Let the Devil Out by Bill Loehfelm Read Free Book Online Page A

herself to forget they were talking in the park, wearing their civilian clothes. Preacher was her direct superior. She had to stop abusing his patience.
    â€œThat’s not the case,” he said. “I’m not applying grease on anybody’s behalf. This comes on the QT from my sources in the department. Our department. Like maybe somebody in Homicide, a tall blond Detective Somebody who you already owe a world of favors, is tipping me some info. I’m not supposed to know this shit, and you sure as hell aren’t supposed to know it. We’re not even supposed to be talking, remember? But here I am anyway, like I’ve been the past six weeks. I’m here for you, Coughlin. For your sake. Not for anyone else’s. You should do this favor for the FBI. It could be good for you. It could be good for the department, which you owe a few favors. Most important, lest you forget the point of what we do, helping the FBI might help us catch some bad guys. Serious bad guys out to hurt cops. Learn how to accept a favor.”
    Maureen felt a hot wave of shame. She raised her hands, puffed out her cheeks. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
    Preacher had protected her from the moment she had climbed into the police cruiser as his trainee. He had protected her from the bad guys, from bad cops, from herself. And not just her. He watched over everyone in the Sixth District. Here was the one guy in New Orleans she could trust, and she was shit-talking to his face. She’d stop, right then.
    Tomorrow, she thought, she would be a real cop again. No more pretending, no more running the streets in an oversized sweatshirt, hiding her face. She should feel nothing but relief. Instead, though, she felt the oily stain of compromise.
    Do us one more favor, the men in charge said. It’s right here in my hand, what you want. All I have to do is slide it across the table. Shake that ass for tips one more time. Then we’ll stop asking. Except they never did. Not today. Not tomorrow. She thought of her plans for later that night. She could let them go. She could stay home. Tomorrow, she would be a cop again. Right, she thought. Tomorrow. Which meant not tonight. Tonight she remained whatever it was she had become, what she had made herself into, over the past six weeks. She’d refused to put a name on it. If she named that other self, she thought, it might stay.
    One more night, she thought. One more time. On my terms.
    Because you’ve never told yourself those words before. Not ever. Not a million times.
    â€œTell me one thing,” Maureen said. “Tell me they’re not making me a rat. Promise me that they’re not gonna sell me to the DOJ when they’re done with me. Tell me that’s not the price tag. That Justice wants someone of their own undercover in the department. Someone easy to use, who they can hurt. Did they come to me because they don’t have the nerve to ask this of Atkinson? Because she’s clean. Because they got nothing on her.”
    â€œI’ve heard nothing,” Preacher said, “about the Department of Justice. Or about this being some kind of permanent snitching gig for the feds. It should be the one favor.”
    Maureen laughed. “C’mon, Preacher. There’s never just one favor. Admit it. Skinner finally decided to bring me back because the FBI showed up and gave him a chance to do them a favor. I do this favor for the feds and I get my job back. I’m not stupid. Nobody’s doing anything for my benefit. I’m the perfect puppet. Quid pro quo, little bird.” She rubbed her eyes, sat on the bench. “Here I am accusing you of being the FBI’s bitch, when in the end, it’s me who’s going to be their bitch.”
    â€œI don’t know for a fact,” Preacher said, emphatic, “that your reinstatement continges on you talking to this FBI guy, but, whether it does or it doesn’t, doing the feds a solid