Four of us stood in the cavernous, carpeted space of the mayor’s office. Myself, the massive hulk of my partner, the tall form of the cadaverous-looking vulture of Lt. Yankovich, and the mayor. We were standing in front of the mayor’s desk in a tight little scrum, softly talking. Just us. No aides. No interruptions. No phone calls or intercom buzzers.
The tall frame of the mayor, as tall as Yank himself, had a severe frown on his lips and a look of genuine concern in his eyes. The three of us had come over at his insistence to give him a personal debriefing on tonight’s little fireworks. Frank and I related to both the lieutenant and the mayor exactly what went down just four hours earlier. Neither looked happy. Both looked pale. Which is saying a lot in the lieutenant’s case. Yank usuall
