Prior Bad Acts

4

SAM KOVAC STOOD in front of the mirror in the john down the hall from the Criminal Investigative Division offices, his shirt half-off. He needed to go to the gym, except that he hadn’t been in a gym since he’d been in a uniform. A long damn time ago.

Now that he was on the downhill side of forty, he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t do something about that. But the notion of sweating and making a fool of himself in front of the young hot bods that populated health clubs, an obvious and pathetic display of midlife crisis, was enough to make him leave his jockstrap in the drawer. Nor was he interested in hanging out in the weight room with the muscleheads who wore the Minneapolis PD uniform, the guys who reeked of testosterone and couldn’t buy shirts off the rack. Bunch of freaks. Probably most of them were trying to overcompensate for small dicks, or homosexual tendencies, or the fact that they used to get the snot pounded out of them for their lunch money every day when they were kids.

Kovac assessed himself with a critical eye. He looked like an old tomcat that had taken his share of licks in alley fights and had dished out plenty of his own. A scar here, a scar there, a cranky expression, a twice-broken, high-bridged nose. His hair was equal parts brown and gray and had a tendency to stand up. Partly from his Slovak heritage and partly because he never paid more than ten bucks for a haircut.

But overall, he didn’t think he looked that bad. No beer gut. No hair sprouting out his ears. Women had never run screaming at the sight of him. At least none that weren’t wanted for something.

At his last department-mandated physical, the doctor had preached at him that it wasn’t too late to reverse the damage he had done to himself smoking and drinking and living on a steady diet of sodium, fat, and job stress. Kovac had told the doctor if he had to give up all that, he might as well eat his gun, because he wouldn’t have anything left to live for.

The men’s room door swung in and Nikki Liska stepped inside.

“Jesus, the least you could do is go into a stall,” she said.

Kovac scowled at her. “Very funny. What the hell are you doing in here? This is the men’s room, for Christ’s sake!”

“So where are they?” Liska challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. “The least I could get out of this is a sneak peek at a little throbbing manhood.”

Kovac felt his cheeks heat. Liska had been his partner for enough years that he should have been immune to her mouth, but she never ceased to outdo herself. Her personality was her loudest, largest feature. The rest of her was five-five with big blue eyes and a white-blond pixie haircut. To the unsuspecting, she looked sweet and perky. But the last guy to call her that had gone home from the party with a limp.

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t make a big deal,” Kovac warned.

“You, Sam Kovac, are an optimist.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m a pragmatist.”

“You’re full of shit,” Liska said, marching into the room. She walked right up to him and smacked him on the arm. “The patch!”

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

She admired the fresh nicotine patch affixed to his upper arm. Kovac pulled his shirt back on and started doing the buttons, grumbling under his breath.

Liska leaned back against the counter. “I thought you told the doctor to take a hike.”

“I told him I have shoes older than he is,” Kovac groused. “It’s got nothing to do with him. You know I try to quit once a year. It’s an annual event. It’s like a holiday.”

He had only tried quitting more times than he could count. It never lasted more than a few weeks, a month at the outside. Something always happened that made him think he should just enjoy himself, because in any given moment he could become a statistic. He was a homicide cop. A sunny outlook didn’t come with the job.

“Nothing to do with Tim Metzger having a heart attack last week,” Liska said.

Kovac didn’t answer her. He focused on tying his tie. It was hard enough to face mortality on his own terms. If he had to share his feelings with Liska-or anyone else-he would sooner have thrown himself in front of a bus.

Liska looked up at him, speculating. “Are you seeing someone and not spilling all the details to me?”

Scowling, Kovac straightened the knot in his tie and snugged it up against his collar. “Did you come in here for some other reason than trying to see a dick?”

“We’re up,” she said.

“That’s what I get for hanging around to do my paperwork. What is it?”

“Assault,” she said. “In the government center parking ramp. Get this. Our vic is none other than the Honorable Judge Moore.”

“ Moore?” Kovac said with disgust. “Can’t we just leave her for dead?”