at his own humor. “Betty wouldn’t take shit from anyone, either. That’s what I like about her.”
    “You want me to beg, or what, ya fuck?” Tilley asked, tossing a pillow at his ex-partner. “Tell me how you met the woman. The last time I saw you, you were puking on your shoes in the Killarney Harp. Now you’re glowing like a goddamn Hare Krishna health freak.”
    “Actually, Betty called me . She’s a Legal Aid lawyer.”
    “A what?” Just the sound of the words “Legal Aid” made Tilley’s hackles rise. Legal Aid lawyers were the ones who pored over the police reports and the warrants, looking for an undotted “i” or an uncrossed “t.” They were the ones who worked you over on the witness stand, implying that your shield, the gold shield of the detective coveted by generations of cops, was no more than proof of your incompetence and corruption.
    “I was sitting here one afternoon,” Moodrow continued, “trying to wake up (this is about a week ago) when the phone rings. A lot of the time when I’m hung over, I don’t answer the phone, but this time the fucking bell was going off between my ears. My whole brain was vibrating and I couldn’t think of any way to stop it without picking it up.
    “It turns out to be this Legal Aid lawyer, Betty Haluka. She says she got my number from the mother of one of her clients, Estelle Lopez, who I happen to know. Then Haluka says she thinks her client’s innocent, but she can’t prove it by herself. She’s got an incredible caseload and there’s an attack on a cop involved, so the Assistant DA won’t help her investigate and, naturally, the cops don’t wanna hear about it, either.
    “Now here’s the kicker. The client, Henry Lopez, is charged with assault, atrocious assault, drug possession, weapons possession, loitering with intent to sell narcotics and resisting arrest. He’s got a string of priors and even though his priors are all misdemeanors, if he goes to trial and he’s found guilty, he’s gonna get twenty years. On the other hand, if Lopez wants to plead guilty, they’ll drop everything but the assault and let him off with a year at Rikers Island.
    “At first, I was gonna hang up the phone and forget about it. That’s how bad I was hung over, but I was curious, too. I wanted