by Les Edgerton
“What time you close?” he said, going up to the bar, laying a five on the bartop and sliding his empty bottle over.
“Close? You’re in New Orleans, mister.” The whole bar laughed, and Grady thought he heard the word “Yankee.” He looked over at Whitney and she grinned and shrugged her shoulders.
Grady shined ack grin at the bartender and the guys lining the bar, left a dollar on the bar, took his beer and went back to sit with Whitney.
***
An hour passed, and the bartender at Madigan’s and one or two patrons at the bar saw the one-eyed man sitting by the front window smack his forehead with the back of his hand, push back from his table and rush to the back room where the payphones were. The girl sitting with him looked as puzzled as they did.
“Tourist,” explained the bartender to one of his regulars sitting at the bar, as if that explained it all.
“Sally!” Grady’s voice was a bit breathless.
“Yeah, this Fogarty? What’s up?”
“That company that leases the duplex you got me the address on, you still got their number?”
He was in luck. The office was closed, but an eager beaver was still working late, and it didn’t take much convincing for her to agree to rent it to Grady. What did take some convincing was to rent it for a short period. He wanted it for a week. The woman on the phone said six months was the minimum, but he got her down to a month with an additional month’s rent as deposit. Telling her he was a cop helped. He said he was on vacation and he’d only need it maybe a week. Look, you can rent it out again soon as I’m gone, maybe sooner than a week, was the way he closed the deal. She agreed to come out and meet him at Madigan’s and give him the key. Show the place to him.
“Come on out,” he said, and when she got there, he introduced her to Whitney, thanked her for her trouble and offered her a drink, which she refused. “I don’t need to see it,” he said, writing her a check that made him wince. “I need a place to sleep more than anything, something near the streetcar. The location is all that’s important.” He made a point of letting her see his shield, when he laid his billfold out for her to check his identification. Whitney didn’t say a word, just watched and sipped on her drink.
The location was everything, he thought. Aloud, he said, “No, ma’am. I don’t want you to show it to me. It’s not necessary.”
After she left, Whitney said, “Another stakeout, eh?”
“Looks like.” He had one more phone call to make.
Half an hour after he hung up, Sally walked in. Grady stood up.
“Whitney, meet a friend of mine. Sal this is Whitney.”
Sally nodded. “This what you wanted?” he said, waving off the bartender who started to walk toward them. He pushed a duffel bag across to Grady.
“Thanks, Sally. I owe you. I don’t figure this was easy to get.”
“My pleasure. Veronica called in a favor. You found him, eh?”
“I found him.”
“Well, nail his butt, then. NOPD’l give you a medal, you do. This is a particularly bad piece of trash. You know, he killed his own father when he was a kid. You need to keep sharp with this guy. You need anything else, you give me a call. Nice meeting you, ma’am.”
Grady watched the ex-cop leave.
“Come on,” he said to Whitney. “You like chicken?”
He drove until he found a carryout chicken place. Popeye’s it said. “Chicken tastes good hot or cold,” he explained to Whitney. “Best thing to have on a stakeout other than breakfast rolls.” His next stop was at a convenience store where they picked up some other things, munchies, a liter of Pepsi, some toiletries. He didn’t want to chance taking Whitney home in case whatever it was Kincaid and Eddie were pning went off while he was gone.
“If you want, I’ll pay for your cab,” he said. “This might be even more boring.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Are you kidding? You couldn’t pay me to leave now! This is getting good!”
He drove them back to Burthe Street and parked a block up from the duplex, and they were getting out of the car, when a man standing in a yard with a hose in his hand watering a flower bed, said, “S’cuse me, folks, I don’t see your sticker?”
Grady looked at the man. “Our sticker?”
“Yeah. If you don’t have a neighborhood parking sticker, the police will boot your car.”
Whitney’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! That’s right, Grady. I forgot.”
The man said, “You folks visiting someone?”
“Yeah,” Grady replied. “Friend of mine lives up the street.”
The man peered at him intently, but seemed only idly curious.
“You’re from the north, aren’t you? I can tell from your accent. Me, too. Used to live in Minneapolis. God! I hope to hell I never see snow again!”
Grady thought he’d rather have the snow than this godawful heat.
“I’m sorry,” Whitney said, once they got back in the car. “I guess I just assumed you knew. You can’t park in any neighborhood without a sticker.”
“So that’s why Eddie parked so far away,” Grady said. “I thought he was just a total idiot.”
He drove back to the strip center parking lot and parked on the opposite end from Eddie’s brown Cavalier.
“Let’s go this way,” he said, locking his car. They walked around the block and came in from the side away from Carrollton. “I don’t want them to notice us. We come in from here, this is their blind side from their windows.”
As soon as they got in and he locked the door, he put his finger to his lips and made a pantomime of tiptoeing to Whitney. They stowed the stuff he’d bought in the kitchen, opening cupboards and the refrigerator and every little inadvertent noise each made would send each into paroxysms of silent giggles. By the time everything had been put away both were red-faced and out of breath from holding in their laughter.
Grady motioned for Whitney to follow him into the living room. At the far end was a large window that overlooked the back yard, a small fenced-in area edged with oleander bushes around its borders. Presumably the same layout downstairs, he thought. This room is probably where they are most of the time.
He leaned over close to Whitney’s ear, the smell of her perfume intoxicating. He swayed slightly, whispered in her ear.
“It’s all right if we whisper. They won’t be able to hear us if we keep it low. Look at this.”
He opened the duffel bag Sally had brought him. Inside was an absolute state of the art listening device. Grady explained what it was to her and how it worked.
He soon found out he was right about the layout. Reader and Eddie were right below him and when they talked in a normal tone of voice it was like being in the room with them. He listened on the headphones for a while, and then handed them to Whitney for her to listen while he went out to the refrigerator and brought back the chicken and a glass of Pepsi. There was ice in the freezer and glasses, plates and other utensils in the cupboard. He handed a plate to Whitney and sat back down on the floor, picked up the earphones and munched as he listened in to the sounds below. From time-to-time, he let her listen, smiling when her eyes widened.
“They sure use the intercourse word a lot,” was her wry observation.
“The criminal vocabulary,” he whispered. “Pretty standard, the world over.” She shook her head and twisted her mouth in disbelief at what she was hearing.
Which was interesting. Very interesting. They took turns listening, and when there was a lull down below, they compared notes on what each had heard.
When Grady felt the need to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, he caught himself reaching for the handle to flush it, stopping in time. When he returned to the room, he cautioned Whitney to do the same if she used the facilities.
“Oh, yeah,” she whispered, sarcastically. “I’m going to whisper my butt off and then go flush the toilet. Maybe I’ll rattle them pots and pans while I’m at it
. You must really think I’m a birdbrain.” Grady started to apologize and then realized by her grin she was only kidding.
After a while, the sounds died down.
“They’re sleeping, maybe,” he offered.
“Good idea,” she whispered back. They had both been sitting, Indian-style on the floor, and she reached over, put her hand on Grady’s neck and pulled him to her, her mouth slightly open to receive his. She had the softest lips he’d ever kissed.
He started to give off a little moan, and then stifled it, mid-way, which caused them both to shake with silent giggles. For some reason, that effort aroused him even more. It must have her as well, from the look that came over her. This time, he reached for her and drew her to him and their lips came together and he felt like he was falling off a ledge on a very high building but it was a pleasant fall, not at all terrifying. More like floating. He laid back on the floor and pulled her to him, taking extraordinary care not to make a sound and it seemed like the more he tried to remain quiet the more intense his arousal became. It was the same for her, he could tell.
He kissed her again and opened his eyes briefly and saw she had hers open as well, and they remained like that, eyes open, tongues seeking each other and his body had never felt so focused on a single thing in his entire life.
He felt her fingers on his trousers and he felt the air when she slid them open and then her hand was inside and it was incredible, the sensation.
The silence they had to maintain just made everything impossibly delicious. Every movement was in tiny increments as they undressed each other. Her legs opened and he was leaning over her and then he was in her and her legs were around his waist and squeezing and all the time she looked into his eyes, never blinking and they would move together and start to move faster and then both of them knew at the same exact moment that they had to slow it down--their bodies were completely attuned, as one, and they made love that way, slowly, with controlled urgency and when he could stand it no more, he came, and then she came, just after he had and while he was in the midst of his passion and it was like nothing he had ever experienced. No screaming, no speaking, no sound whatsoever, just the silent heaving of both their chests, and they could barely move during any of it, so that it was like every cell in their bodies was screaming above the point where the human ear could hear it.
His hand went over her mouth and hers over his, each feeling the hot breath of the other.
Neither said a word as they lay coupled and even though Grady had climaxed, his penis stayed hard longer than it ever had and then gradually relaxed and got small and slipped out and it was only then that he eased off her to her side and lay, stomach-down on the carpet, his arm across her breasts, her hand warm on his forearm, her breath mingling with his, the perfume of her wet hair in his nostrils.
Five and then ten and then twenty minutes passed before either moved.
Whitney was the first to stir, lifting up on her elbow and gazing down at Grady, who could only shake his head in disbelief.
“That was...” she started to say.
He put a finger to her lips.
“No words,” he said in a ragged whisper. “There are no words.”
She nodded and lay her head on his chest and for long minutes they just lay like that. After a while, as if by mutual, silent consent, they both sat up and put their clothes back on. Dressed, Grady padded into the kitchen and came back with the bottle of Pepsi and two glasses.
“A toast,” he said, pouring each about half full.
Whitney frowned. “Don’t you dare make light of this,” she said. “That wasn’t just sex we just had. At least not for me.” She turned away but not before Grady saw the tears pooling in her eyes.
Grady sucked in his breath audibly. He quickly set the glasses down on the floor and went over to her, taking her in his arms. He put his finger under her chin and lifted it until she was looking straight into his eyes. Her chin trembled beneath his fingers.
“Oh, Whitney!” he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re so wrong!”
Her eyes probed his, darting back and forth, rapidly, searching for a sign in his face that he was being honest, her own expression one of wariness.
He pulled her down with him onto the floor until they were both on their knees.
“Whitney...” he hesitated. “Oh, my sweet, sweet darling! I can’t believe you can’t just look at me and know how I feel. I’ve never experienced anything in my life like what we just had. That wasn’t just sex, Whitney. Not to me. Oh, it was sex all right—sex with all capitals. But there was something else in there. Something magical and marvelous and...and I can’t explain it, can’t find the words for it. I want to sound like a poet when I tell you how I feel and I’m just a dumb cop. I want to sing, I want to cry, I want to yell out loud.” His face twisted in anguish as he tried to find the perfect words to tell her how he felt and couldn’t. “But, I can think of only one word to describe what I feel for you.”
She looked at him with eyes so large and luminous he thought he could easily fall into them and drown.
“The only word I can come up with is this.” He leaned over, put his mouth to her ear, and whispered.
He pulled back and when he saw her face he felt a happiness flood over him, a kind of joy he had never felt before in his life. She brought her hand up, caressed the side of his face.
“I feel the same word, Grady,” she said.
They came together, their lips touching, melting together, and this wasn’t a bruising, lusty kiss; it was a kiss of sweetness, soft, enveloping, pure.
“I love you, too, Grady,” she whispered, her voice husky in his ear, the natural perfume of her hair making him faint with giddiness and delight.
She pulled him down beside her and they lay together, not moving, just holding each other, feeling the other’s heartbeat against their chests. No matter whatever happens for the rest of his life, Grady thought, I’ll always have this perfect moment.
They lay together like that for long, delicious moments, and then gradually became aware of sounds and movement downstairs. Whitney was the first to stir. She gently pulled Grady’s arms from around her, kissed him chastely on his forehead, and sat up.
“You’ve got work to do, my sweet,” she said, her face mock serious. “We’ll have time for you and me later. Lots of time, I hope.”
He smiled at her back as she vanished into the other room and only when he heard the bathroom door click softly shut, did he pick up the earphones and began to listen again. He heard a slight noise as she opened the bathroom door and then she came back in and sat down beside him and began stroking his hair. After a few minutes, she snuggled down beside him on the floor, closed her eyes and went to sleep, the corners of her mouth turned up just the slightest bit as her breathing became slower and she slept. He watched her. And listened on the earphones.
And imagined the future.
***
About five-thirty, he heard someone come in downstairs and two muffled voices. Must be in another part of the room, he assumed. The next thing he heard clearly was, “Get off my case, Reader.” Grady assumed the voice belonged to Eddie. The next voice he heard, he recognized as Reader’s.
“Aw, fuck it. Go in and bring out our guest. It’s time for a movie.”
There was some bumping and other noises he couldn’t make out and then Reader was talking again.
“You watch many movies, Mr. St. Ives?” Movies? What the hell was going on? Did he work for the banker? He heard something muffled, must be St. Ives. He could hear only snatches of conversation. St. Ives didn’t seem to be taking part in the conversation. Then he could hear Kincaid’s voice again, much clearer.
“I need to explain some things to you, Mr. St. Ives. You want to pay attention. This is important if you want to keep all your body parts.” He laughed again, and Grady thought he heard something else, something the other man said, but he couldn’t make it out.
“See this?” Grady couldn’
t, and he couldn’t imagine what it was Kincaid was showing the other man.
“This is going to be part of your wardrobe tomorrow.” Looks like something you make in art class, fifth grade, doesn’t it? You ever work with Plaster of Paris, Mr. St. Ives? Well, this little art project is special.” Again, that sound that was supposed to be a laugh.
He explained what was in the Plaster of Paris mold, not aware he was explaining it to an audience of two.
“This movie I want you to watch stars a dog. Nice pooch. You’ll notice he has the same thing on his back as you’re looking at here. Only, there’s three pipes in yours. The mutt only had one. You want to watch real close to see what just one can do.” He paused. “You want to pay real close attention, Mr. St. Ives. I wouldn’t want you to misinterpret anything.”
Grady heard some fumbling, figured out quickly it was Reader inserting a video in the VCR.
It was a short movie. The instant he heard the sound of an explosion, Grady had pretty much doped out what was going on. This guy was something! So that was why he’d needed a dog!
He tried to figure out what he should do. He knew enough now to arrest him. Or did he? Under the RICO act, Kincaid could be charged with a crime for planning it, but would he be convicted? RICO was a bitch to convict under, lots of times. Unless you were a TV detective.
This was getting complicated. I bet Reader didn’t figure on this St. Ives guy to have his own scam going, Grady thought.
And who the hell was this Castro he kept hearing mentioned? Must be a code name, Fidel Castro was in Cuba the last he’d heard. There was more to this than he was picking up. Why was St. Ives picking up money in ‘Sha-mette,’ wherever that was? Why would a banker be picking up money? A whole fucking lot of money. Four million, is that what he’d heard? Four million! It came to Grady in a flash of insight and he saw it, the whole thing, clear as sunshine. He knew what he had to do.
Find out everything he could about Kincaid’s plans and figure out something. Get inside this creep’s mind, see how he thinks, and you’ll come up with something. Make him pay, really pay for what he’d done to Jack. You want this case to be ironclad. This is one bad guy you don’t want to get off because of some liberal judge or idiot jury. Grady had seen too much of both to risk something like that with this son-of-a-bitch.