Quintic

by V. P. Trick

  They had been dating for a while now, and she had slept over many, many times. Even if she didn’t want to leave too much of her stuff in his place, she did keep the basic toiletries items such as a brush, a toothbrush, makeup, perfume samples and other feminine products in a drawer in the bathroom vanity.

  He might have questioned what she needed from her bag. She wasn’t a purse or bag person, but she needed to carry something. She considered the bag a stage accessories, a disguise of a sort for when she went on her little investigative pretences.

  The bag content usually fit in her pants pocket. Three tissues. A red lipstick. A small wallet that contained enough money for a three-day escape, including the cost of hotel nights. Two credit cards, Amex and Master Card, both fakes, unless he took the ones with Ingrid’s publishing house name on them and a fuzzy picture of her so she wouldn’t need to show another ID. A passport or two (a fake name or fake names here too). And her mobile phone, sometimes. She was trying to cut back on the cell, wasn’t she? Trying excruciatingly hard. That was it. No legit ID, no driver licence.

  She had all the legal paperwork but preferred to leave them in her hotel safe. Besides, she rarely drove, and when she did, well, she was an excellent driver. Hence, cops never arrested her. And if they did, she weaselled her way out of a speeding ticket by any means necessary, any means she deemed proper at least. Thankfully, cops were easy, or maybe police officers, young and not-so-young alike were simply receptive to her charms. Unless they pissed her off in which case, she was bad. Anyway, only once had a cop arrested her for real, and Christopher had taken care of that. It wasn’t worth carrying the licence around for that one time, was it? Besides, now she knew better, and no way would she mentioned his name.

  Her Night with Lemieux

  Tonight, she carried her bag into the bathroom because her phone was somewhere within the damn thing.

  Christopher liked to listen to the news in the morning while he showered hence the radio in the shower. Sometimes, she thought him as peculiar as she was. Tonight, the radio quirk very conveniently provided background noises. It was already past eleven, but she made the call nonetheless.

  Whatever they were doing, Christopher’s guys kept an ear on their phone’s very-urgent numbers, and Christopher had made damn sure she had all of the team’s numbers. Another peculiarity, Christopher had three mobile phone numbers: I’m-not-answering-it’s-only-Brass-calling, friends-and-team, life-or-death. Whatever the number, she rarely called his mobile for he had the bad habit of answering.

  “Baby Doll Darling.” Hamilton’s voice rasped over the line, more so than usual, as if he was out of breath. “I was just thinking about you.”

  She froze at a loss for a comeback. She had evidently interrupted him. The man should have turned off his phone, really! Or damn him, if he weren’t available right at this minute, he should have checked the caller ID (she had unblocked it for once to make sure he knew who was calling) and let the call go to voice mail. She was taking a bath; she could have called back in five minutes. That gave him plenty of time to finish whatever.

  “Patricia, everything OK?” He sounded worried now.

  “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. I, hum, sorry to interrupt. Ah. Well.” Now she was embarrassed. Hamilton might tease her a lot, but he was a friend, and she had not meant to worry him. “Sorry I’m calling so late.” She paused for a steadying breath. “Would you rather I call you back later, like in ten minutes?” Five minutes suddenly seemed a bit short; would ten minutes be enough? Maybe she had cut his momentum or the girl’s, whoever she was. Luckily, he couldn’t see how red she was, or she would never hear the end of it.

  “No, Pussycat. It’s always good to hear from you, even at this late hour. I was done anyway. After five hits, a guy needs a rest.”

  “Hamilton, you’re a rude, pretentious prick. I hope that whoever you’re with tonight shoots you in the foot.”

  “Tsk-tsk, Baby Doll. You have such a dirty mind. I was working out.”

  “Ah. Sorry.” She heard him laugh. She should have called Charles instead, but him she had been afraid to wake.

  “No prob’, Dollface. What’s up? Need a shoulder to cry on? Something else?”

  “Hamilton, cut it out, I don’t have much time.” It was difficult to scowl at the guy and keep her voice down at the same time.

  “Just so we’re clear, Patricia Baby. You know it’s just talk, right? You belong to the boss, and until he dies, you’re his. Then we can continue that kiss you gave me.”

  She categorically should have called Charles. And damn Hamilton, it hadn’t really been a kiss! Only a very light brush of her lips to trap an asshole. “Hamilton−” She stopped. What could she say that he didn’t already know? He was teasing, and she was falling for it, again, because she worried he was still mad at her, just like Christopher.

  “It’s OK, Baby. He knows. I told him so just today.”

  “Told him what exactly?” Why had she called Hamilton again?

  “Told him, and Charles, I respect you. Told him I know you belong to him.”

  “What? That has to be one of the most macho things you ever said, and that says a lot, you talk macho crap all the time! And he agreed with you? You guys are impossible! I don’t belong to anybody.” Christopher was impossible! Was he flattered when Hamilton had said that? They’re worse than apes! Neanderthals, the whole bunch of them.

  “I would respect you as much naked.”

  “Hamilton!”

  “I take it Chris hadn’t told you?”

  What kind of a stupid question was that? The guys knew Christopher hardly told her anything, at least not right away, particularly when it related to current cases he might think she was interested in. He did tell her all the important stuff at some point. Maybe that investigation wasn’t important. Maybe she wasn’t. “No, he did not speak to me. What exactly should he have said to me? I mean, besides that nonsense you just said?”

  She heard him curse at the other end. “Look, Patricia, you’re a doll, and the minute you and Mac are over, I’m there. But you know I can’t tell you anything.” Damn. “Unless you’re naked. Are you naked? Please tell me you’re naked. Or with that bra you had that time on the roof.”

  What came before the Neanderthals again? “Oh come on, Joseph chéri.” Christopher wasn’t the only one who appreciated French.

  “Fuck, not fair, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

  “If you could, would you?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Yes. I think I would.”

  She let out her breath. “Good. So everything is OK then?” Without telling her anything, he had let her know that whatever it was, it wasn’t too serious. Nobody else had died; they hadn’t found some disturbing information about Lemieux, and the cops had not suspected or arrested anyone she knew for murder, nobody she cared about at least. “Nothing to worry about?” No answer. “Right, Joseph?”

  “I like it when you talk to me like that, all sweet. When we hit the sheets, remember to call me Joseph. Big turn on.”

  “Hamilton!”

  She heard him laugh again. Then he stopped. “Why did you call, Pussycat?”

  She cursed, almost, and paused. If she told Hamilton, he would tell Christopher. She thought about it. The water had been running for over five minutes now, she had left the plug half-opened, so the bath didn’t spill over, but Christopher would be getting suspicious soon. And Hamilton would tell him she’d called. No pain, no gain. “Christopher’s angry about something. Which means he’s worried. Or vice-versa. He spent the day with you and Charles. He wouldn’t worry about you two bickering like preschool kids. Thus, it has to be about Lemieux.”

  “You’re a sweet woman, Pattycake. Too smart for a girl but I love you all the same. And when we−”

  She cut him off; she couldn’t stop herself. “Damn it, Hamilton, I hate that name.” Pattycake. Like in Joshua’s Court.

  Hamilton laughed it off and went on, “We don’t have a
nything solid on the case yet, but we have a lead on something that may or may not be related. Still some work to do.”

  “Nothing that worries you, though, right?” Hence, nothing that could worry Christopher.

  Another pause. “No.” Too long a silence. “Nothing that worries me.”

  What, did they think they were the only ones noticing those kinds of details? “Damn it, Hamilton! If you don’t tell me, I will find somebody that will.”

  He started laughing. “Then you should talk to your guy. He’s the only other one that knows.” Double damn, as if Christopher was going to tell her anything.

  “This isn’t still about Lemieux, is it? About me, ah,” she had almost confessed her past sins with Lemieux, “Hum, knowing him?”

  “Fuck, no. But your Lemieux guy had very peculiar tastes. You must be quite something for him to want to sleep with you over and over and over. Not that I blame him; I’m already stuck on you, and I don’t know you yet the way he did.”

  He had lost her. “What are you talking about? I only went out with him a couple of times. Christopher knows that, you obviously know that too now, and the whole goddamn team must know it too by now.”

  “Maybe you did, but Lemieux didn’t.”

  “Hamilton, are you drunk?”

  He started laughing again, “Not drunk. Look, Pussy Cake. You should talk to Chris, OK?” Talked to him about what? She was NOT talking to Christopher about Lemieux. “OK, Doll?”

  She caught herself frowning big in the bathroom mirror. To think she had been happy before the call. “Okeydokey.”

  “OK then. It was good talking to you. I shall have sweet dreams now.” She heard him cursed softly. “But Doll, give him a break, OK? Chris has a lot on his mind.” A lot he doesn’t want to tell me. “Good night Patricia.”

  She stuck her tongue at the phone. “Good night Hamilton. Thanks for nothing.”

  “Give me a break, Pussycat. Maybe he’s just worried about you. Maybe we all are.”

  “No way. I resigned, remember? You guys have nothing left to worry about.”

  “Yah right. Nobody believes you resigned for real. At first, we thought he had fired you. Or suspended you like before. And before. He didn’t, did he?” She didn’t bother answering. “Didn’t think he had. We have a pool going. How long you’re going to stay away. Everyone failed; nobody had given you more than a week. Friday, we revised our bets. You think tonight’s phone call should count?”

  “Get lost, Hamilton.”

  “I’d like to. Between your legs.” A cross between a Neanderthal and an ape crossed with the missing link. His voice turned soft, “Good night to you, Baby Doll.”

  Well, that had led her nowhere, but since the water was still warm, she sank into it and tried to relax. The small bathtub was a new addition to Christopher’s bathroom. Apparently, infuriating cop men living alone only took manly showers.

  “A gift from me to you,” he had told her. “Wouldn’t want you to move into a place without a bathtub however teeny it is.”

  She had ignored his innuendo then; she still discarded it tonight. Head leaning on the rim, eyes closed, the same pose as Christopher out there on the couch. Nope. The bath wasn’t working for her.

  She replayed her conversion with Hamilton. She liked the guy a lot. How could she not, he was so alike Christopher? A cheaper, rougher, meaner, damn sharp yet less refined version of Christopher. And he was, well, all sexed up and too much to handle, worse than Christopher as if that was possible. At least with Christopher, she knew it was only for her all the time, but with Hamilton, it seemed to be just all the time in a sleazy kind of way.

  Was the man as bad around all women? Christopher said no, but she had yet to see it live. How did other women react to him? Hamilton was popular with the ladies. Surely, he didn’t pick up women with his sleazy lines, did he? She should learn to be stoic like Reid, instead of reacting to everything he said. Although, when she thought about it, he didn’t say much to Reid, so her friend hadn’t much to be enduring about. Besides, she recalled Reid smacking Hamilton on the back of the head once or twice, so perhaps the woman was not that tolerant either. What did it mean, though, that Hamilton did not tease Reid often? Hum. I might have to investigate.

  They Talk at Night

  The damn woman finally turned off the radio. Turned off the tap too. I hoped you’re not falling asleep in there, Pussycat. He might enjoy rescuing her, but, knowing, she wouldn’t appreciate his efforts. A pussycat and her baths.

  She came out after what felt like forever. She didn’t look sleepy, which was good. She didn’t look all that serene or horny either, which wasn’t so good. She had put his bathrobe on. Too big for her, it gaped at the front when she forgot to hold the two lapels together. For now, her grip was tight. No invitation as of yet. Too bad, he was about ready to top her.

  “You missed the end of the film, Princess.”

  “Did I?”

  A firm clasp on the damn robe, she sat in front of him on the coffee table, knees pressed together. Still no invitation. Damn. She looked at him. He looked back and waited. Something was up.

  “Christopher, I’ve been thinking.”

  Fuck no. He had had plenty of experience with that one line. In her mouth, that line was not an innocuous conversation-starter. Disaster in the making every fucking time. She had soaked for a good half hour, all alone in his tub. With her imagination, who the fuck knew to what conclusion her mind had jumped to.

  “Yes, Angel. What have you been thinking about?” Let it be sex, he prayed, albeit already knew it wouldn’t be. Had it been, she wouldn’t have had to talk. And she wouldn’t be wearing the fucking robe.

  “Lemieux.”

  Alarms went off in his head. Fucking trouble with a capital T. His face showed no reaction. “What about him?”

  She moved to sit on his lap, legs folded on the couch, knees flanking his sides, her thighs squeezing his lightly, hands forever clutching the fucking robe. Albeit he had so much more experience, training and muscles, right now, he was at a definite disadvantage. First of all, she was naked under that robe. He knew it; she knew he knew, and she knew he always found her damn arousing. A major breach in his line of defence. Second, sitting like that, she would feel him twitch. Desire. Lie. He was quite a proficient liar, even better than her, which said a lot because she was a master of half-truths and pretences. But her eyes gave her away when she fibbed, his didn’t.

  Although straddling him as she was, it wasn’t his eyes he was worried about. The faintest instinctive quiver on any part of his body, she would pick up on. She had before. Unless he side-tracked her. He happened to sport a boner he intended to put to good use. Not yet though, since for now, she acted as if she had not noticed his state.

  “Christopher, what happened today?”

  “Work, that’s what happened.”

  “Something else happened in Lemieux’s case.”

  “Patricia, it’s only work. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Worry? Who says I’m worried! Right now, I think I’m more angry than concerned. I know I’m more irritated than troubled. Whatever it is, I think you should tell me; I might be able to help. After all, I knew the guy.”

  “You can’t help; you fucking resigned, remember?”

  “Is that was this is about? You want me to come back to work?”

  “Hell no. No way. Never. I want you to stay out. End of discussion.” He knew he wasn’t handling the conversation well, but fuck, he had meant every word so far.

  “What do you mean ‘Hell no. No way,’” she mimicked. “May I remind you me going through the cold cases was your idea in the first place?”

  “My idea? Fuck, Princess! What I remember is you plotting to get in. Filing clerk my ass. I don’t know whom you bribed to get the job in Archives in the first place, but since you got yourself promoted to my office, all you do is snoop around and disturb my team.” A clear exaggeration on his part. She excelled at keeping the team in check
and on their toes, and he couldn’t deny she had also helped on a lot of the cases. Her presence in his department was disastrous for his peace of mind, yes, but unexpectedly helpful for the team nonetheless. But both Lemieux’s case and the body at the diner were getting too close to her, again, and he wanted her out of the way. Safe.

  “I do not disturb your team! You’ve got some nerves. And you don’t think your team is not disturbed these days without me? They all believe that you fired me. They even got a damn pool going!”

  That got a smile out of him. Who had told her about that? His secret bet was never; he would see to it. “Nobody’s going to win because you resigned and, trust me, for once you’re staying resigned. And you’re also suspended. You are not working on Lemieux’s case, understood?” OK, maybe suspending her was a bit premature. But it would give her something to look forward to, did she ever decide to come back.

  She looked at him, head crooked to the side. A pose of hers. Damn sexy but dangerous. She had something in that lovely head of hers. “The guys seem to think I can show up to work whenever I want.”

  “The guys are wrong. And they all know if I catch any one of them letting you in on a case, any fucking case, any fucking way, I’ll throw them out of the team.”

  “Anyone?”

  “Anyone. Charles is already holding on by a thread.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about him. More like Hamilton.”

  Ham?! What the fuck? Why had she talked to Ham? When? Ham would have told him for sure. She was fishing. “Yes, even Hamilton.”

  “That’s sad, isn’t it? You won’t have anyone to work on Lemieux’s case with Charles. You know Charles is not ready to work a case alone. So you need me. I’m good with Charles.”

  “You’re not working with Charles.”

  “If you hire Hamilton back, I can team up with them.”