Superbia (Book One of the Superbia Series) by Bernard Schaffer Page A

work.”
    “Yeah, that’s how
it was,” Mr. O’Ryan said.   “I was always
good at telling when someone was lying to me.   Frankie can tell you, I was hard to beat when he was growing up.”   
    “Nobody beat the
Truth Rabbit,” Frank said.
    Both Vic and
Frank’s father locked eyes without speaking or moving.   Finally, Mr. O’Ryan said, “That was just a
goofy thing I used to say.”
    Frank was busy
watching the television mounted to the wall above them.   “You sure that’s all?” Vic said to the old
man.  
    A pause.   “Yeah, just me being stupid.”
    The food
arrived.   A steaming pizza on a large
silver tray that forced the men to lean back from the table as the waiter set
it down.   “This looks good,” Frank
said.  
    Mr. O’Ryan took a
slice and folded it in two on his plate, watching it so carefully that he never
once lifted his eyes to meet Vic’s stare.   “So tell me what you boys are working on.”  
    Frank was busily
gobbling up his first slice and trying to catch the grease leaking onto his
chin with a napkin.   He spoke, but it was
with a mouthful of food.   Vic said
nothing.  
    ***
    “Your old man has
some great stories, Frank.”
    Frank shrugged,
trying to dig a piece of pepperoni out of his back molars with his finger.   He peeled his lips back in the visor’s mirror
and said, “When you hear them a hundred times, they get kind of old.”
    Vic checked to
see that the highway was clear, eyes shifting repeatedly from the road to
Frank’s face as he steered.   “Hey, what
was he saying about that one thing?   The
rabbit?”
    “I dunno.   You mean that rabid possum he shot?”
    “No,” Vic
said.   Frank was now using his car keys
to scrape between his molars.   Completely
oblivious.   “The Honesty Rabbit or
something?”
    “The Truth
Rabbit.   That didn’t have anything to do
with being a cop.   It was what he called
himself whenever he thought I was lying to him.   He always said ‘Nobody lies to the Truth Rabbit and gets away with it.   Son of a bitch, I got it,” Frank said,
inspecting the string of meat between his fingers.   “He was good at it too.   That or I can’t lie for shit.”
    Vic stayed quiet
as he navigated the interstate, the large, towering skyscrapers of Center City
looming closer.   They drove past a State
Trooper conducting a car stop.   He was
talking to the driver of a vehicle with his head down, the brim of his circular
Smokey the Bear campaign hat nearly as wide as his shoulders.   “PSP, the finest law enforcement agency in the Commonwealth. Just ask them, they’ll tell you,” Vic
muttered.  
    “Big heads, little
hats,” Frank said.   The trooper looked up
at them as they passed and Frank held up his middle finger through the window.  
    “Do you know why
God invented the NYPD?”
    “No, why?”
    “So that New
Jersey State Troopers could have heroes,” Vic said.  
    Both men laughed,
and then Frank said, “Do you know why God invented our police department, Vic?”
    “No,” Vic
said.  
    “You really don’t
know?”
    “No, I really
don’t know.   Tell me.”
    Frank turned to
look back out of the window at the skyscrapers and bridges passing by.   “Me either.”  
    ***
    They parked on
the street outside of a shipyard as tractor trailers pulled up to the front
gate only to be glared at by stern-faced port authority police officers.   The stink of Diesel fuel filled the air.   Vic pointed at a dilapidated brick building
near the gate and said, “Come on.   You
got your badge?”   Frank showed him his
silver Patrolman badge and Vic frowned.   “Where’s your gold shield?”
    “I don’t have a gold
shield.   I’m not even a not-even-promoted
detective yet.”
    “Maybe someday,
rookie.   Maybe someday.”
    Frank followed
him toward a steel door with no handle.   A tractor trailer rumbled past them, laying on the air brakes as it
approached the gate.   Vic banged the door
with his fist and