Quintic

by V. P. Trick

  “This guy with Rick, Lemieux I mean,” the woman started, leaning forward on her chair, brushing her knee against his. “Your man here said his name was Lemieux, but we always called him Rick. What kind of asshole name is Lemieux?” My sentiment exactly. An asshole name for an asshole jerk. “Lemieux’s buddy’s not a regular but yah, he’s been in a couple of times.”

  “Can you describe him for me?” A smile. A breath through his mouth.

  “Sturdy guy, about your height, Chris. Fat, all in the gut, yah know? His hair is brown I’d say, greying and thinning. Big arms. A mix of fat and muscles. Big moustache. Big ears, I remember, like huge ears. And he had something on the right side of his neck. A tattoo or a scar, not sure.”

  “Do you remember what he was wearing?”

  “From where I was standing, all I saw was jeans, work boots, worn-out leather jacket with a dark shirt underneath.”

  “Was he a friend of Lemieux, you think?”

  “Nah. Rick, I mean Lemieux, was always alone. I remember seeing him earlier inside but not the guy.”

  “Was Lemieux one of your regulars?”

  “Lemieux was, yah know. He used to come to the club about once a month for the evening shows, always on a Sunday night.”

  “Were the two of you close?”

  “Not really. I just kind of knew him, yah know. The guy was a good tipper.”

  Chris figured Lemieux must have spent a small fortune for her to remember him. Money and good looks. He was killed the weekend after the fight. “Tell me what happened that night.”

  “I didn’t see the fighting. How it began, I mean. Or the end. I was just out for a smoke and saw them arguing. They were standing next to some old model car. Black. Tinted windows. Big like a boat.”

  Her description fitted Lemieux’s car. Ham riffled through his wallet for a print of the car. He shook his head silently. Too bad, they’d have to return with a picture of the car for confirmation then.

  “Besides them two, I didn’t see anyone else in the parking lot. I heard cursing, muffled words, in-your-face talking. At one point, Lemieux grabbed the guy’s jacket and mumbled in the guy’s face, nose-to-nose. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the guy looked angry. He shoved Lemieux against the car. I hoped the jerk wouldn’t beat Lemieux too much. I mean, man was that guy gorgeous. Perfect face. Perfect body. The guy could have been a fucking film star.” Bastard.

  “Then what?”

  “My break was over. I went back inside, and that was it.”

  An ordinary day at the club.

  The interview took more than an hour. Chris may have laid it on a bit thick; the girl was getting on his nerve. Moreover, he wanted to know about Lemieux so much, he was ready to do anything, even get her into him if needed. By the end, she agreed to come down to the station to have a sketch made if he covered her revenue loss. The fat dancer and the other strippers took her allotted time spots while they took Bunny down and brought her back. Ham and Charles would run the sketch through the system for a possible ID and show it around, see if maybe someone recognised Lemieux’s opponent.

  Chris came out of the club shortly after seven. It had rained nonstop all day. He called Patricia’s place. No answer. He tried her cell. Voice mail. He tried his place. No response which in itself did not mean she wasn’t there. A guy could hope.

  On a hunch, before getting in the car, he went back inside. “Give me a minute, guys.”

  Still no manager. Barkeeper was awake now and serving beer. He nodded at him when he walked by. Bunny was in the back room getting ready for her show. She had on a military-issued bikini. If the two other dancers he had seen in the place were representative of the night’s dance card, Bunny was going to be the star of the evening. Then again, maybe the clientele liked freakish women better.

  From her beaming smile, Bunny might have thought he was coming back for her. No fucking way.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I have one last question.”

  His question answered he turned to leave, but Bunny grabbed the side of his jacket and rubbed herself against his back. Fucking shit, now my clothes are going to stink.

  “How about you wait in the showroom? I’ll dance for you.”

  “Got plans.” I have a French apple awaiting at home. Hopefully.

  “I’ll make you hard for later.”

  Thanks but no thanks. Fuck. Why couldn’t she come on to Charles? A quickie was what the kid needed; a crash course Ham had said.

  Ham was sitting on the truck’s bumper when Chris walked back out. The rain had soaked through his officer’s clothes, but the guy showed no apparent discomfort. Maybe he too wanted to get rid of the smell.

  “What’d you forgot, Chris?” He asked with a smug smile on his face. “Her phone number?”

  The jerk didn’t seriously think he had gone back for some freebee, did he? His face must have shown how mad he was because Ham belched out a laugh.

  “Fuck, that was fun. Nice to see you still got the touch, Boss.” Big grin.

  “Get in the car, Ham.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  They hadn’t ridden for more than five minutes when Ham added, “Great job today, Boss. Charlie boy, you didn’t stare at the floor this time, so nice going. Pattycake did a good job on you.” Chris clenched his fist. Nothing was secret, nothing was sacred with those fucking bastards. “But next time, kiddie, try looking at the dance more. Maybe if you imagined the Pussydoll was the one dancing nak−”

  Charles almost missed the turn, and, before Chris could stop him, the kid had braked in the middle of the road, jumped out, wrenched the rear passenger door open and yanked Hamilton by the collar.

  “You ever talk about her like that again, I will drop you.”

  Shit. Patricia had indeed done a splendid job on the young officer. Chris applauded while Ham remained frozen. The kid had managed to haul the guy halfway out. Not bad.

  After a minute of stunned silence, Ham started to laugh, grabbed Charles down and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “Keep this up, Charlie boy, and we’ll get along just fine.”

  Damn assholes those two. Sometimes, Chris felt like he was running a goddamn kindergarten.

  Charles didn’t respond to Ham’s enthusiasm. They settled back in the car; the drive continued in silence. Charles would need more practice before he was to be as cool as Ham, Chris mused, noticing the kid’s knuckles had turned white from holding the wheel too tight.

  The annoying rain hadn’t let up, and their wet clothes started to stink up the car, giving it the subtle smell of piss.

  “We reek of unwashed, wet dog fur.”

  “Roger reek, as in dogs out drinking cheap beer, smoking cheap cigarettes and wearing cheap perfume.”

  The police truck would need a good clean. His truck too since he would stink it up during his drive home. His jacket Bunny had buffed was going to ride in the trunk. Hopefully, that would prevent the smell from spreading.

  More Guy Talk

  They left the stinking service car in the precinct’s side garage and headed for their cars parked out back, Chris walking between the duo in case of another flare-up. They were about level with his car when Ham put his hand on his shoulder before grabbing the rookie’s arm.

  “You know, kid. I was just teasing,” Ham said, in a typical Ham’s apology.

  “I don’t like being called a kid,” Charles retorted, not willing to be gracious.

  Fucking nursery school.

  “I’m not talking about you; you are a kid. I’m referring to the Cake. No way would she ever dance for you.” Chris made fists. Ham anticipated them coming at him because he grabbed Chris’s shoulder tighter and spoke faster. “I would tease just the same had she been around, and she wouldn’t mind.”

  His man did indeed speak the same in front of her, and she did indeed take it by rolling her eyes at the jerk. Saying she wouldn’t mind the dance remark was stretching it some, though. Then again, she had a way of throwing back sassy remarks to Ham; Chris suspe
cted it was why Ham pestered her that much. Chris didn’t blame the guy; the smart comebacks were partly why he too provoked her, that and her sexy pouts. Chin up, back straight, hands on hips and nipples hard, she was fun and sexy as hell to watch when she roused herself into a state. Nonetheless, Ham’s comment had annoyed him too. He listened on as Ham rambled on with his impenitent act of contrition.

  “You know, Charlie, you’re not the only one who gives a damn about the woman.”

  “You should show more respect,” Charles interjected, looking at Ham with red cheeks.

  “Respect you have to earn, kiddie boy,” Ham snapped back as Charles shook his head. “Fuck, you mean to her? I show respect plenty. I never once came on to her. And man, she’s the finest kitten.”

  Chris knew the part about not hitting on her to be almost accurate. True as in not too heavy hitting, and not lately. He damn appreciated it for what it was. A guy like Ham, knowing the feelings his guy had for Patricia, that was as close to devotion as Ham was ever going to give any woman, especially after the kiss in the park during the quartet debacle.

  Charles was not convinced. “Where I grew up, we treat women like women.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Women are more delicate. I know it sounds corny, but they need a man’s protection.”

  “Roger corny, kid.”

  In his own way, Chris had similar beliefs and acted accordingly, with her at least. Although for the kid’s sake, Chris hoped Charles was not going to share his views with Patricia, not if he wanted to stay on her good side.

  “Better you don’t tell Reid about the delicate shit, rookie. The woman might break your arm.”

  “OK, guys, enough sweet talk for today. Go home.”

  Chris locked eyes with Ham, putting his hand on the guy’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Ham nodded and climbed into his car, pushing Charles lightly on his way.

  “See yah Monday, baby boy.” The asshole never quit.

  Chris looked Charles over. The kid watched Ham drove away, cheeks still pinkish. He stood there for a while and finally managed to look back at Chris.

  “He’s good, isn’t he? That’s why you teamed me with him, right?”

  “Yes, he’s good.” Chris smiled ironically. “Appalling manners, an even worse temper. But he’s good.”

  “That’s what Patricia said,” Charles went on, cheeks turning red again. “Sorry, I meant to say Miss Patricia.” Miss Patricia must have liked that. “But I don’t know how she can stand him.”

  Chris’s smile grew. “Easy. Ham’s great, and Patricia likes greatness.” Would that get the kid to try harder, not for his boss but her? Shit. “Don’t worry so much about what he says; look at what he does. He’s a good cop. You could learn.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m trying, Sir. But he angers me. Sir.”

  In truth, Chris was starting to like the kid. “Getting angry can be good. It gives motivation. Teaches self-restraint. Control. Like when you keep calling me sir.” Too fucking old.

  “I’ll try to remember that, Sir. I mean Mr MacLaren. Chief. Boss.”

  OK, the kid had had enough for the day. Chris grabbed his arm and made Charles shake hands. “Try getting some rest. You’ll have a lot of ground to cover starting tomorrow.”

  Chris too was done for the day. His jacket in the trunk, he climbed into his truck, but when Charles came knocking on his window, he cursed out loud before lowering the glass. “Go home, Charles.”

  “Just one last question, Sir. Uh, Chief?”

  “I’m sure it can wait. Go home.” He started to raise his window, but Charles put his hand on it.

  “Boss, is she good?” What the fuck was he asking? Had it been Ham, he would have already punched the jerk. “I mean, is Miss Patricia a good cop?”

  Chris glared at Charles hard. “She’s not in the force.”

  “I know. But if she were, would she be good?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “She gave me some advice.”

  “Pertinent advice I’m sure. Go Home.” Chris sure as hell didn’t want to know what guidance Patricia had given Charles. Her helpful instructions might include another visit to a strip club, and if he knew, he would have to do something about it.

  “Boss, I’m serious. Is she good?” The kid pressed on. “I think she’s great. I mean, she did discover two bodies, right?” Yah right, by accident both times. “I know she kind of stumbled upon them, but that still counts, right? We arrived at the motel before you guys, and nobody found him. She had me move some furniture, so she has ideas. She behaved like a detective, right?”

  They moved the furniture? “What the fuck, Charles? For Christ’s fucking sake.” Chris got out of the car to push Charles by the shoulders, turned him around, giving him a shove toward his car. “Listen up, kiddo, I’m only gonna say it once. Yes, she’s great. Better than great, in fact. Way too smart. And yes, she had ideas. Way too many if you ask me. But Charles, she’s not a detective. She has no training; she’s dreamy, and she’s dangerous. That delicate woman needing a man’s protection shit? It applies to her ten times; she’s extremely dangerous to herself. So, as I told you after the last incident, I’m telling you again. You’re not to take her anywhere without telling me, however good her idea seems. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes, Sir. Boss.”

  “Good night Charles.”

  “Good night Mr MacLaren, Sir.” The kid was hopeless. “Uh, boss?”

  Chris sighed very loudly. Take the hint, kid! “What the fuck?” Self-restraint had its limits.

  “Is that why you fired her? Because you had to protect her?” Well, the kid might be picking up on things.

  “I did not fire her. She quit.”

  “Then she can come back, right? If she wants to, if she changes her mind, she can come back work with us, right? Uh, work for you. You’d take her back, right, Sir?”

  “Yes.” Yes, he would, God helped him, he would take her back. Fuck, he was crazy, but he missed seeing her at the office, stealing a look at her, hearing her laugh or her snap back at Ham or whispering secrets to Freddy. He sighed. A long, soft, resigned sigh. He needed a drink. “Go home, Charles.”

  “Good night Boss. Thanks for the talk.”

  No problem, kiddo.

  Charles yelled through the window as he was backing up, “I never did either. Came on to her, I mean.”

  Chris froze for a nanosecond and shook his head in disbelief. He had never once worried about Charles coming on to her, more the other way around. When flirting for research purposes, her hard limit was brushing her hand on the fabric of a sleeve. She wouldn’t have to go that far for Charles to fold. Chris was sure if she wanted back, she had already figured out the kid was her easiest access to the Lemieux case.

  French Apples for Two

  “You smell funny,” were her first words when he walked in the door.

  God existed, and He had her waiting for him at his place. She looked stunning; she smelled wonderful. He caught a whiff of the food waiting in the oven, Italian from the smell of it. She must have picked their meal on her way over. He hoped she had brought him veal; he was in the mood for something meaty. And apple, he wasn’t about to forget about his French apple. Maybe they could eat the food in their underwear. After the day he’d had, he needed to see one of those delicately soft, lacy, frilly, sexy things she wore. Any would do; he liked them all.

  He circled her waist, pulling her close, and tried to kiss her.

  She pushed him away repeating, “You smell funny.”

  Of course, I smell funny, Angel. I just spent an hour in a cheap titty bar, my arm within a breath of an almost-naked, smelly girl, chain-smoking cigarettes, as I charmed the sequins off of her to get a lead on your ex-lover’s killer. And may I add just for the hell of it, that I have listened to two of my officers arguing like six-year-old, pledging their allegiances to you, Darling of mine? During our afternoon of work, they may also have mentioned your name and in the same sentence as th
e words ‘pole dancing’.

  He could have been honest and admitted it all but then what? She might have become angry about the sequins. Worse, she might have wanted to know more. Either way, that conversation would have distracted, and right now, he wanted her to think only of him. The entire night. Better yet, he wanted her not to think at all, about anything. I will do all of the thinking, all of the talking, the touching, the kissing, the licking, the sucking.

  “What is that smell?” She wanted to know.

  He kept it simple. “Work.” And again, he tried to kiss her.

  She slipped away and rubbed her nose with the tip of her right forefinger. Not good, the nose twitch nearly always preceded thinking.

  “OK, Angel. I get it. Shower.” He sighed. The smell wasn’t that bad, was it?

  Yup, it was. A shower was a necessity; it was safer if she didn’t smell the cheap perfume on him. He had left the truck windows open in the garage in the hope the smell would go away before they used the vehicle again. He even had a smoke or two on the way over, to get rid of the smell he told himself. Yah right.

  He had tried calling her again during the drive back, at the hotel, on her cell and at his place. Since she had not answered any of his calls, with the rain coming down hard, he took it to mean she was in her room, curled up in a comforter in front of the television, hopefully waiting for him, hopefully naked. He had thought better to stop by his place for a shower and clean clothes before heading over to her hotel. As a reward for his shitty afternoon, Destiny had her waiting for him at his place. She must truly miss him.

  He had barely begun soaping up when she called out, “Please hurry. I’m starving.”

  He too was hungry but not for the same type of nourishment. A French dessert instead of French appetisers? To expedite the meal, he walked naked into the kitchen, showing off his erection. She had set the table so they were sitting across from each other, which meant she was too far for him to put a hand on her. He sat at the table and started shoving food in his mouth.