Lowball: A Wild Cards Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

hard and so unexpected that it sent Franny stumbling into the chairs lining the walls of the waiting room. Mrs. Mallory reached up and stopped his tumble before he landed in her lap. Louise Mallory was a diminutive woman whose hulking joker son Davy ran with the Demon Princes. But Davy wasn’t too bright, and he certainly wasn’t very lucky. He was constantly getting arrested.
    Franny righted himself and looked at Sergeant Homer Taylor, currently manning the front desk. But Wingman didn’t say a word. Bugeye stomped through the gate and back into the precinct. “What’s up his ass?” Franny asked Homer.
    Wingman gave his drooping wings a shake that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a dying bat. “Couldn’t say,” he said, in tones that indicated he knew exactly what had precipitated the assault.
    Franny let it go and turned back to his rescuer. “Thank you, Mrs. Mallory, sorry I … stumbled. Here to bail out Davy?”
    “Yes, that boy just keeps getting into hijinks.”
    “He does that.”
    “ CO wants to see you in his office,” Wingman grunted.
    It was never a good thing when a patrolman was called into the brass’s office. Franny’s stomach became a small, hard knot against his spine. He wished he hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast.
    As he moved through the bullpen Franny became aware of the eyes. Everyone was staring at him. There were a few disgusted head shakes and several people looked pointedly away. God, what have I done?
    Beastie, all seven feet of him, fur, horns, and claws, stumped up to him, and laid a hand on Franny’s shoulder. The brown eyes gazing down at him were sorrowful and sympathetic. “Oh, Franny, dude.”
    Nothing else was forthcoming. Beastie mooched on. Franny made his way to Deputy Inspector Maseryk’s office. At his knock the nat yelled a come in . Franny obeyed.
    “Sir.”
    “Sit down, Black.”
    Franny took the proffered chair, but found himself perching on the edge as if preparing for flight.
    “You took your lieutenant’s exam.”
    “Yes, sir, I know I’m not technically eligible to be promoted, but I figured I could get in some practice.”
    “Well, you aced the damn thing.” Maseryk’s tone didn’t make it sound like a compliment.
    “Good?” Franny said diffidently. When there was no response he added an equally uncertain, “Thank you?”
    “The damn brass down at One Police Plaza have decided in their infinite wisdom to promote you early.”
    Franny sank against the back of the chair. It was all becoming horribly clear. This was why Bugeye had hit him. Resentment curdled his gut—how was it apparently everybody in the precinct had known about this before he did? He gave voice to none of that however. “That seems … ill advised,” he managed.
    “To put it mildly.”
    “So, why—”
    “Because we’ve been taking a beating over the corruption that’s been uncovered in the two-oh.”
    “Oh.”
    “The damn press just won’t let up so the brass decided to give them a new narrative. All about famous captain’s son steps up .” His tone underscored the irony. “But a story about a flatfoot isn’t news. A promotion, that’s news … and fortunately the media vultures all have ADD . They’ll stop writing about the two-oh and write about you until another scandal comes along.”
    Franny’s first impulse was to refuse, to not be a hand puppet for the Puzzle Palace, as the plaza was sometimes called. Balanced against that was the drive to live up to his father’s memory. To be not just a good cop, but maybe a great one. He had always wanted to make detective. His work thus far didn’t involve much investigation. It involved a lot of intimidation and running after people. Plainclothes, no more walking a beat; that’s when he realized he’d miss his beat and the people who depended on him—Mr. Wiley who ran the mask and cloak shop, Tina who managed the Starbucks, Jeff the bellman at the Jokertown Hyatt who spent most of his day out front