Love Notes
Page 14
“I just hope that rattle trap of theirs will make it back to D.C. tonight,” Gianna said. “I really don’t want to spend the night in this truck.”
“What’s wrong with my truck?”
“It’s a lovely truck, Eric, but it doesn’t have mattresses and pillows and heat when the engine’s turned off. In short, the comforts of home are sorely lacking.”
“Speaking of which, I hope you thanked Miss Patterson properly. Without her assistance we wouldn’t have known where the guns were until the Ganjas were fighting the Irishmen for them.”
“Oh, spare me the Be Kind to Miss Patterson lecture.”
“Come on, Anna, she deserves it.”
“The last thing I need is to have her thinking I’m indebted to her. She’s already impossible to get along with.”
Eric and Gianna had known each other since their police academy days, and they’d become close friends when he challenged a class macho man who wouldn’t accept Gianna’s “no” for what it meant. Eric had spent his high school days defending a gay younger brother from bullies; defending a friend and classmate came easily. Less easy to accept sometimes was her prickly nature, exacerbated by the pressures of being a lieutenant, of heading a unit, of being a woman, of being a lesbian. To show her that he’d never cross the line between them, he still called her Anna, the derivative of Giovanna, which was her name. Gianna was the family name, the pet name, the name reserved for only those closest to her. He could claim that privilege; he chose not to, out of respect.
They let the conversation lapse as they both kept their eyes glued to the blue van directly ahead of them. It truly was as raggedy as anything on the road, but it was rolling along at a decent clip. Eric jerked his head to the left and Gianna saw the sedan carrying Bobby, Tim and Tony pull alongside them. She watched it as it moved up beside the blue van. She saw it pull ahead, then saw the right turn signal flash, and it was in front of the van. They had ‘em boxed in. By-the-book perfect.
“Why did we have to do this?” Eric asked, as he, too, felt the relief of knowing that they’d almost completed their mission and had done it by the book.
“Because we were ordered to do it.”
“Gimme a break, would ya?” He didn’t try to conceal the disgust in his voice. He was irritated that she’d feed him the same line she’d fed the Unit. She reached across the truck’s cab and grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.
“That’s all the truth I know, Eric. He called me into his office and told me to do it. At the same time he told me to activate Cassie or release her.”
“So she was right. We’re going to be budget chopped.”
Gianna didn’t answer and neither of them spoke again for another three hours, until they were in the tunnel beneath New York Avenue. The streets in D.C. were practically deserted, which was good. But since the blue van hadn’t stopped, it was a good guess that they had some means of mobile communication with whoever was waiting for them, and the Shamrock Bar was nearby. However, as they emerged from the tunnel’s mouth, they were quickly surrounded by D.C. cop cars. Gianna watched as Tony Watkins sped ahead of the blue van then whipped the sedan sideways so that it blocked the street. Eric sped up so that he was on the van’s bumper, but the van didn’t stop moving until it reached the sedan carrying Bobby and Tony that was blocking the road. They were out of the vehicle, weapons drawn and aimed at the blue van. The other cops now were out and the blue van was surrounded. Gianna and Eric got out of the truck.
The street was treacherously slick and Gianna lost her footing and slid into the truck. She waved Eric ahead, toward the action, and took a minute to regain her balance, and watched as both passenger doors of the blue van opened and the driver and front seat passenger emerged. They looked exactly as Mimi had described them and Gianna did indeed owe her. Responding to commands shouted through a bullhorn, the two men lay face down in the street, their hands behind their heads, their legs crossed at the ankles. Gianna hoped for their sakes that it was a smooth take-down because it was too cold to lay too long on the icy street. And it was still raining ice pellets, cold, hard, prickly rocks that stung the skin.
The blue van now was surrounded by cops keeping their distance, since it was known that the van contained weapons. They ordered the remaining inhabitants to open the van’s rear doors, show their hands, and emerge, one at a time. After a brief wait, the panel door slid open and three other men stepped out. Gianna was surprised; she expected a total of four. That’s how many Mimi had seen, that’s how many the café manager in Florida had seen, that’s how many the Florida mechanic had seen. Had there been a fifth man all along or had he joined the group somewhere along the drive north?
The first two out of the van were handcuffed and inside the SWAT trucks. The remaining three, now spread-eagle on the frigid street, soon would be cuffed and safely locked inside the truck, and Gianna could call the Chief and tell him he could relax. Then she could...something moved off to her right, something just out of her sightline. She backed up until she was touching Eric’s truck and scanned the area directly in front of her. SWAT now had control of the blue van. All the doors were open and the crime scene technicians were about to begin their work. All five suspects were cuffed and in custody. Now she heard something. She cocked her head and listened. Ice falling from the sky and hitting the ground and sounding like ball bearings dropped on a hardwood floor, car tires in the distance, swishing in the accumulating slush. And something else. She passed her eyes back and forth across the scene like a searchlight.
“Hey!” It was a surprised, angry yell from a cop looking her way, looking past her. She turned to see a figure running—slipping and sliding—back into the tunnel. She whipped around and gave chase. She and the perp lost their traction and fell at the same time. She scrambled to her knees, crawled a few feet, slid a few more, stood, ran for several yards, and when she fell again, she was almost upon the perp who apparently had injured himself when he fell.
“Police! Stop!” she yelled, and he rolled over, saw her, and struggled to his feet. He was limping badly. When he fell again, Gianna was on top of him. Maybe he’d hurt a leg or a knee but there was nothing wrong with his fists. He punched at her, landing several solid blows to her chest and midsection, and he delivered a head butt that had she taken it on her forehead would have knocked her unconscious. But it landed on the side of her face, down near her neck, and was painful enough that she released the hold she had on his arm and he scrambled away from her. She reached out and grabbed a leg just before he crawled out of reach and it must have been the injured leg because he howled in pain. Gianna straddled him, pinning his arms to the ground and avoiding proximity to his head. She was immediately relieved by a phalanx of slipping, sliding cops led by Tim McCreedy, who pulled her upright and into a steadying grip.
“How the hell did he get free?” Gianna demanded of nobody in particular.
“Fuckin’ hole in the bottom of the van,” an out-of-breath Eric Ashby said, sliding to a stop beside her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, including both Eric and Tim. “Why was there a hole in the floor of the truck?”
“To load and unload their weapons without being seen.” This from a SWAT lieutenant that she knew to be, like herself, a protégé of the chief, and whose badge identified him as R. Gomez.
“Jesus,” Gianna muttered. “He could have taken out half of us before we knew what hit us.”
“I could have lived the rest of my life without hearing that,” Gomez said.
Gianna shrugged him an apology. She could have lived the rest of her life without having to think it. “You guys got this wrapped up, you think?”
Gomez nodded. “We’re ready to run the perps in and the truck is here to tow the van to the lab. We’ll have the street cleared in another fifteen or twenty.”
Gianna nodded her thanks and was about to walk away to call the chief when Gomez touched her shoulder, drawing her back toward him. He leaned in close.
“What was that all about?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know.” But I don’t like it, she thought. I don’t like it worth a damn.
CHAPTER NINE
As soundly as Mimi could sleep through the ringing of the telephone in the middle of the night, she could awaken immediately and fully at the slightest sound or movement in her house. She had put the telephone on the pillow next to her head and set the ringer on loud in case Gianna called, and she’d fallen asleep at eleven-thirty with the brittle sound of sleet hitting the windows and the street. At four-twelve, according to the red digital readout on the clock face, she sat straight up in bed and listened: The garage door rising. She jumped up, grabbed her robe, and hurried down the hallway, through the living room and dining room and kitchen, and flung open the door as Gianna stepped gingerly from her sedan. The sleepy but welcome smile on Mimi’s face froze.
“Good God, Gianna, what happened to you?” She rushed to her and could tell that her embrace was painful so she relaxed her hold, allowing Gianna to lean on her.
“You should see the other guy.”
Mimi wasn’t inclined toward humor. “I thought you promised the chief you were staying out of the fray.”
Gianna groaned. “I’ve already listened to him give me grief so don’t you start, too. But for the record, the last thing I wanted was to chase some perp. You know how I hate ice.”
“Obviously you caught him. Who was it?”
“One of your Irishmen.”
“One of my...” Mimi sighed, wrapped her arms around Gianna. It was cold in the garage. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed. Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous. But you know what I’d really like?”
“What would you really like, Gianna me darlin’?” Mimi said with a passable imitation of a brogue.
“An hour in the hot tub and a drink.”
Fifteen minutes later Gianna was up to her neck in hot, churning water, head thrown back, watching the rain-sleet-snow mixture hurl itself earthward from the black sky, compliments of the sky dome that covered what formerly was the tool shed attached to Mimi’s garage. It wasn’t a very large space but it was well-used. The floor was laid with Italian tile, the hot tub itself encased in brick and adobe, so that it resembled a fountain in the middle of a piazza. Ferns and spider plants thrived in the moist, steamy heat. It was a little corner of paradise, a perfect end to an imperfect day. Gianna had almost drifted off to sleep when Mimi returned with a wicker tray which she placed on the wide edge of the hot tub. Gianna opened her eyes to find a platter of feta cheese, black olives, sun dried tomatoes, a loaf of her favorite rosemary bread and a tumbler of chilled vodka. She reached for the vodka and took a long, slow sip.
“Oh, Lord, that’s good!” She took another sip and put the glass back on the tray as Mimi stepped into the water. “But this is even better,” she said, drawing Mimi down into her arms and into a kiss that increased the water temperature by several degrees. While she explored her mouth with her tongue, she explored her body with her hands. When finally she took her mouth from Mimi’s mouth, she bit and nibbled her neck and her shoulder blade, which caused Mimi to squirm. And as she bent her head in search of a breast, Mimi stopped.
“I keep telling you that you’re going to drown yourself in here one of these days. You’re not an amphibian, my dear.”
“Then come here,” Gianna ordered, pulling Mimi into her lap to straddle her, and delivering delicious, erect nipples right to her mouth. She wrapped one arm around Mimi’s back, pulling her in close; the other hand was wedged between them, between Mimi’s legs, caressing and teasing and demanding, much as her mouth was doing to nipples. Mimi’s release was rapid and powerful.
“Working late certainly agrees with you,” she whispered into Gianna’s ear. Still straddling her, she rotated her hips gently against Gianna’s hand.
“I was thinking about you all night.”
“Is that how the son of the Auld Sod got the drop on you? You were mooning over me...ouch!”
Gianna bit her shoulder, then kissed the place. “I wouldn’t have the son of a...the son of the sod, had it not been for you. I thank you and Eric thanks you and his excellency the chief thanks you.”
“You told him how you found out where they were?”
“Of course I told him. Since he hadn’t issued me a crystal ball to gaze into, I had to come up with Florida somehow, not to mention the description of the van and guys inside....and oh, get this.” And she told Mimi about the hole in the bottom of the truck and how the sixth man crawled out of it, under Eric’s truck, and was half way through the New York Avenue tunnel before he was spotted. And she told her about Gomez’s comments, which drew a frown and, Gianna could see, concerns similar to her own.
“What do you think he meant?” Mimi asked.
Gianna shook her head. “I don’t have a clue and I really don’t want to think about it tonight.” She released Mimi and reached around to the tray of food. “Hungry?”
“What are we talking about?” Mimi asked.
“It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Satur...today. Today’s Saturday. And it’s almost time to get up!” Gianna exclaimed.
“Given what that crazy ass Irishman did to your body, and what I plan to do, you won’t be getting up until Sunday, Lieutenant. Now here,” she said, giving Gianna her drink, “drink this”.
“I only wish I could sleep until Sunday. Talk about being thankful for small favors, my first appointment isn’t until one tomor...this afternoon and that’s only because she’s a musician and a night owl.”
“Anybody I know?”
Gianna hesitated. “Peggy Carter, the Bayou singer.”
“How’s it going?” Mimi asked.
Gianna swallowed a big gulp of vodka and sighed as the warmth spread through her body. “Well, now that I’m done babysitting gun runners and drug dealers, perhaps I can do more than pay lip service to working the thing.”
“Do you know why the chief...”
“I do not, and I do not want to talk about the Chief of Police right now. That would upset me and I don’t want to be upset. I want to be with you and I want to know what’s going on with you these days. How’s your story shaping up?”
“Do you really care?”
“What a shitty thing to say!” Gianna gave Mimi a not-so-gentle shove that landed her, with a splash, on her butt on the hot tub bench. “Of course I care, Mimi, how could you say something so...so...mean?”
“You hung up on me when you found out that I’d talked to Renee about Millie Cartcher.”
“I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry. And while I won’t apologize for the fact that I don’t like it when we end up on the same case, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about what you’re doing, Mimi, or that I don’t wish you well.”
Mimi turned sideways to face her. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“OK. The story I’m working on is only superficially about Millie Cartcher and Ellie Litton. The focus is on how we view and treat women of a certain age in our society, and how if the society didn’t make them feel like their lives ended on their fiftieth birthdays, then maybe Millie and Ellie would still be alive...why are you looking at me like that?”
“What do you know about Ellie Litton?”
Mimi groaned. “Oh, Lord, here we go again.”
Peggy Carter lived in a four-story, Federal-front townhouse on the edge of Georgetown that had belonged to her parents back when Georgetown was a Black neighborhood. Georgetown now was the most exclusive enclave in D.C. and its narrow, cobblestone streets never held enough parking, a fact that always made Gianna que
stion the nature of exclusivity. Thanks to a layer of sand, courtesy of the Department of Sanitation, and the blindingly bright sunlight, much of the ice had melted or the street would have been impassable. When Gianna got to Peggy’s house, she was standing in the door directing the efforts of a man who was trying to break up and remove the ice glazing the front steps though the walkway was cleared. Gianna put her shield in the window, parked in a WEATHER EMERGENCY NO PARKING zone, and got out of the car.
Peggy called out that Gianna should enter the house via the basement door, which was beneath the steps and invisible from the street. Virtually all of the old row houses had separate entrances for what once had been servants’ quarters and which very often now were rental units. Gianna caught the keys Peggy tossed her and opened first the iron gate and then the metal-enforced door. Once inside, it was clear that the space was, in fact, an unoccupied rental unit. It was large, open and surprisingly bright, with hardwood floors and white plaster walls, devoid of ornamentation. An alcove at the far end of the room contained a sink, stove and refrigerator, and Gianna imagined that through the passageway off to her right there was a bathroom and an exit to the back yard. She started up the steps and heard deadbolts being turned.
“I’m so sorry you had to come in this way,” Peggy Carter exclaimed as Gianna moved past her into a hallway as lushly appointed as the downstairs was stark. Framed photographs spanning most of the last century created a gallery in the hall, and thick Persian carpets reflected blue and red and gold in the chandelier’s crystal.
“No apology necessary,” Gianna said, shaking hands with Peggy. “If we’d scheduled our appointment for an hour later, the sun would have done the work for you.” And she followed Peggy up the hall and into what once was called a parlor and what now was a combination den-music room. The center piece was a concert-quality grand piano. The other element Gianna noticed was the crackling fire. As she claimed a wing chair opposite Peggy’s in front of the fireplace, she noticed a television and VCR, a stereo and CD player, and wall of bookshelves, full from top to bottom, and dozens more photographs. And the room, despite its elegance, was one of the most comfortable she’d ever been in. Comfortable like Peggy Carter was comfortable; elegant like Peggy Carter was elegant, though she was different in her home. Gone were the high fashion wig and sequined gown and stiletto heels and movie star make-up. Her short hair was shot through with silver. She wore a black wool jump suit and fuzzy slippers and only the barest hint of lipstick.