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tall dude with black hair. His Ray Ban aviators scream FBI. “This is Agent Nick Farley.”
    Bingo. I remember this guy. He was the head agent in that rock star case last year, Taylor something. Farley was commended on the successful rescue of Taylor’s girlfriend. I recognized the name, having seen the band Taylor plays for in concert. Devil’s Lair is a kickass rock band that Rob and I have seen a few times in Manhattan. Farley was promoted after that case. Farley’s presence means something good is coming. The anticipation that starts coursing through me causes my leg to jiggle instantly under the table on its own accord. I almost laugh out loud at the dread that’s all over Rob’s face. We are opposite in every way.
    They join us at the metal table that’s centered in the room. Farley looks at me and says, “You Stone?” I nod, offering my hand. He shakes it firmly and then turns to Rob. “So, that makes you Withers? Or do you prefer Batman and Robin?”
    Rob grimaces, following suit with his own handshake. “Stone and Withers will do, thanks.”
    Farley laughs at our expense. “I’m just bustin’ you. Sergeant Lawrence speaks very highly of you.”
    Sarge scoffs. “All I said was that they were the best of this crew. That doesn’t say much.” That’s just like Sarge to knock us off our pedestal.
    “All kidding aside, I read through your files. Very impressive.”
    “Thanks,” we both say in chorus.
    Farley removes his aviators, opens the file he carried in, and points to the picture that’s stapled to the inside cover. “Victor Politto Jr., have you heard of him?”
    The name causes the excitement I was feeling just a few seconds ago to turn sour. I haven’t thought of that name in years. I haven’t had to.
    “Mob.”
    Farley looks over and nods. “One of the front men in the Volante family. Politto’s specialty is drug trafficking.” He points at us and says, “Also your specialty.”
    He’s right. We do specialize in narcs. Choosing narcotics was personal. Eradicating every lowlife drug dealer from the streets of New York is my one and only purpose in life.
    Farley continues to tell us about the case. They’ve been trying to get Politto, and his moving to New York recently is a perfect opportunity to get that done. We are a front to the FBI investigation. Drugs are not what the FBI wants him for. We will be flies in his paint, a nuisance to his existence, decoys.
    “What brought him here?” I ask.
    “Our guess is because of his nephew, Frank. Frank has been running New York, and he’s getting sloppy. Politto is a control freak. If anyone fucks up, they’re out. We need to nail Frank before he vanishes.”
    “Vanishes?” Rob asks sarcastically.
    “Literally.”
    That’s the word on Politto. There’s never proof. Theories have circulated that he keeps acid in barrels in a hidden warehouse somewhere. This scum deserves a dose of his own medicine. Just because I’m a cop doesn’t mean I believe in our judicial system. There’s a lot to be said about corporal punishment…an eye for an eye, a cock for a rape, etc.
    Rob watches me from across the table. He knows what I’m thinking. He claims that the combination of my past and my unconventional thoughts on how I believe justice should be served, gives him heartburn. You can tell by the look on his face, this is one of those times.
    “Read through the file.” Farley pulls out two cards from his wallet. “We’ll meet at this address tomorrow at nine a.m.” He stands, and Sarge follows. “You can call the number on the back if you have questions before tomorrow.”
    On their way out Sarge gives us a curt nod, which translates to “ Don’t fuck this up ” in Sarge language.
    The minute they close the door, Rob is on me. “You aren’t the one for this case.”
    “Fuck off. I’m perfect for this case.”
    “Really?” Rob folds his arms and raises his eyebrows. “You’re invested, Ben.”
    I ignore him and slide the