Brice got up and walked over to the chair, staring down at the guy’s bald spot. “I never hit my wife. Did you ever hit your wife, Zee?”

“Nah,” the other cop said. “I’d never hit my wife. In fact, only pussies hit women.”

“Get him out of here, would you, Officer?” Brice said. “Call for a wagon to haul his ass to jail.”

“For what?” the guy protested. “A bloody lip? You don’t even know what she was up to here. Why don’t you ask her that?”

“You’re going to jail for aggravated assault, for starters,” Zee said, gripping the man’s forearm and forcing him to his feet. He took the handcuffs from his belt and clipped them over the man’s wrists.

“No,” Colleen Boardman whispered. “Don’t take him to jail. He didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Brice sat down on the edge of the bed again, lowering his voice, so the other two couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Colleen, this guy is bad news. He hit you once, he’ll keep on hitting you. I’ve seen it before.”

“It was a misunderstanding, that’s all,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re saying you don’t want to press charges?” His voice was incredulous.

“I’m fine. Really. Allen only gets like this when he drinks.”

“If you press charges, we’ll testify in court about how he hurt you. He could do real time. You could at least get a restraining order, to keep him away. So he can’t do it again.”

She shook her head violently. “No. Can you just, I don’t know, maybe get him to leave now?”

“Are you sure?” Brice glanced over his shoulder at the husband. Zee gave him a questioning look.

“Cut him loose,” Brice said.

“See? I told you. No big deal,” the man said, smirking.

When he’d unlocked the cuffs, Zee gave the husband another shove, in the direction of the door. “Get out,” he said. “And don’t go anywhere near her, you hear me? If you lay a hand on her again? If we get another domestic call about you? I promise, things won’t end like this next time.”

Brice was still looking at Colleen. “Officer, maybe you could give him a police escort, say, to a friend’s house, where he can cool off for a few days.”

“That’s a really good idea,” Zee said, opening the motel room door and pushing the man outside. “Come on, dipshit. Let’s take a ride.”

“Thanks,” Colleen said, when her husband was gone. Through the cheap rayon drapes they saw the headlights of a car, backing out, and then the blue lights of Zilowicz’s unit following, and then both cars merged onto traffic on Ninth Street.

“You should have let us lock him up,” Brice said, staying by the window. “So, what now?”