Steve brought the cardboard cup to his lips and took a sip of the now tepid coffee. He was sitting in the passenger seat of the dark gray sedan; Newman was behind the wheel, a walkie-talkie in his lap. They were in an alley off 2nd.
The sun had long gone and the bitter wind that was blowing in off the Bay was beginning to permeate the car and the lightweight jackets the two detectives were wearing. The walkie-talkie crackled to life and Newman picked it up, both of them straining to make out the static-filled words that suddenly filled the car.
"Bobby's on his way."
Steve sat up straighter, staring at the entrance to the alley in anticipation. A dark figure turned into the short dead-end street and approached the car, quickly getting into the back seat behind Newman.
"What's happening?" Steve asked impatiently before the undercover cop even had time to close the door.
Grinning broadly, the dark-haired and bearded Cox began to laugh. "You can relax, Steve, he's doing great. He's sitting at the bar, nursing a Scotch Rocks, and staring at the coaster like it was his only friend. I swear, he looks so pathetic I almost went over to say something to him myself, like, you know, 'Buck up, buddy, it can't be that bad.'"
Newman laughed and Steve allowed himself a relieved sigh and a chuckle.
"See, I told ya," Newman said, looking at the younger man beside him, "I told you Mike'd be okay. He knows what he's doing."
"I know he knows what he's doing," Steve began with a frustrated sigh, "I just –"
"I know," Newman cut him off, the smile disappearing, "you're worried about your partner. We all go through that. But we've got him covered, Steve. We're not about to let anything happen to him." He met Steve's eyes evenly for a second then looked into the rearview mirror. "So did you notice anybody talking to him or sizing him up or anything?"
Cox shook his head, meeting Newman's eyes in the mirror. "Not while I was there but I know he exchanged a few words with the bartender. Couldn't hear what they said though but I'm sure Mike'll tell us later."
"Do we have anything on the bartender yet, do you know?"
"All I got is his first name is Danny. Maybe Cole can get his last name and we can run him through R&I."
Not knowing who was involved, if anyone, the need for stealth in this operation was paramount and everyone had to be very careful not to let anything slip. Too much curiosity would be like a red flag, so caution and patience were the watchwords.
"Did Mike look like he was getting drunk?" Steve asked, and the other two could hear the worry that was still tempering his voice.
Cox shook his head with a facial shrug. "Not to me," he said, "and the entire time I was in there I only saw him order one drink, so I'm not sure how much he actually is drinking. But he sure is taking his time and allowing those ice cubes to melt," he finished with a chuckle.
Nodding to himself, slightly relieved, Steve turned back in the seat and stared at the entrance to the alley once again.
It was going to be a long night.
# # # # #
Newman yawned and stretched, then rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Reaching up to snap on the overhead, Steve looked at his watch. 10:25. Mike had entered the bar around 5:30. As he turned the light off, the walkie-talkie on the seat between them crackled to life again.
"He's leaving the bar. He's getting into a cab."
Both Steve and Newman sat up straighter, the Vice lieutenant picking up the walkie-talkie and thumbing the Talk button. "Let's hope he remembers to get out at the right spot."
"We'll slip in behind the cab and follow him just in case," the tinny voice of Kyle Jenkins responded with a chuckle.
Less than a minute later a DeSoto cab pulled up to the entrance to the alleyway and stopped. Glancing at each other, Steve and Newman got out of the sedan as the back door of the cab opened and Mike Stone climbed slowly and carefully out onto the sidewalk, turning to slam the door before straightening up, staggering slightly as he watched the taxi drive away.
"We've got him," Newman said into the walkie-talkie, tossing it onto the front seat. As the two detectives approached their colleague, Mike turned almost gingerly. He hair was askew, his tie loose and his collar button undone. The beige raincoat was thrown over one shoulder and he fumbled with the briefcase, dropping it as he looked up at his approaching colleagues, a delighted though lopsided grin lighting his face as his eyes gradually settled on his partner.
"Hey, buddy boy," he said loudly, the words slightly slurred as he opened his arms, "See, I did it!" He chuckled, swaying precariously and Steve took a quick step closer, grabbing his arm.
"Yes, you sure did," the younger man said through a chuckle. "Here, let's get you in the car." He started to pull Mike towards the sedan as Newman picked up the briefcase and followed, trying to muffle his laughter.
Steve opened the back door and Mike crawled onto the seat, flopping against the back heavily and closing his eyes. He waited till the others were in as well and the doors were shut before he said through a grin, "You know, that was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be."
Smiling, Newman turned in the front seat. "Did you get to tell them your life story?"
Opening his eyes, Mike shook his head. "Not yet," he said slowly, "but Danny – he's the bartender," he said to Steve, brow furrowed with a disarming earnestness, "he asked my name so I think tomorrow night we might get a little further along in that regard." With a serious nod, Mike leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again.
Newman looked at Steve and smiled. "I think we better get him home."
"We're going to my place," Steve said, "fewer stairs and I can keep an eye on him. Union near Montgomery." He stared at his tipsy partner and sighed. "Well, at least he's a happy drunk."
With a nod and a chuckle, Newman started the car. As they pulled out of the alley, gentle snores began to fill the sedan as they turned onto 2nd, heading towards Telegraph Hill.
# # # # #
He opened his eyes slowly, a dull throb in his skull. It took several seconds to remember where he was before he pushed the blanket away and tried to sit up. The room swayed suddenly and he slammed both hands down onto the couch until the dizziness passed. He looked down at himself; he was in his boxers and undershirt.
Trying not to moan, he used the arm of the couch to push himself to his feet, holding on and waiting till the room stopped moving. He thought he could smell coffee and turned carefully in the direction of the kitchen.
Sitting at the small breakfast table, reading the paper, a fully-dressed Steve looked up and smiled. "Well, good morning," he said, a little louder than necessary, the grin getting broader when Mike winced and closed his eyes.
"Must you…" the older man growled, holding onto the doorframe.
"How do you feel?"
"My head is pounding, my stomach is churning and my mouth tastes like the floor of a gym," the older man said slowly, squinting as he tentatively removed his hand from the wall and crossed the short distance to the table. He sat gingerly in the vacant chair as his head turned painfully slowly in the direction of the percolator.
"Is that fresh coffee I smell?" he asked with as much anticipation as he could muster.
"Sure is," Steve said brightly, returning to his perusal of the paper, "the cups are in the cupboard where they usually are. Help yourself." He picked up his own mug and took a big gulp.
Crestfallen, Mike stared at him, unmoving. After several seconds of watching his young partner continue to read and ignore him, Mike sighed and began to stand, closing his eyes once more as the room began to spin.
Steve glanced up and smiled. With a laugh, he tossed the paper on the table and stood. "Sit down, sit down," he said genially as he crossed to the counter, watching the older man slip slowly back onto the chair. "I wouldn't be that cruel." He took a mug out of the upper cupboard and poured, then set it on the table in front of his partner, moving the milk and sugar containers closer. "You want some toast?"
"Yes, please," Mike answered softly as he gingerly picked up the milk jug and began to pour.
Back at the counter, Steve said over his shoulder, "You weren't very talkative after we got home last night." Mike had fallen into a deep sleep almost the second he'd taken off the suit and sat down on the couch.
"Oh?" he muttered as he dumped two large spoonfuls of sugar into the mug. Steve, who had lowered the handle on the toaster and was returning to the table, paused at the unusual sight – Mike always had his coffee black. Chuckling to himself, he sat back down.
"So, ah, what do you remember, if anything…?" he asked tentatively, watching as Mike slowly and quietly stirred the coffee before putting the spoon silently on the table and picking up the mug with both hands. Closing his eyes, he took a large sip, continuing to hold the mug up as he allowed the hot liquid to slide down his throat.
Smiling, Steve picked up a small white bottle that was sitting on the table and slammed it down in front of his hungover partner. Mike's eyes shot open but he managed not to spill the coffee. "Aspirin?" Steve asked quietly, pointing at the pain reliever with a grin.
"Oh, yes, please," Mike said almost too quickly, putting the mug down and reaching for the bottle. After several seconds without success, Steve took it from him.
"Child-proof lid," he explained with a wickedly smug smile as he popped the top off then held it out.
With a peeved glare, Mike extended his hand and Steve tapped two pills into his palm. "Thank you," the older man offered dryly, picking up the mug again and swallowing the aspirin. They both heard the toaster pop and, continuing to chuckle, Steve got up and returned to the counter.
"What do you want on your toast? Peanut butter? Jam? Honey?"
"I don't care," came the mumbled response from the table, "I just need to get something in my stomach."
"How about peanut butter and honey? It always works for me." A bit of sympathy seemed to be seeping into the younger man's tone; even in his sorry state Mike picked up on it and was grateful.
"That sounds good," he said softly, taking another big gulp of coffee then sat quietly, praying for the aspirin to start to work its magic.
Steve crossed back to the table, putting the small plate of toast in front of his partner before slipping into the other chair. Without a word, Mike picked up the top slice and took a bite, chewing slowly, trying not to jar his throbbing head any more than necessary.
"Are you going to be up for going back in tonight?" Steve asked, his tone now serious and concerned.
Mike swallowed then raised his eyes and stared at the younger man, a soft smile playing across his lips. "I don't have much of a choice, do I? This is my operation after all."
Steve leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "It doesn't have to be you, we can bring someone else in –"
"Steve," Mike cut him off, smiling warmly, "don't worry about me. Once those aspirin kick in I'll be fine." He chuckled when the younger man exhaled almost angrily. "Don't forget, I'm not going to be the only one in there tonight. You get to step into the limelight."
# # # # #
The loud roar of the unmuffled engine echoed off the facades of the buildings lining Howard Street as the Harley pulled up in front of Coopers. The young man in the jeans and black leather jacket leaned the bike against the kickstand, running a hand through his tousled hair before crossing the sidewalk to the heavy wooden door.
Far down the street, Lieutenant Gary Newman brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the Talk button. "He's in, everybody. Okay, so heads up – they're both inside now. I want everybody to keep their eyes and their ears open. This is when it starts to get serious."