by Sandra Brown
absences when he was serving time for sex offenses.
Burke escorted Gregory past the beveled glass front door and into the
foyer."You don't have to come in with me," Gregory told him."I'm not
going out again. Swear."
"Your parents taught you better manners, Gregory. Offer me a cup of
coffee or something."
Tense and jittery and obviously mistrustful of Burke's intentions, he
agreed quickly."Right. Good idea. I should have thought of it myself.
Don't know what I was thinking."
"You were thinking of getting rid of me, so you could go out and try to
score again tonight."
"You have a suspicious nature, Basile," said Gregory with mild reproof
as he led Burke into the kitchen.
"Because I've dealt with too many lying criminals like you."
"I'm not a criminal."
"Oh, yeah?" Burke straddled one of the bar stools backward and watched
his host assemble the coffeemaker."Let's see if memory serves. I recall
a child-molestation case."
"He was sixteen, and it was consensual. The charges were dropped."
"Because your daddy paid off the kid's parents. Then I remember a string
of public-exposure arrests."
"Nothing serious. I got probation."
"You wienie waggers are a pathetic lot, you know that, Gregory?"
"If you're going to be verbally abusive, I'll file charges of police
harassment against you."
"Be my guest. I'll call your daddy, tell him you're up to your old
tricks, and he'll stop paying for this swell place he's set you up in."
Gregory gnawed the inside of his cheek."Okay, you win. But you're a
bastard, Basile."
"So I've been told."
Burke didn't enjoy badgering him, but Gregory James had made himself an
easy target of derision. His was the classic story of a young man who
hadn't lived up to his wealthy family's standards and expectations.
His eldest brother, after successfully playing major-league baseball for
a few seasons, had assumed control of the family's industrial empire and
added millions to its coffers. The second brother was a neurosurgeon of
world renown.
Gregory had broken this chain of overachievement. He probably wouldn't
have graduated from the university if his father hadn't bought him a
degree by making a sizable grant to the school. Gregory then entered the
seminary, the consensus being that a cleric was needed to round out the
family. They were counting on a cardinal at least. Gregory endured the
seminary for a year and a half before deserting that ambition, having
discovered that his penchant for sexual misconduct was incompatible with
a life of religious devotion. To distance themselves from his disgrace,
the James clan banished him to New York, where he attended drama school.
It was there that Gregory had finally found a niche. He actually had a
talent for acting and had performed in several off-Broadway productions
before being arrested for performing an indecent act with another man in
a public phone booth in Penn Station. Once again his wealthy father
interceded, and the charges were dropped. Gregory returned home,
shrouded in scandal.
This was the final straw for the Jameses, who washed their hands of son
number three, although they continued to pay the bills on this
townhouse. Burke figured they'd rather be out the expense than have
Gregory living with them and have to confront their singular failure on
a daily basis.
Gregory served the coffee."Would you care for anything in that?
Cream, sugar, a liqueur?"
"No thanks, this is fine." Gregory sat down across the bar from Burke,
who could tell that the younger man was nervous."How come you're so
jumpy, Gregory?"
"I can't figure out why you're here." "Consider it a social call. As you
said, we go way back."
Gregory James was one of the drug division's best snitches. He was an
active participant in the French Quarter's nightlife and circled in the
same orbit with drug dealers, although he wasn't a user himself. He had
often swapped information in exchange for leniency toward his vice of
choice.
"You'd have been a real asset to the department if we could have kept
you out of jail," Burke remarked as he sipped his coffee.
"Earlier you called me a criminal. I take umbrage at that, Basile," he
said peevishly."I'm not a criminal."
"Then what are you?"
"A patient. I have a ... a problem."
"That's a given."
"I'm suffering an acute emotional disorder that has roots in my
childhood My family's values are skewed. I was forced to be competitive
with my brothers when it's not in my nature to be. They were beastly to
me."
"Gee, Gregory, you're breaking my heart." "It's true! The prison
psychiatrist said my problem was psychological."
"So was Ted Bundy's."
"It's not my fault!" the younger man exclaimed."It's an urge I can't
control. I can't help it that I ... do ... what I sometimes ... do."
"Uh-huh. That's become a popular defense these days. Because Mommy made
me wear white socks and Daddy liked Diet Dr. Pepper I whacked em both."
Burke sneered in disgust."(,uys like you make me sick. You whine around,
blaming everybody else for your actions. You're a grown-up now, Gregory.
You are accountable for what you do."
Suddenly he came to his feet and grabbed a handful of Gregory's shirt
collar."I've changed my mind. I'm taking you in." "No! No, Basile!
Please. You promised!"
"I did?"
"Yes."
"I don't remember promising."
"You did."
Burke released him slowly and returned to his stool. He fixed a hard
stare on Gregory and held it for so long that Gregory began to fidget in
his seat. Finally, he looked helplessly at Burke.
"What?"
"I was just thinking." He continued to stare at the younger man as he
took another sip of coffee. Lowering his cup, he said, "Maybe I could
conveniently forget that I saw you with that minor last night.
Maybe I could overlook that you made a move on me in a park rest room
tonight. I might be willing to let it go this time."
"If ..."
"If you do me a small favor." Gregory's expression turned wary."What
kind of favor?"
"I can't discuss it with you until we strike a deal."
"That's not fair."
"Hell, no, it's not fair. But that's the gig, take it or leave it."
"Would I be working with Mac McCuen?"
"Why?" Burke winked at him."Got a crush on Mac?"
"Fuck you, Basile."
"Not in this lifetime, pal. I've noticed you ogling Mac, but if your
heart is set on him, you just as well forget it. He's got a hot-to-trot
wife who thinks his cock is a magic wand. Now, do we have a deal. Or
not, because the offer is only good for another thirty seconds."
"If I say yes ..."
"You get off the hook this time. Otherwise we go uptown right now, and I
book you."
"On what charge?"
"Soliciting me for sex in the men's room in the park. Twenty seconds."
"I didn't!"
"Because I didn't give you a chance."
"So you can't charge me."
"Of course I can. Who're they gonna believe, you or me?"
"Shit."
"Ten seconds."
Gregory dug into his wavy black hair with his fingers."You give me no
choice."
"Not true. You can choose to say no. Maybe jail won't be so bad this
time."
Gregory raised his head and looked at Burke with poignancy."Do you know
what they do to guys like me in there?"
Burke did know, and at that moment he hated himself for manipulating the
pitiful young man. And in Burke's human eyes, Gregory was pitiful.
But he had to view him through a cop's eyes, too. One of his offenses
had taken place on a playground. It was hard to drum up compassion for a
guy who'd exposed himself to a class of preschoolers.
"Time's up. What's it going to be?"
"What do you think?" Gregory mumbled dejectedly.
"Good." Burke stood up and moved to the coffeemaker to refill his cup,
then patted Gregory's shoulder as he returned to his bar stool.
"Don't look so glum. This will be a challenging acting job. It could
make your career."
I'll bet." Gregory glanced over at him."Tell me something, Basile.
How in hell did you know about the guy last night?"
It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer. Looking
Gregory square in the eye, Burke replied, "I didn't. Lucky guess."
The following morning, Burke locked the door of his apartment on his way
out, turned toward the stairs, and ran into Wayne Bardo's He landed
ignominiously on his backside. Standing over him, Bardo laughed.
"Everybody says you're an asshole, Basile. I'm beginning to believe it."
His jaw throbbing, Burke came slowly to his feet. He wanted nothing
better than to duck his head and ram it into the son of a bitch's gut He
might get in a few good punches, but he was more curious than anvrv For
the time being. Burke elected to spar verbally.
"Well at least I don't dress like a faggot. I bet the person who sold
you that purple shirt is still laughing about it."
Although Bardo kept his smirk in place, Burke could tell the insult had
hit home. He retaliated by saying sarcastically, "Nice digs, Basile."
"Thanks."
Burke didn't bother to ask how Bardo had located him. Duvall had a more
sophisticated tracking system than that of the N.O.P.D, the FBI, the
DEA, or any other law enforcement agency local, state or federal.
That's why he would never be convicted in court. There was only one way
to stop Duvall and his machine, and Burke was going to do it.
It worried him that they knew where he lived. That meant that they'd
been keeping tabs on him. Did they know he had tailed Mrs. Duvall
yesterday? If not, why was Bardo here so bright and early?
As though reading his mind, he said, "Mr. Duvall wants to see you."
"Duvall can kiss my ass. And so can you."
Bardo stepped closer."Good. I like that. You're going to make this
difficult. Please do. I'd purely love to hammer the shit out of you and
leave it here on the landing to stink."
Burke wasn't intimidated by the threat, but he was curious to know how
much they knew. Shrugging, he said, "Lead the way."
"No, after you." Bardo pushed him toward the stairs. Burke lost his
balance and stumbled down to the first floor. When they reached the
front of the building, Bardo shoved him again toward the street where a
late-model Cadillac was parked at the curb.
"Hey, Wayne," Burke taunted, "when were you demoted from hit man to
errand boy? Did Duvall take away your knives?"
"Shut up and keep your hands where I can see them."
"I'm not armed."
"You think I'm an idiot?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah."
When they reached the car, Bardo patted him down, then ran his hands
down both inseams of Burke's trousers, finding nothing.
"Told you," Burke said.
"Get in, wiseass."
As he stepped into the car, Burke grinned."Admit it, Wayne. That purple
shirt is getting to you. You just wanted to feel me up."
Pinkie Duvall's law offices were as swank as his house, but entirely
different. Here, the decor was sleek and contemporary. His secretaries
and paralegals were leggy and gorgeous. No office machinery was visible
to visitors and clients, only clean surfaces of marble and polished
wood. The telephones didn't ring, they chimed in muted bell tones.
Pinkie was behind his desk when a secretary announced that Mr. Basile
had arrived, as though this wasn't a command appearance, as though he
was keeping an appointment, as though he hadn't been forced to come here
under threat of bodily harm.
Duvall didn't stand when he and Bardo walked in. Burke knew the slight
was intentional, calculated to make him feel like axplebeian going
before his ruler. Duvall said, "Hello, Mr. Basile."
"Duvall." Petty, maybe, but he got in his slight, too.
Pinkie pretended not to notice."Have a seat."
Burke took a chair facing the desk, which was slightly larger than a
Ping-Pong table. On it, a picture of Remy Duvall was encased in an
ornate silver frame. He pretended not to notice it.
"Would you like something to drink?" Pinkie offered.
"Such as hemlock?"
Duvall smiled."I was thinking more along the lines of coffee."
"I don't want anything."
"Thank you for coming."
"I didn't come. I was brought."
Burke propped his ankle on his opposite knee and glanced over his
shoulder at Bardo, who'd taken a seat on the sofa against the wall.
Burke disliked having his back to a man he knew was a killer, but he
supposed if Duvall had sent Bardo to pop him this morning, he'd be dead
by now.
When he turned back at Duvall, he sensed his amusement. He was waiting
for Burke to ask what the hell this interview was about. Burke would
have petrified before asking. Why give Duvall the satisfaction of seeing
his curiosity, or fear? This meeting was his idea. Let him commence it.
After a lengthy standoff, Duvall finally said, "I'm sure you're
wondering why I wanted to see you."
Burke shrugged indifferently.
"I've heard some surprising news."
"Yeah, what?"
"You've resigned from the police department."
"Your sources have always been excellent."
"Your resignation creates a large hole in the Narcotics Division."
"I doubt that."
"You're too modest."
"I'm also too busy to sit here all day and bullshit with you about
something that's none of your business."
Again, Duvall refused to be provoked."Early retirement?"
"Maybe."
"Why'd you quit?"
"None of your damn business."
"What do you plan to do?"
Burke shook his head with disbelief and spread his arms wide.
"You're forcing me to repeat myself."
Duvall gave him a measured look."My guess is that you resigned because
you're still upset over the verdict of Mr. Bardo's trial.
We won, you lost, and you took the defeat personally. Doesn't the term
'sore los
er' apply, Mr. Basile?"
"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? It would boost your colossal ego
to believe that you have that much influence over the choices I make.
Well, sorry to disappoint, but you couldn't be more wrong."
Duvall smiled in a way that indicated he knew Burke was lying.
"You want to know the point of this meeting?"
"Or not. I really couldn't care less."
"Now that we're no longer on opposing sides, I'd like to offer you a job
in my organization."
Burke Basile didn't have a sharp sense of humor. In the mirth and
merrymaking department, he never lost control. In fact, it was common