CHAPTER 50
Lieutenant Harvey Phelps was a cop’s cop. He had come up through the ranks, and unlike some of the department brass, he’d done his time on the beat and understood what it was like on the ground. What he didn’t understand was the behavior of the retired cop who sat in front of him.
Powell shifted in his chair as Phelps studied him like he was some kind of specimen. Phelps underscored this impression by twisting a pencil in his fingers while he watched Powell, as if he were ready to jot down any insights into his behavior that might occur to him.
“Who are you, the lone f*****g ranger?” Phelps finally asked.
“Sir?”
“I asked you a question.”
“No sir, I’m not the lone f*****g ranger,” Powell replied.
Phelps’s eyes narrowed. He glared at Powell. “Don’t get f*****g smart with me
