“Horgess, you idiot!” she exclaimed in disbelief to no one in particular, inside her kitchen.

She stopped pacing. It struck her that Andy Brazil was still standing in the doorway. She was not entirely sure why he was here and suddenly doubted the wisdom of a handsome young reporter dressed like a cop being in the house with her, in the wake of a domestic shooting. Hammer also knew that her entire evening shift was heading toward her address, flying to investigate the fate of their leader.

Goode never kept her radio on at home or in her car, but a source had tipped her off, and she was already putting on her uniform, preparing to take over the Charlotte Police Department, as Unit 538 sped through Fourth Ward. Unit 538 was terrified. She worried she might have to stop to vomit. She turned on Pine Street, and was stunned to find five other police cars already in front of Hammer’s house, lights strobing. In Unit 538’s rearview mirror, more cars came, miles of them, speeding through the night to help their fallen chief. Unit 538 parked, shakily gathered her metal clipboard, wondering if she could just leave and deciding probably not.

Hammer went out on the porch to reassure her people. “Everything is under control,” she spoke to them.

“Then you’re not injured,” said a sergeant whose name she did not recall.

“My husband is injured. We don’t think it’s serious,” she said.

“So everything’s okay.”

“Man, what a scare.”

“We’re so relieved, Chief Hammer.”

“See you in the morning.” Hammer dismissed them with a wave.

That was all they needed to hear. Each officer secretly keyed his mike, broadcasting several clicks over the air, signaling comrades everywhere that all was ten-four. Only Unit 538 had unfinished business, and she followed Hammer into the rich, old house. They sat in the living room.

“Before you even start,” Hammer said, “I’m going to tell you how this is going to be done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There will be no implication that the right thing was not done here, that exceptions were made because the subject involved happens to be married to me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“This is routine and will be worked according to the book.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My husband should be charged with reckless endangerment and discharging a firearm in the city limits,” Hammer went on.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Unit 538’s handwriting was unsteady as she began filling out the accidental shooting report. This was amazing. Hammer must not like her husband much. Hammer was nailing him with the maximum charge, locking him up and throwing away the key. It just proved Unit 538’s theory that women like Hammer got where they were by being aggressive hard-asses. They were men poured into the wrong form at the factory. Hammer recited all the necessary information. She answered Unit 538’s banal questions and got the cop out as fast as possible.

Brazil remained seated at the kitchen table in Chief Hammer’s house, wondering if anyone might have recognized his distinctive BMW parked out front. If the cops ran his tag, what would they think? Who was he here to see? He remembered with a sinking feeling that the condominiums Axel and friends lived in were just around the corner. Cops with their suspicious minds might think Brazil had parked a street away, trying to fool everybody. If word got back to Axel, he’d believe Brazil was stalking him, had a thing for him.