by Sandra Brown
down for a kiss. She didn't overtly resist, but he felt a tension there,
and it wasn't the good kind. He rationalized her lack of enthusiasm. It
had been a long time since they'd made love, and he cautioned himself to
take his time and not to rush it. Each of them needed a slow and steady
warm-up, an easy adjustment, a period of familiarization. Or maybe she
was simply being coy. Maybe their lengthy abstinence had damaged her ego
and she wanted to be wooed.
He deepened their kiss in the hope of sparking her desire and his.
He fondled her breast through her nightgown, but her nipple didn't
respond to his stroking. He slid his knee against the seam of her
thighs, but she didn't part them. Between kisses, he whispered her name.
After another few awkward moments, she disengaged herself."I've got to
be at school early tomorrow morning. We begin a volleyball tournament
during first period."
He released her."Yeah, okay."
"I'm sorry, Burke. I "
"It's cool. Don't apologize."
"I really do have to be up early, but "
"Barbara, it's no big deal," he said, more sharply than he intended.
"Okay? I'm sorry I woke you up at all. Go back to sleep."
"You're sure you're "I'll live, believe me. You don't die from not
getting laid."
"Don't blame me, Burke," she lashed out."You've done this to yourself.
You've harbored this grief far too long. It's unnatural. Why is it still
eating at you?"
He refused to answer. He couldn't answer.
"All right then," she said."Good night."
"G'night."
He closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't go to sleep, and he didn't.
Her rejection had pissed him off, but he wasn't as pissed off as he had
a right to be, and that in itself bothered him.
When he was sure she'd fallen asleep, he got up, went into the kitchen,
and fixed himself a sandwich. Then he sat down at the table and, holding
his head between his hands, stared unseeingly at the sandwich he never
ate.
I (7ouble or nothing? She'll stop in front of us and give us an upw
close and personal look. Do we have a bet?"
"No." Burke rubbed his temple where a headache had taken root an hour
ago and which so far had continued to outpound the drums in the jazz
band and defy two analgesic tablets. Maybe he should have taken Pat up
on his offer of a paid week off, but he'd rather work than stick around
the house where he had too much idle time to think."I don't want to play
anymore, Mac. Give it a rest, okay?"
Mac McCuen flashed his irrepressible grin."I'm giving you a chance to
win back some of the money you've lost to me."
"No thanks."
McCuen would bet on anything from the outcome of the World Series to
which cockroach would win the race to the doughnut box.
Disappointed by Burke's lack of interest, McCuen turned his attention to
the topless dancer who, by God, did stop directly in front of him.
Breasts shimmying, she winked at the narcotics cop, who was young and
good looking and who dressed like a GQ model even when he wasn't
pretending to be a gawking out-of-towner taking in the nightlife of
Bourbon Street.
By comparison, Burke looked tired and disheveled and illtempered, which
was exactly how he felt. He'd been up most of the previous night,
alternately wallowing in self-pity and honing his anger over Barbara's
rebuff to a razor's edge. They'd mumbled hostile good mornings and
goodbyes to each other this morning, and his piss factor had been at a
record high all day.
Scowling, Burke watched Mac as he watched the gyrating dancer.
What was Mac's real first name, he wondered. All he'd ever heard was
Mac. McCuen had made repeated requests to be transferred into Narcotics
and Vice before he was actually assigned to it a little more than a year
ago. In Burke's opinion the guy was too flashy and effusive to be a good
narc.
"I've got a five-dollar bill says her tits are plastic," McCuen said as
the dancer strutted away."What do you say?"
"I say I'd be stupid to lay money on that. How do you propose we
determine it? By asking her?"
McCuen couldn't be provoked. Engaging grin still in place, he lifted his
glass of club soda and took a sip."I'm just jacking with you, Basile.
Trying to get a smile out of you. Besides, if I went near a chick like
that, my old lady would kill me. She's jealous as hell.
I've never given her reason to be. I look, sure, but I've never cheated,
and we're going on three years together." His record of marital
faithfulness seemed to surprise him."You ever screwed around, Basile?"
"No."
"Not ever?"
"No."
"Jeer, that's impressive. All the women you meet. And you've been
married a long time, right? How long?"
"Long enough."
"Happily?"
"Are you a wanna-be marriage counselor, or what?" "Don't get pissed,"
Mac said, sounding wounded."I was only asking."
"Well, don't ask. We're here to work, not to ogle the dancers and not to
discuss our private lives. A good way to get killed is to stop thinking
about the job and " "Our guy just came in," Mac said, interrupting. He
was still looking at Burke, still smiling. Maybe he was a better cop
than Burke gave him credit for."He's moving this way. Ass-ugly yellow
sport coat." Burke didn't turn around, but he felt the familiar
adrenaline rush he experienced before every arrest. An undercover cop
had been buying from this guy for months. His name was Roland Sachel. He
was a nickel-bag dealer, but only quality stuff, and there appeared to
be no shortage of his supply. It was believed his drug trade was more
for the thrill than for the income it provided.
He owned a legitimate business, a handbag factory that produced designer
knockoffs that sold to discount stores.
Sachel's turf wasn't the streets, but the trendy clubs. He liked to rub
elbows with celebrities, professional jocks, and their groupies.
He enjoyed the good life and moved in a circle of acquaintances that
availed themselves of it.
Narcotics was operating under the theory that if they could bring Sachel
in, even on a petty charge, he might hand over Duvall. The undercover
cop working the case had supplied them with information during a secret
meeting that morning.
"Sachel is ambitious and greedy. He's all the time grumbling about the
boss," and since he's the boss at his factory, I figure he's referring
to the boss of his drug business. I think Sachel would hand the boss to
us if we offered him a deal."
"Has he given you a name?" Burke had asked.
"Never. Just the boss."
" "But I'd wager my left nut it's Duvall," Mac said.
Pat asked, "You're sure Sachel would go for a deal?"
"He's got a kid who plays football," the undercover cop explained.
"Sachel's crazy about him, bragging always. He's going to LSU next year,
and naturally Sachel wants to see him play. It would be hard for him to
make the games if he's doing time, even for a chickenshit dealing rap."
Burke hated the whole concept of making deals with people who broke the
law. It was a cop-out in the strictest meaning of the term. Sachel would
come back to haunt them. As soon as he was free, he'd get right back
into business.
But Burke wanted Duvall. He was willing to sacrifice a sleazoid like
Sachel in exchange for Duvall.
They had concluded the meeting with the narc telling them that this club
was one of Sachel's favorite haunts, which stood to reason since the
dancing girls were gorgeous and the crowd upscale. And since one of
Pinkie Duvall's dummy corporations owned it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Burke saw Sachel pause to light a
cigarette while watching the featured dancer massage her crotch against
a vertical brass pole. He seemed totally captivated by her act.
After the dancer's simulated orgasm, he applauded enthusiastically, then
moved on, wending his way through the smoky room, gladhanding and
calling out greetings, seemingly in search of someone, whom he
ultimately found occupying a table in a dim corner.
His first customer of the evening was a well-dressed yuppie who was lean
to the point of emaciation. His quick motions and darting eyes made him
look long overdue for a snort of coke. Sachel signaled a cocktail
waitress and ordered a round of drinks.
"Damn!" McCuen exclaimed, coming to his feet."She was something else,
wasn't she? I've never seen anything like that. There's something about
a shaved pussy that drives me crazy. I got to go to the can."
He left the table he'd been sharing with Burke and headed for the rest
room at the rear of the club. Burke also came to his feet and pretended
to review the tab the chesty cocktail waitress had handed him.
When McCuen reached the door that led to the rest room, he dropped a
matchbook and bent down to pick it up.
Burke saw the yuppie pass Sachel what appeared to be a folded bill.
With a cardsharp's sleight of hand, Sachel slid his palm over the money,
while reaching into the pocket of the yellow sport coat with the other.
Burke hurdled several tables and was across the room before the band's
next drumbeat. Pistol drawn, he shouted for Sachel to freeze.
McCuen was already there, the barrel of his pistol resting on the patch
of skin behind the yuppie's right ear.
Two other cops from the division posing as drunken Shriners had been
waiting for a signal. They burst through the door leading to the rest
room and assisted in the arrest. As he was read his rights, the anorexic
yuppie was trembling and weeping and blubbering that he couldn't go to
jail, man, he'd fucking freak out in jail. As Sachel was handcuffed and
relieved of the small handgun he was carrying in an ankle holster, he
viciously cursed the arresting officers and asked what the fuck they
thought they were doing.
Obviously they didn't know who they were fucking with. Then he demanded
to speak to his lawyer, Pinkie Duvall.
"Ten to one the bastard beats us uptown," McCuen said as he and Burke
left the club.
"That's a safe bet, Mac."
'"Lieutenant Basile, it's good to see you again so soon."
"You wouldn't have the pleasure, Duvall, if you didn't have criminal
friends coming out your ass," Burke shot back.
As Mac had guessed, the lawyer was already at the department by the time
they arrived. A loyal employee of the club must have immediately
notified him that Sachel had been caught red-handed in a drug
transaction.
"Still carrying a chip on your shoulder over the outcome of Wayne
Bardo's trial?"
Burke would have liked nothing better than to ram his fist into Duvall s
handsome, smug face and rearrange his expensive smile. Although it was
nearing midnight, when one would expect him to look a little rumpled and
fresh from bed, the lawyer was wearing a three-piece suit and a stiff
white shirt. He smelled of shaving cream. Not a single silver hair was
out of place.
Sensing a potential for trouble, Doug Pat stepped between them.
"I'll take Mr. Duvall in to see his client. Burke, they're waiting for
you."
He nodded toward an interrogation room where, through the glass, Burke
could see the arrested yuppie puffing on a cigarette like it was the
last one ever to be rolled.
"What's his name?" Burke asked.
"Raymond ..." Pat consulted the label on the file before handing it to
Burke."Hahn."
"Priors?"
"Possession, misdemeanor. He was given probation."
As Burke turned and moved toward the room, Duvall said, "Instead of
arresting him, why didn't you just shoot him, Basile?"
Knowing Duvall was trying to goad him into doing something he could file
assault charges for, Burke kept moving and didn't stop until he was in
the relative safety of the interrogation room, with the door firmly
closed and serving as a barrier between him and the lawyer.
He watched Pat escort Duvall into a similar room, where Sachel was
waiting. Duvall would advise Sachel to say nothing, which he wouldn't.
But there would be a time when they had Sachel to themselves.
Hopefully they could wear him down and by this time tomorrow night it
would be Duvall they were locking behind bars.
Mac McCuen had already grilled Raymond Hahn. So had the cops in the
Shriners fezzes. Before taking his turn, Burke poured himself a cup of
tepid, rancid coffee, pulled out a chair for himself, and moved it close
to the arrested man.
"Talk to me, Ray."
Raising his cuffed hands, the undercover officer took a long drag off
his rapidly shrinking cigarette."It's iffy." His eyes darted about the
room, briefly lighting on all the somber faces staring at him."He didn't
have a lot on him. Right?" he asked, addressing one of the Shriners.."
Couple of ounces. They're stripping down his car, but looks like it's
going to be clean."
"So it won't be any big deal," Hahn continued."Duvall will plead him out
of a long sentence. Not much threat, so there's not much for us to
bargain with. Can you take these off now?"
One of the officers stepped forward to remove the hand restraints.
"Thanks." Raymond Hahn massaged circulation back into his wrists.
"Scared me shitless when you charged across that room, gun drawn," he
said to Basile.
Hahn still looked edgy. Burke figured he was in reality a cokehead, and
that's why he was so convincing to dealers.
"Since this morning, we've talked to several of Sachel's former
customers who're doing time," Burke told him."They're willing to testify
against him in exchange for early parole. Those raps, added to delays in
trial dates, could keep Sachel out of commission for a long time. Say,
long enough for his son to graduate LSU without his seeing a single game
except maybe on TV."
"It might work," Hahn said, gnawing on a nub of a fingernail."But I
don't know. He's a turkey with an ego big as Dallas, but he's no fool.
And for all his complaining about the boss, I figure he's scared of him.
Besides, he could be
out on bail while all these delays are taking
place."
Pat came in."Surprise, surprise. Mr. Duvall has advised his client to
keep his mouth shut. Hope you've got something solid for us, Ray."
Before the undercover officer could respond, Burke said, "Know what I'm
thinking?" Slowly he came to his feet, rubbing the spot on his temple
that was still throbbing."I'm thinking we were stupid to bust Sachel
over a nickel-bag sale. We should have held out until we could raid his
factory and warehouse."
"He doesn't do his drug trade out of there," Hahn said."I've tried to
buy from him there. He refused. He makes a point of keeping his two
businesses separate."
"A lesson he learned from Duvall," Mac remarked dryly.
"Besides, we've gone that route and got nowhere," Pat reminded
Burke."We've got no probable cause to raid what appears to be a
legitimate business. No judge would grant us a warrant." "All I'm saying
is " "We blow another bust, we'll never nail Duvall. If it is Duvall."
"It's Duvall," Burke said tightly.