The Force

by Don Winslow

Can’t stand the whole gourmet coffee bullshit anyway, standing in line behind some millennial asshole taking ten minutes to order a perfect latte so he can take a selfie with it.

A lot of bureaucratic verbiage describes their mission, but Malone and every other cop on Da Force know exactly what their “special task” is— Hold the line. Big Monty put it somewhat differently. “We’re landscapers. Our job is to keep the jungle from growing back.”

It’s hot in the apartment, and stuffy, but it’s always either too hot or too cold in these old apartments—no one can figure out the radiators. One of them hisses now, as if to tell Malone to fuck off if he doesn’t like it.

“Contagious shooting,” the experts call it.

Malone says, “I’ll hang a snitch tag on you at Central Booking. You won’t make it out of Rikers.” “You do that to me, man?” Fat Teddy asks. “You’re either on my bus or under it.”

“You know something I don’t?” “I know everything you don’t,” she says.

“Tell me you didn’t go to Horace Mann,” Monty says, naming the expensive private school. Levin doesn’t answer. “I thought so,” Monty says. “And then where?” “NYU. Majored in criminal justice.” “You might as well have majored in Bigfoot,” Malone says. “Why’s that?” Levin asks. “Because it don’t exist, either.

“I got the go for a wire on Carter.” “Did you get a warrant with that?” Monty asks. “Yeah, a nod warrant,” Malone says.

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Malone once said that you should never partner with anyone you wouldn’t leave alone with your family and all your money. You did that with any of these men, when you came back, your

family would be laughing and there’d be more money.

“Life is trying to kill us,” she says.

Life, Malone thinks, is trying to kill everyone.

If you’re lying to me, your neighbors are going to find pieces of you on their electric bills.”

“If Bruno had Lou whacked, you’re next on the endangered species list.”

“I fucking see you again, Mikey,” Malone says, “I’m going to assume hostile intent and act accordingly.