Page 78 of Dancing in the Dark

“Mmhm.” Archer drags his top drawer open and takes out another pen. Clicking the ink down, he swings out and savagely sinks the end into Banks’ thigh. “Listen to him. He’s got it all figured out as far as prick daddies go. But hey,” he brings his eyes up to Drake’s. “At least mine left me with oodles of money and a comfortable lifestyle. All you inherited was an inferiority complex and a pathetic three-point shot. Now, be gone.” He retracts his pen and gestures away with a roll of his hand. “The grown-ups are speaking.”

“Malone! Fletcher!”

I spin in my chair and lock eyes with my boss. And Markum.

“Over here,” Fabian barks. “Now.”

“Look what you did, Banks!” Archer bites out a furious snarl and shoves to his feet. “You came over here and started some shit. Now Fabian’s on us again.”

“Motherfucker, I was minding my own business! I was showing my rookie how a real detective conducts himself on the job.”

All three of us turn to the rosy-cheeked Officer Clay and his wide, possibly horrified eyes.

“You made me stab you while Fabian was looking.” Archer tosses the pen onto his desk and broadens his chest. “If he so much as mentions the get-along shirt, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Drake furiously rubs his thigh. “I’ll strangle you with it long before you’ll get a chance to wear it. Now hop along and put in those good boy hours brandishing a badge, all so you can convince yourself you’re not actually a mobster.”

“Shut up,” I growl under my breath. “Both of you. Jesus.”

“He likes it when I hurt him.” From pissed to playful, Arch falls into step beside me as we cross the bullpen. “I think it’s his kink or something. Probably because of those aforementioned daddy issues. Lieutenant Fabian?” He switches up his mood like he’s got them all on speed dial. Dropping his hands into his pockets, he nods for Markum and the five-thousand-dollar suit the prick seems to think makes him special. “How can we help you?”

“Deputy Legal Counsel Markum has come for an update on the Bayside homicide.” He raises a single, challenging brow. “Give it to him.” Turning on his heels, he disappears into his office and slams the door with a wall-rattling boom.

Silence hangs over us all. Awkward, painful, achingly pitiful silence, because I think Markum’s kink is having other people want to impress him.

Arch and me? We’d rather he went to sleep in an airtight drum filled with tuna water.

“Perhaps we could take a moment in private?” Markum breaks the silence with a smile as fake as his attempt at friendliness. “I assume you have a room you’ve been using to work through this case?”

“Nope.” I turn away and make the prick follow. “We’ve ID’d her, we know where she works, who her immediate family is, and why she was at the bay last night.” I stop beside our desks and perch on the edge of mine, folding my arms and crossing my ankles. I’m super fuckin’ chill. “Life would be much easier if we could get the bay footage from those good folks over at the Port Authority.” I wrinkle my nose. “I bet we could solve this mystery real quick once we’ve got all the material we need.”

“I’d be more than happy to provide it.” He looks past me to the pile of paperwork I’m only halfway through. “However, I’m certain you understand the bureaucracy sitting between where we are and where we’d like to go. The sooner you get that paperwork filed, the sooner we can move forward in our investigation.”

Ours, my ass.

“That bureaucracy only exists on your end, Markum. Not ours.” Archer rubs a hand over his jaw, the noisy scratch of his stubble penetrating even the buzz of a working bullpen. “Plainly put, you could provide us with the things we need immediately. You’re choosing not to and blaming it on administrative processes.”

“Don’t take it so personally.” He backs up three feet and perches on the edge of Drake’s desk, his posture mirroring mine while, behind him, Drake shoots back in his chair and wields the pen of destiny. Or, well, the pen that’s about to end up in Markum’s ass. “These processes have been in place longer than you or I have been alive. Ironically, they came into effect because our port was becoming a place of ill-repute.”

Say it, motherfucker. Mention the mafia and let me watch Archer Malone trade out his badge for an AK.

“If I could make this easier for you, I assure you, I would. But you must understand the checks and balances holding us all to a higher standard. If I let something slip through, my boss will want to know why. Unfortunately, ‘because I wanted to help my pals over at Copeland City P.D.’ isn’t gonna cut it for him.”

“So if you have nothing for us, why are you even here?” Archer’s chest swells as he folds his arms. “Your presence alone is slowing us down.”

He grins, all too relaxed in the safety of a buzzing cop shop. “As previously stated, I was hoping for an update.”

“Then I guess we’re done. We’ve ID’d her… as previously stated,” I grit out. “We’ll head out and talk to her colleagues shortly.”

“Something we would’ve done already if not for all that paperwork you’ve buried us with.” Archer looks him up and down, from his shiny black shoes to the monogrammed cufflinks that probably cost more than a standard second-hand car. “We’ll loop you in once we’re done.”

“What time do you expect to speak with Ms. Waltham’s colleagues?” He peels his sleeve back and studies his shiny gold watch. “I’d like to accompany you, but I have other commitments today too, so⁠—”

“Oh, honey. No.” Chuckling, Archer wanders forward and claps Markum on the shoulder so hard the prick’s feet almost slip out from beneath him. “The Port Authority has absolutely no authority here, and unless the lead detectives,” he pokes a thumb back at himself, then again to me, “invite you, you have no right to so much as breathe the same air as those people. But I appreciate you asking.”

“But—”

“Don’t take it so personally, pal.”