Carella and Meyer came running out of the precinct and into the parking lot behind it, drenched to the bone before they’d taken half a dozen steps. Rain banged on the roof of the car. Rain drilled Carella’s head as he fumbled the key into the lock on the driver’s side, rain smashed his eyes, rain soaked the shoulders of his coat and plastered his hair onto his forehead. Meyer stood patiently hunched and hulking on the passenger side of the car, eyes squinched, drowning in the merciless rain. “Just take all the time in the world,” he suggested. Carella finally got the key into the lock, twisted it open, hurried inside, and reached across the seat to unlock the other door for Meyer. “Whoosh!” Meyer said, and pulled the door shut behind him. Both men sat breathless for a moment, enclosed now in a rattling cocoon, the windshield and windows melting with rain. Behind them, the precinct lights glowed yellow, offering comfort and warmth, odd solace for a place they rarely associated with either.
