In south Tampa, about eleven, Brook Lawton eased out of the endodontics office with a grimace. The left side of his jaw was still numb and his face felt puffy. Even though he’d only had Novocain for the root canal, he still felt dopey. He’d listened to Mozart while they were working and that always made him sleepy. He sat in his unmarked Crown Victoria in the parking lot for a few minutes, blinking and stretching his jaw.
No food or liquids for two hours, the doctor had told him. Which meant no coffee. Dammit.
He wheeled out of the parking lot and cruised north on Dale Mabry, a main north-south artery in Tampa. Like most cops, his landmarks were crime scenes. Armed robbery at that 7-11, murder at the Motel Siesta, robbery and r**e at the Mobil station. SWAT call-out on La Playa street.
