Dee divested Detective Fielding of his gun, and Ryo did the same to Clayton, murmuring an apology. Lonnie wouldn’t hesitate to draw on them after what Dee had done to him, and while Ryo wasn’t sure about Clayton, the man was drunk enough to be considered a wild card.
“Your career is so fried, Laytner,” snarled Fielding, then managed a breathless laugh. “But you got balls, man. Gotta say.”
“I think my career will survive this just fine unless you plan to pull a witness out of your ass.” Dee spun Fielding around and slapped handcuffs on him. Ryo noticed that he was being careful to keep Lonnie wedged in the shadowy corner between the building wall and a dumpster. After all, it was still broad daylight, and even though there was no one in sight, this was a busy area and a potential witness could show up at any time. Ryo made sure he blocked his partner as well as he could with his own body.
Fielding turned his head in the direction of his partner and said almost conversationally, “Hey Hugh, why don’tcha help me out here?”
Clayton sank down into a crouch, cursing softly.
“You know very well he can’t, Detective Fielding,” Ryo said. “He’s in this condition because of you.”
“What’d you dose him with?” Dee asked. “That ain’t just booze.”
Lonnie shrugged. “Dunno what the fuck you’re talking about, man.”
“You like the nose job they gave you at New York Presbyterian?” Dee asked him, seizing a good handful of the thinning hair on the back of Lonnie’s head. ‘Cause if you don’t, we can always arrange for you to get another one. Like, tonight?”
Lonnie’s whole body tensed up and he drew in a sharp breath which Ryo knew was a precursor to yelling his head off. But Dee was on it, and Lonnie’s budding cry was cut off sharply as his forehead clanged violently off the edge of the dumpster lid.