Ladykiller (23 page)

The rain had subsided to a spattering. Ace had the windshield
wipers on intermittent.They swiped the glass clean at their own occasional pace, like a sudden and unexpected twist of good luck.

Spotting Falstaff, who had come out to panhandle now that the
rain was ending,Ace slid the Mercedes up to the curb. “Hey, my man,”
he called to the wino, “you want a ride?”

Falstaff’s beard bristled in surprise. “Odds bodkins. Is that you,
Ace?”
“I’m coming up in the world. And I’m back in town on serious,
big-time business.”
“Per chance, is that Jackie Why’s car you’re driving?”
“Damn straight,” Ace said with a bright grin. “I killed him. I shot
his ass. He came out to New Jersey, which is my turf. And the fucker
died for it. Well, guess what? The Deuce is my turf now. Hell, the
whole fucking city is my turf.” He cackled in glee.
“Stone the crows,” Falstaff said in genuine amazement. Then he
seemed to get an idea. “That being the case, would you be kind
enough to part with some change?”
“Change?”Ace rummaged in his pocket and produced Jackie
Why’s bulging wallet. He peeled off two twenties. “Here you go.Time
to get gooned out of your mind.”
Falstaff accepted the money in lip-smacking appreciation. “Bless
you, good sir. My first drink, I’ll raise the bottle to you. Then, I’ll
toast the late, great Jackie Why.”
Ace’s smile vanished and his face slid into a dangerous frown.
“You don’t believe I popped him, do you?”
“Ace, drunkards are God’s innocents. We believe all. If you say
you dispatched Jackie Why to his reward, it is as good as true.”
Ace pulled out the gun and pointed it at Falstaff. “I popped him
with this fucking piece, you sack of shit.”
Falstaff held up his hands, the bills clasped between thumb and
index finger. “I believe, I believe. Sirrah.”
Lowering the weapon, Ace said, “Good. Lots of people don’t believe me. Before the day’s out, they sure as shit are going to. Hear me?”
“Perfectly, perfectly.Yes indeed.”
Ace nodded and drove on. He parked the Mercedes in front of
the Foxy Lady. Tony Topnut, standing at the front door in a Hawaiian
shirt that pictured hula girls giving fellatio to elongated pineapples,
grabbed Ace by the shoulder.
Ace jerked away from him and drew the skirt of his jacket back
to reveal the holstered gun. “Hands off, you fat turdball.”
Tony ignored the gun and shook his prey until his teeth rattled.
“Where’s my fucking two hundred, you fuckhead?”
“Keep it in your pants.”Ace pulled away and slid out Jackie Why’s
billfold. He counted out the money. “I got money and I want a drink.”
“Fuck,”Tony Topnut said, pocketing the bills. “Go on in.”
Ace swaggered in, barely limping now.
At the bar, he laid out some bills. “Scotch. And none of that
watered-down piss you serve.”
Finesse sidled up. “Well, if it ain’t Mr. Dude. Where’d you get
that bodacious jacket?”
“Popped Jackie Why for it.” The bartender put Ace’s drink in
front of him. Ace took a slug.
“Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm.You are one crazy motherfucker.”
“Give this black bastard what he wants.”
Finesse cocked an eyebrow and ordered a Manhattan. “And after
that, my friend here’s gonna buy me the Bronx and Staten Island, too.”
“Friend, shit.You don’t like me.”
“Nobody likes you,” Finesse said. “So, you living large now. Considering that the police want you for questioning and that Jackie Why
wants you for four hundred semolians, that’s a good idea. Where’d
you get the money again?”
Ace bared his teeth and snarled, “I fucking told you. Don’t you
listen, you black bastard?”
Finesse, unperturbed by the outburst, accepted the Manhattan
from the bartender and took a sip. “My, my, my. You are the racialsensitivity poster boy today. What brings you back to town? NAACP
meeting?”
Angry, Ace dismounted his barstool. “I’m going to straighten it
out with my woman.The only person who ever cared about me.”
Finesse savored another sip of Manhattan. “A woman? Let me
guess. She’s deaf and blind. And she lost her sense of smell.”
Ace smacked the glass out of Finesse’s hand and screamed,
“Damn you.”
He yanked out the gun. “Talk about her like you done, and I’ll kill
you.”
Finesse edged away, bumping into the stools. “I didn’t mean
nothing. Hey, brother, be cool.”
Tony Topnut flung the door of the bar open and Ace saw the
wrecker hoisting the Mercedes outside the bar’s front door.
Ace ran toward the door. “Put that down,” he yelled, waving the
gun.
Tony flung his bulk forward and managed to bearhug Ace from
behind, locking his scrawny arms to his sides, the gun pointed at the
floor. “Give it up, you little scumbag,” he shouted in Ace’s ear.
Ace, squealing in pain, accidentally pulled the trigger.The bullet
ripped through Tony Topnut’s shin. The bar owner howled, dropped
Ace, and fell to the floor. He held his bloody leg, wailing. His bladder
let go and his urine formed a puddle that spread faster than the blood
that oozed from his shin.
“Holy shit,” Ace yelped and backed away, knocking over two
chairs before he turned and ran out the back door.

The eternal day finally over, Nita headed back to her apartment. She
had to get out of there, give herself some respite before the hotline
shift began.Tim was on with her tonight, which was annoying. In fact,
everyone in the center was annoying. Dr. Solomon had approached
her and asked if she wanted to chat. Her vehement “no” had sent him
back to his office refuge, not to be seen the rest of the day.

No one else dared to talk to her. Megan stayed away and kept her
back to Nita. Just as well. Megan’s simpering concern was more than
Nita could stand. Fortunately, someone had cleaned up the mess from
the shattered fish tank.

Nita paced along the drying sidewalk, her attention focused
immediately in front of her. The cracks and stains and oily puddles of
the concrete stood out like the world’s imperfections. She had to get a
grip. Control.Where had it fled? She wanted to smash anything in her
way. Simply destroy it. The hell with cool planning. She was making
too many mistakes. She had to get back her control.

She needed a plan.To deal with Ace. With Megan. With Dillon.
She wished she could smash Dillon. How dare he presume to judge
her? She visualized his empty cop head lying in a spreading pool of
blood. Like Jimmy Conlon’s. Yet a plan wouldn’t come to her. The
sidewalk unrolled its ugliness beneath her feet.

Almost home, she heard footsteps behind her. Gripping the .45
inside her bag, once more she whirled around.
There was nothing there.
At home, she ripped off her clothes, left them carelessly in a heap
on the floor, and turned on the shower as hot as it would go.The scalding, thudding water punished her skin. At last, when she could take it
no longer, she shut off the shower. She was panting.
Slowly, Nita patted her reddened body dry with a towel. The
shower restored her to life. Pain cleansed. She blow-dried her hair and
slipped into fresh clothes — a light sweater and leggings.
She had the feeling something would happen tonight. The air,
breathless from the rain, had that expectant quality. Well, let them
throw the worst at her. She was ready. She checked the action on
her .45 to assure herself that it fed rounds smartly into the chamber.
Control. She was getting it back.
Then she noticed the fish tank. What was wrong with the fish?
She squinted toward the bright stillness, remembering that she hadn’t
fed the fish for — How long? In dread, she tiptoed past her desk with
its silent computer, to the tank.
Only the large blue fish was alive. A few scales and fins from the
others were floating in the murky water.The blue fish, eyes wide as it
stared at Nita, had the guilty look of the reluctant cannibal.
Nita looked at the acquarium. Somewhere deep inside her a
bubble of pure rage swelled. She began to scream at the blue fish, her
voice rising to a shriek of frustration and fury. She screamed and
screamed.

The spring air was blessed with a blossom smell.The rain had washed
the city nearly clean. Puddles sat like mirrors, reflecting the last pinks
and reds of the sky. Dave walked around them and told himself that
miracles were waiting to happen on such a fine night.

Standing in the small foyer, he buzzed and waited until Megan
came down the stairs. She looked smart: blue silk blouse, white linen
jacket, black short skirt, expensive pumps. Her welcoming smile had
an incandescent warmth.

They kissed for a full minute. When she touched the holstered
revolver under his armpit, she broke the embrace. “Dave, about your
friend Jimmy. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes filled and he held her again, close, until the feel of her
body drove away his grief. He kissed her hard, his mouth demanding.
“Detective Dillon,” she gasped, pulling away for air. “I’d like to
take you right back upstairs.”
“Let’s go,” Dave said hoarsely, pulling her back to him.
The street door opened and a couple entered, embarrassed to
have interrupted.
Dave and Megan released each other. “Oh, hi,” Megan said awkwardly.They nodded and smiled.
“Maybe we should go to dinner,” Megan said, taking his arm. “I do
have us a reservation at a great place nearby. And then —” She giggled
throatily.
Dave stroked her face and joined in her smile. “Whatever you say.”
“I’ll remember that,” Megan laughed.
They walked to the restaurant in the buoyant air. Megan held
Dave’s arm with both hands, pressing her body against his. They
passed the doughnut shop and the men inside waved.
“Isn’t one of those guys a congressman?” Dave said.
“I don’t know. I’m only looking at one guy tonight,” Megan said
archly and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“Listen, let’s not talk about serious stuff: Jimmy, Nita, the case.
Let’s just talk about us tonight, okay?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Megan agreed with a smile. “Carlo is
giving us an alcove in the back. Practically no one can see us there. It’ll
be lovely.”
“Nobody can see us?” Dave caressed her forearm. “Sounds kind of
dangerous to me.”
“I am dangerous, my love.”

Nita walked briskly toward the crisis center. Tim would already be
there for the hotline shift. She was late. She was never late. But an
hour had simply slipped away. More. She remembered hearing the
screaming as if it had come from someone else. And catching the blue
fish, flinging it hard against the wall, then stomping it into a pulp. She
remembered the neighbors pounding on the door and asking if she
was all right. She remembered yelling at them through the door to go
away and leave her alone. She remembered sinking to the floor, sitting
on the hard surface, her head in her hands.

Control? Where had it fled?
Two blocks from the crisis center, the footsteps started again.
Right behind her. Keeping pace. When she spun around, she actually
had the gun half out. A shadow seemed to slip into a dark doorway.
“Ace, is that you?” she growled. She approached the doorway,
gun pointed ahead of her, combat ready. There was no one there. Of
course. She stuffed the .45 back into her bag and resumed walking,
resisting the impulse to check over her shoulder.
At work, Tim buzzed maternally around her. “How are you? You
look awful. Do you want to go home?”
“No, I do not.” Nita’s voice was a bark. “Leave me alone.”
Tim backed off. “Sorry for breathing, I’m sure,” he said petulently.
Sweeney was not in his customary position. Still hurt, Tim said
he’d finally been reassigned. He had asked Tim to tell her goodbye.
“Why, I don’t know, Miss Grumpy.”
Nita ignored him and sat at her desk. The paperwork in her
in-box had piled high, yet she didn’t feel like touching it. She stared at
the mound and did nothing.
“Want me to help you deal with this,” Tim offered tentatively,
gesturing at her in-box. “It’s really overflowing.”
Nita picked up the in-box stack and dumped it in her wastepaper
basket.
“Well,”Tim said. “Somebody has the rag on tonight.” He returned
to his desk.
The phone rang. Nita reached for it.

Ace sat on the overpass wall beside Grand Central, legs dangling over
the rushing cars below. He had been laughing for some time.

He glanced up at the huge clock on the building stories above.
He adjusted the gun, which was sticking unpleasantly into his side,
patting it fondly. He frowned suddenly and checked his jeans pocket.
He dug until he found a quarter, put it back, and resumed laughing.

Secure in their alcove in the back of the neighborhood restaurant,
Dave and Megan drank their wine and looked at each other dreamily
in the glow of the table’s single candle. Everything they said to each
other provoked delighted laughter.

“You could move into my place —” he said.
“That photo collection will have to go, of course.”
They laughed, never taking their gaze from each other.
“No need for them if I’m off the force,” he said.
She stopped laughing and gripped his hand. “If that happens,

what will you do?”
Dave shifted his attention to his wineglass. “I’ll figure it out. See,
I’ve always been a cop. Police work is in my family. There has to be
something beyond that, though.”
Megan squeezed his hand. “You’ll be okay, darling. I believe in
you.”
Dave met her eyes again and leaned over to kiss her. “Thank you.
And you, what will you do?”
Now it was Megan’s turn to turn her attention to the wine in her
glass. “Finish my degree. Get on with my profession.”
“Maybe we should start over someplace else. Get out of town.”
He laughed to show he was kidding, but for the first time his laughter
sounded forced.
Luckily, Carlo chose that moment to bring the veal.
Dave and Megan were eating lustily in perfect harmony, the wine
heating their blood and their teasing taking on overtones of foreplay,
when Dave’s beeper went off.

Dave listened intently to the recorded conversation. “So, she never
says exactly where she’s going to meet him?”

Jamie was close to him, leaning against the console in the
cramped surveillance van, her polished ebony cheekbones gleaming in
the dim lighting. “Just that it’s somewhere they met before. I presume
it’s nearby.”

“And she hasn’t made a move?”