They cross, and, sure enough, I notice them walking up the stairs, but I lose sight of them before the front entrance.

Damn. The odds of winning the lottery are better than this shit.

I look around, see if there’s anywhere to park so I can get an eyeball on their vehicle. Parking is damn near impossible. I opt to park behind another car, but I’m partially obstructing Saint Matthew’s Court, which is more of an alley than a court. I turn my lights off.

Not even fifteen minutes later a cruiser rolls up behind me. Emergency lights go on shortly after. The driver and his partner approach my car. I roll down the window. Driver’s handheld Streamlight blinds me. I shield my eyes.

He stays behind, near the rear passenger door of my car, so I have to turn to him. The partner’s Streamlight searches the interior of my car.

Driver lowers his light a bit so I can see him, then says, “You’re not planning to park here, are you?”

He’s a young guy. Fuck, they’re all young nowadays. I hardly know anyone anymore.

My suit jacket is off, so I worry about whether my mags and sidearm are visible to him. Don’t want another situation like before, or worse.

“I was hoping you officers would let me, just for an hour or so while I stay in the car.”

He gives me a look, like maybe I’m drunk or something.

“It’s not like that, Officer. I’m a retired DC cop working a part-time security gig for a couple of buildings on Connecticut. They’re getting torn up with office burglaries, but you know that.”

“You have credentials?”

“Of course. I’m going to reach for my wallet. It’s in the inner pocket of my suit jacket on the front seat.”

Still doesn’t see my weapon. The magazine pouch is too close to the driver’s-side door, and I figure the gun is tucked far enough toward my back to stay out of sight.

“Lift your jacket slowly off the backpack and hand it to me,” Driver says.

“No problem.”

I slowly hand it over to him. He backs up a bit while his partner keeps his Streamlight on me.

“Frank Marr?”

“That’s me.”

“Your badge says you’re a retired detective. You look too young to be retired.”

“I left early, after seventeen years.”

He moves back toward me, then hands me my suit jacket but keeps the wallet.

“Where were you assigned?”

“NSID.”

“Stand by for a second, sir, all right?” Driver says.

He backs up to enter his car. His partner stays. I know Driver’s gonna run me, make sure I am who I say I am. No wants. No warrants. No worries.

A couple minutes later he returns and hands my wallet back to me. He gives me his business card with it.

Officer Todd Tyler.