Johnny Liddell sat with his desk chair tilted back, stared out his office window over Bryant Park, eight stories below. After a moment, he pulled himself out of his chair, stamped across the room to where an old water cooler hummed softly to itself. He took a drink, crumpled the paper cup in his fist, threw it at the waste basket. Then, he walked back to his desk, stood stirring the pile of papers on it with a stubby forefinger.
After a moment, he picked them up, ran through them. They consisted of a list of names, with dates and amounts of money alongside them. Some of the names were vaguely familiar, names that made him a little ill—names of men on the Police Force. He spotted several lieutenants, three captains and at least one inspector’s name. He scowled at the list, tossed it back o
