Street Dreams (32 page)

“I’d be honored.”

So I told him. I talked, and talked, and talked, and talked.

We never got to the mountains. He didn’t even have a chance to wear the shirt. We never made it out of bed.

I
was awakened
by a kiss on the cheek, my enchanting prince dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, with a plastic-wrapped, laundered set of
blue scrubs draped over his shoulder. He was holding a cup of coffee.

“Good grief.” I sat up and pulled the covers over my breasts. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten.” He offered me the mug. “For you.”

I took the coffee and sipped. “Good stuff. Ethiopian. I know because a friend of mine bought me a pound.”

“There’s more where this came from. Plus, toast, juice, and the paper. But alas, you’ll have to eat alone. I must go to work.”

I rubbed my eyes and noticed Koby’s. Like sparkling Tokay. Finally, the brilliance was back. “Did you sleep well?”

“With you by my side, I slept with the angels. And yourself?”

“Great. I was knocked out.” I sipped more coffee, glancing around his tiny bedroom. It had a king-size bed, one nightstand
with a phone and a clock, and a small closet with a mirror. No TV, because there was no room. Sunlight was streaming through
the sheer curtains, the windows looking out to the rose garden. In actual size, the house was as small as my apartment. But
with the homey factor, it wasn’t even close. “I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Take your time.” He pulled something metallic out of his pocket and dropped it on my lap. “Lock up when you leave.”

A key. “Should I put it in the mailbox?”

“You can keep it. Use it with or without me. My house is close to your work. If you ever need a quick nap, the place will
serve your purpose.”

I met his eyes. “I don’t know, Koby. This is a little rushed, maybe?”

“If you don’t want it, put it in the mailbox.” He sat beside me, laying his plastic-wrapped scrubs on the floor. “You say
for me to show you I’m interested. Now maybe you believe me.”

“I meant responding to my phone calls, not moving—” I stopped myself. Talk about slips of the tongue. Now who needed to take
it easy? But my first thoughts had been, If I lived here, where would I put my clothes?

Koby broke into a slow smile. “I think I am
mad
for you, Cynthia.” He caressed my arm. “I think it scares me … how much I am mad for a woman.”

Men and their emotions.
I gave him an out. “Don’t worry. You barely know me.”

“I know how I feel. I knew it when I first saw you. I felt it in the heart. I felt it other places as well.”

The bed was still redolent of pheromones. “We do have chemistry.”

He kissed my bare shoulder. “We have passionate colors.” His hand snaked under the covers. “Black and red, a lethal combination.”

I gasped. “I thought you were going to work.”

“That’s what I am doing.” He slipped his fingers between my legs. “I am going to work.”

“Work as in a job.” I was desperately trying not to be so damn wet under his touch. I was failing miserably. “Salaried work.”

“Ah, but this is
so
much better.”

I pulled his hand away. “You’ll be late.”

“You are very cruel,” he told me.

Much nicer than saying,
You know you want it bad, bitch.
My eyes went down to his crotch, then up to his expectant face. He raised his eyebrows. He was waiting for a sign.

I smiled.

His clothes were off in thirty seconds. Fifteen minutes after that, he was dressed again. He eyed me in bed and I saw him
grow. “I am like a schoolboy.” He checked his watch and frowned. “As frustrated as one, too.”

“It’ll go away as soon as you pull into the hospital parking lot.”

“No doubt.” He started to sit next to me, then thought better of it. He picked up the scrubs. “Can we see each other tonight?”

“I get off late.”

“So we’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to go to a lecture with my mother at nine in the morning.”

“Lecture on what?”

“Art history or something. Mom’s doing a master’s. She’s an eternal student. But I promised I’d go with her. I dare not back
out.”

“I defer to
Kibud Aim
—honoring one’s mother. Tomorrow night?”

I nodded. “That’ll work.”

“Do I get to meet her? Your mother?”

“Yes … when the time’s right.”

“You said that with hesitancy. She won’t approve of me?”

“We’ll find out. She professes to be liberal, but you’re the first black man I’ve ever dated.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He kissed my forehead, brushing hair from my eyes. “As long as you approve.” He lifted up my chin and brought
my lips to his. He kissed me softly. Then again, and again. He sighed, then kissed me again. “Oh my God, I got it
so
bad!”

You and me both, hot stuff.
But someone had to be mature. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Reluctantly, he stood. Wordlessly, he left. I waited until I heard the front door close before I got out of bed. I showered
and dressed. Because it was a lovely morning, I put my coffee, juice, toast, and paper on a tray and brought the ensemble
out to his rose garden, placing my breakfast on the small, round table, settling into a patio chair. The lot, like all of
them in the area, had been cut into the mountains, so I was afforded a view of hillside homes and rooftops. There were houses
below me, houses above me, and it was all very charming. I felt as if I were in the artist colony of Montmartre, the Paris
neighborhood where the Moulin Rouge still stood. Blue was breaking from the clouds, and in the distance, I caught a glimpse
of Silver Lake—truly silver in the muted light.

A good guy, fabulous sex, coffee and the paper while breathing in the aroma of perfumed flowers,
and
a lake view to boot.

I could get used to this.

But alas, I, too, had work to do. When I was finished, I took everything back inside and washed and cleaned up. I knew he
kept kosher, so I opened his cabinets and drawers, and sure enough, he had two sets of dishes and two sets of flatware. I
placed the ones I had used with their matching set.

I shut the front door and locked it.

I hefted the key several times, then slipped it in my purse.

I owed Scott Oliver in ways he hadn’t considered. Since we stopped seeing each other, I had avoided visiting my father at
his work out of embarrassment. Now that Scott and I were on speaking terms, I could go see the Loo without fear of running
into him. I knew that Oliver was a clotheshorse. While buying Koby a shirt, I had bought Scott a tie. He wasn’t in when I
came into the Devonshire Detective squad room, so I put the bag on his desk with a thank-you note. Homicide sat in the back
of the squad room, its own little fiefdom. I hoped to be a full-fledged member one day, but for now I’d have to be content
with vicarious thrills, knowing most of the gold shields here, and knowing that my father was in charge.

I made small talk with a few folks, then left them alone to do their job. I went to pester my father. His door was open. He
always kept it open unless he was in conference. Protocol dictated that I knock, so I did. He was on the phone, taking notes,
and when he heard the rap, he looked up and gave me five splayed fingers. I mouthed for him to take his time.

“Hold on,” the Loo said. To me sotto voce, “Come in and close the door.” To his caller, “Yeah, I’m here, go ahead.”

I closed the door and sat down across from him, watching him chicken scratch on a yellow notepad. “That’s not going to work,
Alicia, especially with Malcolm Standish. He’s a stickler. Look, rather than bring the case to the grand jury and risk a dismissal,
it makes more sense for you to get warrants for the phone calls and bank accounts. Then I’ll have one of my people just go
through the paperwork and see if we can’t get a more direct connection.”

More listening.

My father rolled his eyes. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened a blue tie. He wore a white shirt and gray slacks.
His hand made furrows through his hair. “Alicia, I’m telling you this from twenty-five years of experience, if you move too
fast, you’re going to come away with nothing. We’ve got a good start. Don’t force it, it’ll … Yes, exactly. Go to Standish
and ask for the warrants. He’ll appreciate the attention to detail. He’s simpatico to these kinds of cases if you cross your
t
’s and dot your
i
’s … Yeah, specifically because we’re on the border. Yeah … yeah … okay … call me when you get the warrants, and I’ll go through
the paper. Fine … fine … bye.”

He hung up and exhaled loudly.

“Trouble?”

“Not too bad. At least, she was open to suggestion. I must spend half my time telling young assistant DAs how to do their
job.”

“You should have been a lawyer.”

My dad smiled at the joke. His eyes went to my face. “I want to ask you a question, Cindy.”

I leaned back, curious. “Sure.”

“I want to know what is the purpose of your having voice mail on your cell phone if you never return messages.”

My face went warm. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I understand you dropped by yesterday. Rina said you looked upset. That gave me concern. So I called you three times. But
you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Daddy. Again I’m sorry.”

“Were you sleeping off a depression or something?”

At this point, I could have gotten annoyed with him, but that wouldn’t have helped at all. “No.” I leaned over and kissed
his nose. “No, I was with Koby and it was a rather emotional afternoon and evening, and then the time slipped away. It was
wrong. For the third time, I apologize.”

“Why are you here, Officer?” he grumped at me.

“To aggravate you.”

“You’re doing a fine job at that,” he groused. “I heard about your bust. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Have you heard good or bad things?”

“Mostly good. A couple of nasty comments about the convenient bag of X.”

“Scum is scum.”

“Did they hassle you?”

“Yes, but the one good thing about being honest is you have only one story. It’s easy to repeat and you don’t get mixed up
in your lies.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

I told him about it. “I looked up the two names El Paso spit out. Joseph ‘Juice’ Fedek is not living at his last listed address,
but Pepe Renaldes is. He works on a construction crew with a posh West Side builder—”

“See why I do my own renovation work?”

“Not all of us can build houses, Dad. Ideally, I’d like to bring Sarah Sanders down to the station and have her look through
some six-packs from mug books and see if she picks out El Paso or Fedek or Renaldes. If she does, I’d like to check Renaldes’s
employment record. I also want to hunt for Fedek. I want to do all those things, but no one’s letting me do anything. So I’m
here, taking out my frustration on you.”

“Why not? Everyone else is. What is the status with the case right now?”

“Russ MacGregor and Justice Brill are waiting to see if there’s a drug plea. They tell me that El Paso’s willing to roll,
but the DA would rather put him away with a sure thing than take a chance on an iffy six-month-old rape case.”

“That makes sense, Cin.”

“Yes, it does. Unfortunately, if they do it, it means that two very vicious men are out there, able to prey on the public
instead of being locked up behind bars.”

“If Sarah’s story is true.”

“That’s why I’d like to show her the mug books and see if she could pick them out.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I just told the young DA over the phone. Have patience.”

“Do you see me going behind anyone’s back? In the meantime, just because I’m obsessive and dedicated, I’m still looking for
David Tyler. I figure if I find him and if both he and Sarah independently ID Fedek and Renaldes, then the rape/assault case
is on much more stable ground.” I sat back in my chair. “At first, I thought the bag was good, something we can use to really
squeeze El Paso. But I think they’re going for the slam-dunk drug conviction. Better for the statistics.”

“You’re too young to talk that cynically.”

“I’m not cynical, I’m practical. And I’m in a fine mood. A good date makes everything seem a little less hopeless.”

Dad faced me with unreadable eyes. “If you two are still speaking, you can bring him around again for
Shabbat
dinner. I promise I won’t glare at you this time.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“You haven’t brought it up. What are you worried about? Your mother’s much more liberal than I am.”

“I’m not worried, Dad. I just want to see how it goes before I even bother.” We both knew I was stalling. I checked my watch.
“So I guess I’m off to serve and protect and look for David Tyler.”

“Any leads at all with him?”

“Goose egg. For all I know, he may be dead. Sarah Sanders did say he wasn’t moving when she left the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. David could be dead, but I doubt if he was dead from the assault. Cindy, the City changes
the trash. People do use the john in the park. If there had been a dead body in it, someone would have noticed.”