"Fuck you, Parker!"

"I'm calling you a rat! Who put you here?" Parker shouted.

"What's the matter with you? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm pissed off," he said, getting in her face. To her credit, she didn't back down. "I don't like being played. What did you give Bradley Kyle when he came in here?"

"You fucking asshole. Why should I tell you anything?"

"What did you give him?"

"Everything you didn't take with you," she admitted.

"You told them about Davis, gave them his address?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You always always have a choice, Ruiz. You could have told them I had have a choice, Ruiz. You could have told them I had everything everything with me. You could have left out the information about Davis's house." with me. You could have left out the information about Davis's house."

"They're taking the case!" she said, frustrated. "Don't you get that? It's not yours anymore, Parker. What's the difference if I gave them the information now instead of later? They still end up with the information."

Fuentes stuck his head out of his office. "What the hell is going on here?"

"He's crazy!" Ruiz said, then spouted off the Spanish version in case Fuentes hadn't gotten it the first time.

"In my office," Fuentes said. "Both of you. Now."

"I've got to go," Parker said, starting to walk away. "I've got a job to do."

"In here, Kev. I mean it."

Parker stopped and weighed his pros and cons. Fuentes wouldn't do anything if he walked. But if he walked, Ruiz would have time to regroup. He wanted this over. Now.

They went into Fuentes' office, Ruiz going to one side of the room, Parker staying near the door. He didn't wait for Fuentes to set the tone. He faced the captain and said, "Where did she come from? Who assigned her here?"

"Don't be so paranoid," Fuentes said.

"He's out of his freaking mind," Ruiz said, crossing her arms tightly beneath her breasts.

Parker threw his hands up and turned around in a little circle. "Why will no one answer the damn question?"

"She came from the Gang-"

"Don't bullshit me!" Parker shouted. "I know she didn't come out of the Latin gangs task force."

"If you don't like the answers to your questions, stop asking them," Fuentes said, a little too calm. "It is what it is, Kev."

"Right. It is what it is," he said, nodding. "I know she's lying, therefore I can assume you're lying too."

Fuentes didn't bother to object. "She's your trainee. What difference does it make where she comes from? Your job is to train her."

"It matters if that's not the reason she's here," Parker said. "What are you, Ruiz? A Robbery-Homicide mole? An Internal Affairs rat? Take your pick of rodents."

Once again no one answered him. Ruiz and Fuentes exchanged looks that said they clearly knew something Parker didn't. He watched them, marveling at the fact that he could still expect something from someone, from Fuentes at least. He should have learned that lesson long ago. He thought he had. Maybe he had simply resigned himself, and now that he finally had a case where he could prove himself, the numbness was wearing off.

"Fuck this," he said, and turned to the door.

"Parker, where do you think you're going?"

"I've got a job to do."

"You're off Lowell," Fuentes said. "You have to hand everything over to Robbery-Homicide before they get really pissed off and decide to charge you with obstruction."

"They can do whatever they want," Parker said. "I don't know what their reasons are for taking this, but I'm starting to put the pieces together and I don't like the picture I'm coming up with. I'm not just going to hand them the reins and walk off into the sunset."

"You could lose your career over this, Kev," Fuentes said. "Stay out of their way."

"I don't care," Parker said, resting his hand on the doorknob. "Fire me if you want to, if you don't want to take the heat. You can take my job, but this case is mine, and I'm seeing it through, even if I have to do it as a private citizen."

"Kev-"

"You know, here's what you should do," Parker said. "Tell the brass I've finally flipped my lid. I'll spend the next six months getting my head examined by one of the department shrinks. You can shrug it off. There's no impact on you if I'm just bat-shit crazy."

Fuentes looked at him and sighed. "I'm not your enemy, Kev," he said at last. "You have to know when to walk away from something."

Parker turned to Ruiz. "Don't you have some wiseass remark? Aren't you going to tell me this will go on my permanent record? Whoever you're working for is going to be grossly disappointed in you."

She had nothing to say to that, which was easily the most telling moment he had ever spent with her.

"Good act, by the way," Parker said. "You turned me completely around. I never would have pegged you for a rat."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ruiz said impatiently.

"On the contrary," Parker said. "I'm the authority on the subject of how to fuck over Kev Parker. I have years of experience.

"I'm leaving," he told them. "If there's no job for me when I come back, c'est la vie. c'est la vie. God knows, I don't do this for the money." God knows, I don't do this for the money."

"What do do you do it for?" Ruiz asked pointedly. you do it for?" Ruiz asked pointedly.

"Is that what this is about?" Parker asked. He laughed, though it held no humor. "How does Parker afford a Jag? How does Parker buy a loft in Chinatown? How can Parker wear designer suits?"

"How do you?" she asked, blunt and unapologetic. "How do you afford your lifestyle on a detective's salary?"

"I don't," he said. "And the rest of that answer is no one's damn business."

"It is if you're getting that money-"

"You people are fucking amazing." He stared at her, incredulous, shaking his head. "I've never been anything less than a damn fine cop for more than half my life. I come here every day, work my cases a hundred and ten percent, train little pissant shits like you to work your way up to where I should have been for the last half a decade. And you have the gall to investigate me because I don't buy my suits at JC Penney?"

"I'm not apologizing to you for doing my job," Ruiz said, getting in his face. "In the last three years you've paid off two mortgages-yours and your parents'; you've purchased a loft in a luxury building in Chinatown; you've started wearing designer labels; you drive a Jaguar on your days off.

"You're not doing these things on what the LAPD pays you," she said. "How could you not think Internal Affairs would be interested in you?"

Parker felt his face getting hotter and hotter. "Do you have one complaint against me? Do you have anything on file against me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she said. "We have you screwing up a murder trial where a wealthy defendant walked away without so much as a slap on the wrist. Your income seems to have increased every year since. Do you need a pencil to connect those dots, Parker?"

"This is un-fucking-believable," Parker muttered. "IA has been watching me with their hairy eyeball all this time. Giradello couldn't get rid of me outright, couldn't make me quit, so you people are slithering in the back door for him?

"I'd ask you why you didn't just call me in and grill me," he said, "but I know how IA works. Persecute first, ask questions later."

"Would you have been any more cooperative than you're being now?" Fuentes asked.

"No. I haven't done anything wrong. I haven't done anything illegal. And what I do with my personal time is my personal business. I spent too many years with nothing but this job, and what did it get me? Ground down, and left flat."

"If you hated it so much, why didn't you just quit?" Ruiz asked.

Parker shook his head, then clutched it in his hands like a coconut, thinking it might just crack open from the sheer frustration of dealing with such narrow-minded stupidity.

"Did you even think about that before it came out of your mouth?" he asked, astonished that people could be so obtuse. "I don't hate the job. I love the job! I love the job! Don't you get that? Why would I stay if I hated it and someone else was providing me with a six-figure income? Why wouldn't I tell you all to go fuck yourselves?" Don't you get that? Why would I stay if I hated it and someone else was providing me with a six-figure income? Why wouldn't I tell you all to go fuck yourselves?"

Ruiz just stared at him, trying to look smug and superior, and pulling off neither.

"If you haven't figured out why I'm still with LAPD, knowing what you know about me, knowing what you were briefed on by whoever sent you here," Parker said, "you'll never get it."

In the old days he would have answered very differently. Back when it was all about him and his image and how many cases he could clear in a month. When all the flash had been stripped away from him, and he'd been forced to take a hard look at himself, it had gradually dawned on him that his career was really about something else, something deeper and more meaningful, more satisfying on a different level.

"What do you do it for, Ruiz?" he asked quietly. "The power? The control? The rush of climbing the ladder? I'll tell you right now, that's not enough. If the only goal is the big brass ring, what do you suppose happens to you after you catch it? What does it mean to you? What do you look back on? What do you have?"

"I have a career," she said.

"You have nothing," Parker said. "Look inside yourself. You have nothing. I know."

He looked at Fuentes, who couldn't quite meet his eyes. Just doing his job, Parker thought bitterly. The panacea for all people who couldn't otherwise justify their actions.

"I'm taking the rest of the day."

No one tried to stop him as he walked out the door.

38.

The house where Eddie Davis lived in the Hollywood hills looked like something a pornographer might rent to shoot X-rated movies. Seventies hip, a little run-down, an angled flat roof, trapezoidal windows, and teal-green vertical blinds. There was a solid gate leading to the backyard, where Parker knew he would find a kidney-shaped pool, a big hot tub, and a tiki bar. The Eddie Davis Swinging Bachelor Pad.

It wasn't a high-end neighborhood. No mansions, no big celebs in the immediate area, but probably some mid-range screenwriters, an episodic television director or two. Still, it was probably by far the swankiest place Davis had ever lived in in his entire miserable life. All he needed was the porn actresses naked in his tacky hot tub, and Eddie would be in hog heaven. Good to see he was investing his blackmail money wisely.

Parker sat in his car, up the block. An elevated vantage point. He watched Davis's house for signs of life, as he waited on hold for his contact at the phone company. James Earl Jones tried to sell him on the idea of Verizon DSL.

"This is Patti. How can I help you?"

"Just the sound of your voice is a balm to my soul, doll."

He could hear the smile in her tone. "Kev Parker. If you could bottle that charm, you'd have something."

"Yeah, cheap cologne," Parker said. "I'm working on it in my free time. Listen, Patti, I need a favor. Can you fax me the local usage details for a possibly notorious criminal mastermind?"

He gave her Davis's name and address, along with his own home fax number.

"And you've got your warrant for this?"

"Not exactly."

"Kevin . . ."

"I do have courtside tickets to the LakersSpurs game next Friday."

"Courtside?"

"Primo. You'll be able to smell Jack Nicholson's breath."

"That's never really been a goal of mine."

"You'll be the envy of every Lakers fan in the city."

"I don't know," she said. "You know I shouldn't."

"No one will be the wiser, doll. None of this goes to court. I just need a break, is all," Parker said. "And doesn't your hubby deserve a little night on the town with his favorite girl?"

"He can have a million of them," Patti said. "I dumped the bastard. But my son would be delighted."

"They're yours for the taking. You know, they're yours either way," he said. Mr. Magnanimous. "Take your son and have a great time. I'm sorry things didn't work out for you."

"Oh, I think they probably did," she said, but her voice was no longer cheerful. "Everybody tells me I'm better off."

"Yeah, well, everybody can go through it for you too, then. Let them see what a good time you're having."

"Like you would know."

"I've learned from the experiences of my friends."

He let the silence hang, waiting for Patti to fill it.

"Tell me the warrant is on the way," she said with a sigh.

"The warrant is on the way. Call me if it gets lost en route," Parker said. "Pick the tickets up at Will Call. I'll leave your name."

There was no activity at Davis's place. No gardener in the yard. No cleaning woman parked in the driveway. Eddie could have been sleeping off his last murder, Parker supposed, his anger stirring again for Eta and for her family.