“I am a veteran police officer with more than twenty years’ service in the West Yorkshire Police and Savage PD. If you employ me, I will not only ensure technical accuracy but also liaise with traffic control and provide on-set security.”
He didn’t mention why he’d left the West Yorkshire Police or how he’d come to work in Savage, Maryland. Why he’d come to America in the first place. Hiding in plain sight was still hiding. Running away was still running. McNulty liked to think he was running toward something. He hadn’t told Larry Unger about that, either.
Right now, in a parking lot off Merrymount Parkway, running was something else Alfonse Bayard was having trouble with. That and his name, which Unger was trying to Americanize. Alfonse kept quoting the example of Arnold Schwarzenegger but Bayard was no Schwarzenegger. McNulty took him around the back of the makeup trailer.
“You’ve got to think of it as balance.”
Alfonse stood with his legs apart, feet planted. Balanced. McNulty waved for him to stop.
“Not standing-still balanced. Balanced movement.”
McNulty walked a few paces, nice and easy. Loose.
“Patrol speed.”
Then he broke into a jog.
“Ramming speed.”
Then a sprint.
“Pursuit.”
He stopped running and walked back to Alfonse. He relaxed his shoulders and let his arms sway gently at his side. An easy rhythm. In sync with the rest of his body.
“As a cop you never know what’s coming next. You’ve got to be ready at all times. Balanced. Think of it like a sportsman. You’re coiled but relaxed. On the balls of your feet, not flat-footed. Ready to fight, give chase, or chill it down. Non-aggressive aggression. Prepared to fight but ready for peace.”
Alfonse looked bemused.
“All that just for me to walk?”
McNulty exaggerated a flat-footed walk. Slapping his feet on the ground.
“Duck walk.”
Then he walked normally.
“Cop walk. Glide. Like Sean Connery as James Bond.”
Alfonse frowned.
“Not Roger Moore?”
McNulty shook his head.
“Roger Moore ran like a girl. Unless you’re gonna play the first transgender cop, stick with Sean Connery.”
Alfonse copied McNulty’s walk. He put a bit more swagger into it, swaying the shoulders. It looked pretty good. McNulty was about to say as much when he heard the commotion inside the makeup trailer. A slap and a scream.
The day turned cold. McNulty felt the short hairs bristle at the back of his neck. His troubles had started with a slap and a scream. Then a Bible and a broken nose. He didn’t want to break anyone’s nose today, but he couldn’t ignore the scream. He was around the corner and up the stairs before the trailer stopped shaking.
“Clumsy bitch. That stings.”
The man sitting opposite the wall mirror was rubbing his eyes. Amy Moore was standing next to him holding the side of her face. Her eyes were wide with shock. There were forty-eight light bulbs screwed into the frame around the mirror. They gave everything a soft light so the makeup artist could see what she was doing. The man in the chair disagreed. The woman couldn’t see for shit. Slapping her in the eye wasn’t going to improve that.
“You’re supposed to put it around the eyes. Not in them.”
He continued to rub as if that were going to make it better. Amy saw McNulty charge through the door and cringed again. McNulty toned down the anger on his face and held up a calming hand. Scaring the makeup artist was the last thing he wanted to do. The fact that he’d done exactly that gave him pause. He really needed to work on his anger management. Or at least aim it at the proper target. The proper target was the man sitting in the makeup chair. The best way was to not sound angry at all.
“Don’t rub them. It’ll make it worse.”
McNulty stood behind the chair and kept his voice calm.
“Lean back and open your eyes.”
The man leaned back but kept his eyes screwed shut.
“I can’t open my fucking eyes.”
McNulty glanced at the worktop then mimed pressing an aerosol. The makeup lady understood and handed him a cooling mist spray. McNulty nodded his thanks and waved for her to leave. She didn’t need asking twice. McNulty turned his attention to the man in the chair.
“Of course you can. It just stings, that’s all.”
The man shook his head, then wished he hadn’t.
“It’s the stinging why I can’t open ’em. She’s fucking blinded me.”
McNulty spoke as if talking to a child.
“No, she hasn’t.”
He changed the subject.
“You’re playing the crook Alfonse chases, aren’t you?”
The man nodded, more gently than he’d shook his head.
“Robber Number Two.”
McNulty smiled even though the man couldn’t see him.
“Okay, well. Number Two. Here’s how it works.”
He soothed the man’s head back against the headrest.
“Back when I was in the police, I sprayed this fella with C-S.”
“C-S?”
“Like Mace. Anyway, he had a knife and I sprayed him full in the face.”
“You didn’t shoot him?”
McNulty did the child talk thing again.
“It was in England. Police don’t carry guns.”
“No shit?”
“Yes, shit. Anyway, he drops the knife and starts rubbing his eyes. Worst thing he could have done. What you’ve got to do is open them wide and let the air get to them. Don’t rub them or wash them or reactivate the Mace.”
Number Two considered that for a moment.
“Don’t rub them?”
“No.”
“And don’t wash them?”
“That’s right.”
He paused a few more seconds then forced his eyes open. He stared at the ceiling, tears streaming from bloodshot orbs. Then McNulty emptied the cool mist water spray right into his eyes.
The scream was more of a roar and it shook the trailer. The makeup lady glanced at Alfonse Bayard then they both looked at the steps leading to the door. The door didn’t open. Amy lowered her hand from her face, revealing a red mark down one side. Alfonse noticed the mark then nodded toward the door.
“Technical adviser.”
Amy gave an embarrassed smile.
“Location security.”
They nodded then spoke in unison.
“McNulty.”
Number Two stopped screaming when he realized that the water spray hadn’t reactivated the Mace. Because it was eyeliner, not Mace. All the water did was cool his stinging eyes and give him the shock of his life. Once his courage returned, he spoke in a low hard voice.