“What’s going on tonight, gentlemen?” Greene asked.

“We didn’t do nothing,” one of the teenagers protested.

“You din’ do nothing?” Ahearn asked, bending over and picking up a half empty forty-ounce bottle of beer in a paper bag. “This feels cold. Whose is it?”

Jackie Ahearn was someone you didn’t want to mess with. There was a story about when Ahearn and Greene first made detective and got transferred to B-2. One of the neighborhood gangs kept telling them they weren’t shit without their guns and badges. Ahearn took off his gun and badge, laid them on the hood of his car, and offered to have a fair one with anyone willing. There were no takers.

“It’s our boy’s. He likes his beer cold,” one of the kids said. He was young, a small, skinny kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen.

“Which boy?” Ahearn asked.

“The one whose memorial you’re disrespecting,” the kid said, pointing to a guttering candle at Ahearn’s feet.

“All you guys been drinking tonight?” Ahearn asked.

Silence.

“Anyone have anything we should know about?” Greene asked. “Liquor, weed, weapons?” Ahearn started patting them down, and Greene joined him. Connie stayed back and let them do their jobs. The kids stood with their arms out. They knew the drill. Keep your mouth shut, let the cops do what they had to do, and they’ll let you go.

“Please, do not lay your hands on my body, unless you have a warrant.” The words were spoken with an unexpected formality.

“Excuse me?” Ahearn said to the sharply-dressed, older black man.

“You heard me officer,” the man said. “I do not mean to be disrespectful, but I have done nothing wrong. I can not condone being searched under these circumstances.”

“What’s your name?” Ahearn asked.

“I do not believe I need to answer that question, but I will. My name is Luther.”

“Luther what?”

“Just Luther.”

“You only have one name, like Madonna or Usher?”

“I only have one name, like Luther.”

“Well, Luther Last-Name-Unknown” Ahearn said, “what exactly is a grown man doing hanging on a corner with a bunch of teenagers? Teenagers with beer. You wouldn’t happen to be the one who bought the beer, would you? Because it is illegal to contribute to the delinquency of a minor, and you would be subject to arrest and a search incident to arrest. You still think I can’t search you?”

Luther slowly put his hands out toward Ahearn, palms up. “I did not do anything illegal. I am an outreach worker, a mentor with the Crispus Attucks Youth Center.”

Ahearn smirked. “You got to be kidding me. Is that why you’re out here? Trying to save America’s youth?”

“I also work for the mayor,” Luther said. “We come out a couple of nights a week to talk with the kids.”

Now Connie remembered who he was. And the white guy, too. They were two of Mayor Dolan’s Street Saviors. It was their job to make relationships with kids in gangs and help them out of the so-called “life.” Connie had seen them at gang intelligence meetings sponsored by the BRIC at police headquarters every other week. Ahearn hadn’t made the connection.

“I don’t care who you are,” Ahearn said. “Working for the mayor doesn’t give you a free pass to buy beer for kids so they’ll think you’re cool.”

“I did not buy them any beer. It is my job to counsel these young men. They are grieving because they lost a friend. They wanted to share libation with him.” Connie had seen this before. Kids passing around a forty-ounce beer and pouring some of it over the spot where a friend had been killed. “I do not fully agree with what they are doing, but I have not come here to judge. I want to help them find ways to deal with their anger without seeking revenge and retribution.”

Ahearn shook his head. “So you figured you’d buy them some beer to help drown their sorrows. Is that what the mayor’s paying you to do?”

“We did not buy the beer.” Luther pointed to the white man. Connie turned to look at him more carefully. The man was short and stocky, thick with muscle, prison muscle. The kind of guy you wouldn’t want to get into a scrape with. His dark hair was neatly combed, slicked back, the wet look. He wouldn’t have been bad looking but for his right eye. The eyelid was half closed and the eye itself drooped. “My partner and I came out here tonight, without weapons, knowing that violence could erupt. But we have faith in these young men. We can help them choose a better path.”

“Why don’t you pass a joint around with them while you’re at it?” Ahearn asked.

“I am not encouraging any of this behavior, officer. Nor am I condemning it. I am a man who has broken no laws, and I will not be searched by you or anyone else. You should not be searching any of these young men either.”

“They are minors in possession of alcohol,” Ahearn said. “Another one of those little laws that you don’t seem to think matters.”

“No one was in possession of that bottle. It was on the ground, part of a shrine.”

Connie could see Ahearn’s face tensing with anger. He watched as Greene stepped between the two men. He must have realized that they couldn’t win this battle.

The mayor would take Luther’s side if this thing blew up. The Street Savior Program was his baby, giving him credibility in minority communities. It was a crime prevention effort to point to whenever he and the commissioner were criticized for overaggressive policing. Nothing would look worse in the press than two cops and an assistant DA acting like cowboys rousting the mayor’s Street Saviors. It would be powerful ammunition for the mayor’s critics. The DA wouldn’t be too happy about Connie being in the middle of it either.

“Jackie, come here for a second,” Greene said. He led the big man back toward their cruiser. Connie could hear Greene’s Irish whisper as he told his partner to calm down. It would take some work, but Greene would handle Ahearn.

“Can I speak with you?” Connie said to Luther and his partner. He walked toward the corner, away from the group of kids, the two men following.

Connie extended his hand. “Luther, I’m Connie Darget. I’m with the DA’s office.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Darget.” His voice was calm, as it had been throughout the exchange with Ahearn. When Connie shook the man’s hand, he could feel a ripple of anxiety.

“I know,” Connie said. He turned to the white man and extended his hand. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Rich Zardino.”

“Haven’t I seen you guys at the gang intel meetings?”

The two men nodded. Not overly talkative. Upset by the exchange with Ahearn.

“I want to apologize for what just happened,” Connie said. “Maybe you can help me. I’m investigating a shooting and these detectives offered to help me find a couple of witnesses. They weren’t trying to give you a hard time. We just want to find these kids. We’re concerned they may have guns.”

“We understand, Mr. Darget,” Luther said.

“Connie.”

“We don’t want trouble with the police, either. But we’d lose our street credibility if we allowed the search. I didn’t want to show up the officer in front of the young men, but I had to stand my ground.”

“Understood. These witnesses I’m looking for are not in any trouble. Do you know Michael Rogers or Ellis Thomas?”

“Sorry, I do not,” Luther said, maintaining a tone of formality.

Zardino shrugged his shoulders.

“Thanks for your help. Here’s my card. I’ll let the detectives know I’m all set. You can get back to doing your job.”

Connie shook their hands. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any complaints filed with the Police Commissioner or with the DA.