Sleeping Policemen by Dale Bailey

than we realized.”
    â€œAren’t we though.” Finney nodded, as if Nick had given the answer he’d been waiting for. “You going to eat that?”
    Nick looked down, surprised to find the apple still in his hand. He tossed it to Finney, who took a tremendous bite, every bit as complacent as Tucker had been edgy with panic. A phrase from out of the past floated into Nick’s mind, something Finney had said about Tucker that night after the party. He just needs someone to look after him . At the time, the sentiment had seemed harmless enough, but now, with Tucker visibly falling apart, it took on an altogether different—and more frightening—meaning. Maybe Finney was thinking along similar lines, for now, through a mouthful of apple, he said, “Why did you bring Sue into it?”
    â€œHad to. No choice.” He’d be damned if he’d say more—though Finney’s question made him wonder. Why had he? He didn’t want to think of that, didn’t want to remember that sense that Sue was slipping away from him, didn’t want to believe he would implicate her in something like this just to hang on to her. Didn’t want to see that side of himself. There were many sides to himself he hadn’t known existed, it seemed.
    But Finney only nodded again, like that was exactly what he expected.
    â€œWhat about Tuck? He’s on the edge, man. If he—”
    â€œTuck’s okay.” Finney tossed the apple core into a nearby garbage can. “I’ll keep track of him.” He wiped his hands on a monogrammed handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “You watch Sue.” Wiping his mouth, he said, “What do you make of Evans?”
    Nick pursed his lips, picturing the patrolman in his doorway. “I’m not sure. Someone sniffing around for a reward?”
    â€œThat’s sort of what I figured, too. But I was thinking—remember the car that passed us up there?”
    Nick nodded, his mind filling with the image of that Cadillac, black as sin, and looming in the night like death.
    â€œIt came back,” Nick said.
    â€œThat’s right. And I can’t help wondering: was it Evans?”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œPlaying his own angle. The guy had all that money. Maybe it was a payoff.”
    â€œThink he’ll be back?”
    â€œFuck if I know.” Finney neatly folded the handkerchief and returned it to his back pocket. “Right now, he’s got nothing on us. Suspicions maybe, nothing more. We need to take care of the Acura, though. I went out to the garage yesterday afternoon and smashed the fender pretty good with a hammer, washed it with ammonia. Think a forensics lab could still pick up blood traces?”
    â€œNo idea—those CSI guys seem to be able to do anything, though.” Nick felt the coldness fluttering into his belly again. Finney’s calm litany set his mind awhirl. He’d known from the beginning that they were in deep waters, but the more Finney talked—always in that maddeningly tranquil voice—the deeper they seemed to get. Again, the image of the bum from the bus terminal popped into his head. You ain’t like them . And he wasn’t. Finney had the Senator, Tuck and Sue had families wallowing in money. If things got nasty, Nick knew he’d find himself alone. Again, he saw himself adrift in the swirling Gulf, his companions shrinking steadily in the distance.
    Reluctantly, he said, “Finney, maybe it’s time to call the Senator.”
    Finney turned to stare at him thoughtfully. “That what you want, Nicky?”
    He said nothing, aware of the bulky roll of bills shoved in his jacket pocket. Of the tape.
    He swallowed. “No, I don’t think so.”
    â€œLet’s hold off,” Finney said. “Lay low for a while.”
    And suddenly it occurred to Nick to wonder why he had never met the Senator—if the man even knew he existed. He