Roulette

by Don; Linda Pendleton

  “Could you get me a name and address on her?”

  He said, “Probably, if she’s still living. I’d have to check into that.”

  “Would you?”

  “For you, Rebecca, whatever you might desire.”

  The intensity of his gaze disconcerted her momentarily. She recovered quickly and said, “That’s very sweet, Lance.”

  He showed her a sober smile. “I take it back.”

  “Take what back?”

  “I guess I’ve been wondering, really, how good a cop you are. Just came to me with a flash…you’re a hell of a cop—and this is no snow job—I’d like you even if you were a man.”

  “Well, I’m glad that I’m not.”

  “So am I.”

  “No snow job, eh?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  She winced. “Poor choice of words there, pal.”

  He showed her a genuine smile as he replied, “Don’t I know it. Between you and me and the silent walls, I’ve been a bit spooked over Myers’ death.”

  “Shows you’re human. Aren’t we all, and isn’t that great?” She stared at his troubled eyes for a moment then added, “Are you married?”

  “Couple of times, sure. Not now—make that never again.”

  She said, “You’re too young for ‘never.’ Any kids?”

  He replied with a twinkle, “None that I claim.”

  She showed him a knowing smile. “And you never throw rocks at school yards, sure, I hear you.”

  “Does it show? Or are you psychoanalyzing me?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  He chuckled. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be. So back to Martin….”

  “Hey, I’m interested in psychology, too. Someone told me that you and Pete were—no, wait, I don’t want to scare you off.”

  She said, “I don’t scare easy.”

  “Guess you don’t. I loved your style on the witness stand today.”

  Rebecca laughed softly. “Thanks. Yeah, it was sort of like giving testimony, wasn’t it. Between you and me, pal, I was scared to death.”

  “But you don’t scare easy, remember.”

  “Depends on the situation.”

  He glanced around a bit guiltily as he told her, “I don’t scare easy, either. Would you like to spend some time with me?”

  “If you’re asking if I would like to go to bed with you, of course I would. If you’re asking will I, the answer is no—not in any foreseeable future.”

  He grinned, “Yeah, like I said, I like your style.”

  “Thanks, I like yours, too. Now…about Martin.”

  He growled, “You’re a workaholic.”

  “Aren’t we all, at a time like this. Meanwhile, our friend Martin seems to be one, too, and this guy is apparently on double overtime.

  Time could be running out for a lot of people. Are you going to help me nail this guy, or aren’t you?”

  Powers looked a bit sheepish as he replied, “Let’s nail him.”

  “So,” she said sexily, “put me into this guy’s pants, will you.”

  He replied, “I’d still rather put you in mine, but if you insist, okay—let’s do it to him.”

  “Great. Let’s get to work,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  All in all, it had been a fantastic day—even with the interference from that cunt. He had underestimated her all along. A cop is a cop is a cop, even with a pussy instead of a cock—and that bitch had damn near fried him.

  What did you think of her, Mommy?

  He was gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror but it seemed as though he were looking into his mother’s eyes instead of his own.

  Did you see me cut that prick of a captain? Wasn’t that righteous?

  Big bad Captain Myers—he wasn’t so big, was he. Cell doors do not a prison make, eh?—bullshit, a cell door is a prison, and it can be a door that exists nowhere but in your own mind. He knew about those kinds of prison, too, and he had rotted in all of them.

  Yours too, Mommy, even that prison cunt of yours. Did you see me cut that prick? Wasn’t that slick? Should have been you, Mommy, a long time ago. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess right now if I had cut you years ago the way I cut old Myers.

  Yeah, that was slick—so slick, almost a textbook job. Push pull, click click, almost like setting up a razor for a shave, one deft slash and that’s all he wrote. The dumb bastard never knew what hit him—and all the while he’d thought that he was stalking a wanted man.

  “Surprise, surprise. That okay, Captain, you pitiful prick? Now you know what it’s like to be at the mercy of another!”

  It was better than a gun; neater, cleaner, more terminal. Humpty Dumpty would never go back together again, would he!

  He’d cut the asshole so perfectly, so quick—what a rush.

  Did you hear that, Mommy? The asshole didn’t know what hit him!

  That was power, real power!

  Did you ever cut a chicken, Mommy?—see it flopping crazily all around

  the yard? Whoa! That was Myers, Mommy. Imagine that son of a bitch trying to hound me again, all the way out in California!

  Screw that prick! Should have kept his fat ass in jail, where it belonged. Funny, wasn’t it, how those assholes never seem to wake up to the truth that they are as much incarcerated as the cons themselves.

  Maybe it was time to go back to Oklahoma and look up some more of those assholes, just to show them how easy it is to be set free, once and for all.

  But, of course…he would not have to go that far, would he.

  Sergeant Powers seemed to be seeking his own truth, too.

  Maybe I could help him with that, Mommy. God! Wouldn’t that be

  doubly righteous!

  Sergeant Powers turned his file folder upside down on the desk and looked at Rebecca with a tired smile. “That’s about it, Rebecca. I guess you were hoping for more than this.”

  She replied, “I don’t know what I was hoping for. Guess it doesn’t nail our man to the table but there’s some food for thought here.” She picked up her notes. “Maybe a fresh cut in the morning will provide a better focus.”

  He told her, “Well, only on television is this kind of work an exciting blast. As in football, it’s a game of inches. So what does it matter if you win it by a touchdown or a field goal? The important thing is to win. We’re going to do that, Rebecca.”

  “Yeah, but it still feels like it’s fourth down and fifty, to me.”

  “Do I detect a note of pessimism? Don’t you know all it takes is one quick pass for a whole new ball game?”

  “Or an interception.”

  He grinned. “Our side doesn’t give any room for interceptions.” His eyes blanched suddenly. “Not usually, that is.”

  Rebecca understood his meaning. He was thinking of Captain Myers. She said quietly, “The season isn’t over until the season is over.”

  He replied solemnly, “It’s over for Myers. But we can damn sure win it for him.”

  She said, “Let’s make that a pact.”

  They shook hands on that and neither seemed anxious to break the contact. Almost gruffly, Powers told her, “My other offer is still open.”

  She replied, “I know. Thanks.”

  “I’m getting out of here,” Powers said with a loud sigh. “Last chance, Rebecca.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Holiday Inn, just down the street. So what’s the story with you and Pete?”

  “An unfinished story, I guess.”

  “When you finish it, will you let me know?”

  She said, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Will you?”

  “Sure I will.”

  “Well dammit don’t wait until I’m fifteen hundred miles away.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see Tulsa.” She had thought that this had begun as playful banter but now she was not so sure of that—about either of them. The expression in his ey
es was revealing something quite a bit more than that, so she quickly made a joke of it. “Just what I need is another cop in my life.”

  He showed her a teasing smile. “That may be exactly what you need.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” she flashed back. “Walk me to my car?”

  “You got it, Detective. Or anything else….”

  She smiled, “It’s the ‘else’ that scares hell out of me, Sergeant.”

  They were back on safe ground again.

  For the moment, anyway.

  They said goodnight in the parking lot. She had reached her door when she turned back to watch him as he approached his rental car.

  She called out, “Lance…?”

  He paused to look back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  She said soberly, “Be careful, huh?”

  He replied with a wink and a wave. “Hey, I’m a cop. ‘Careful’ is my middle name. All is well.”

  But she could not dispel an almost ominous sense of foreboding. Captain Myers, she was sure, had felt equally as secure a moment before he died.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Hardly anyone at the police department, it seemed, was likely to get a lot of sleep that night. The entire force had been placed on alert and on staggered shift coverage in order to maintain maximum police presence in the city throughout the night. It was precisely midnight when Peter Storme walked outside to claim his vehicle for a quick roving patrol of the area before tying up for the night. There was no thought of sleep, he was too wired for that, but maybe at least he could relax and let go for a few hours.

  He was just in time to notice Rebecca’s departure in her car, quickly followed by the Oklahoma sergeant in his rented wheels.

  He noted with almost embarrassed satisfaction that the two cars pulled onto the street in opposite directions. Twice nutty is too much already, he growled to himself, still smarting over his “stupid jealousy” of Lieutenant Morgan earlier that evening. He should have been more sensitive to Rebecca’s devastating experience with Captain Myers. She had been reeling all week from a series of traumatic confrontations with brutalized victims and their grieving families. Then a personal encounter with the killer himself—and her sense of failure in not apprehending him. Next that incredible farce of a press conference—for which he would never forgive Chief Walsh—to this latest trauma right here in their midst, with one of their own dying in her very arms.

  It took a hell of a strong woman to survive such an onslaught. Then to make matters worse, good old “dumb-dumb” himself had to act like a total jerk when a close friend and comrade was offering her solace.

  How could he have even imagined that Rebecca would be in the mood for screwing around with anybody at such a time?

  “Live and learn,” he muttered half aloud as he closed on his patrol car.

  Charlie Andrews drove up and blocked Storme’s car at the exit to yell out at him, “Did I just see Rebecca’s car leaving here?”

  Storme yelled back, “Leave her alone, for God’s sake!”

  The newsman took no offense, calling back with a smile, “I think maybe it was her nickel, Pete. She’s looking for color on Robert Martin.

  Maybe I mentioned once that I did a cover story on him in prison.”

  Storme leaned out his car window to reply, “Yeah, I heard about that but never got a chance to follow up with you. Let’s talk about that first thing tomorrow, though.”

  “You got it. Is the other guy from Oklahoma—what’s his name, Powers?—still in town?”

  “Yeah, you just missed him. Catch him tomorrow.”

  “Rebecca still okay?”

  “Rebecca’s always okay.” He bared his teeth just a bit to add, “No thanks to the press. Stay out of her face, Charlie.”

  Andrews tossed him a pleasant salute as he replied, “Sometimes I can be an awful ass, I know that, but I’m getting better. The Chief still in?”

  “For the duration probably, yeah.”

  “I want to talk to him about letting me ride shotgun with the task force tomorrow. How would you feel about that?”

  “If you have nothing better to do, Charlie, be my guest—to ask the Chief, I mean. But you don’t have my personal okay, hell no, if he should ask.”

  “You’re all heart, Sergeant,” the newsman called back cheerily as he drove on through.

  So maybe Storme had been a bit rough on the guy. At any rate, only the Chief could authorize any such procedure under the circumstances. Storme actually did not give a damn, one way or another, especially not right now. Too many other vital concerns were hammering at him. “Have at it, Charlie,” he muttered and went on.

  Andrews pulled into a space reserved for the press, sighed deeply and went on inside.

  Chief Walsh had just ended a telephone interview with one of the TV stations when Andrews rapped gently at his open office door and went on in.

  “Don’t you guys ever sleep?” the Chief asked him in a tired voice.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing, Chief. Looks like your whole department is still at it.”

  “Mine and several others, yeah. What’s on your mind at this witching hour?”

  Andrews dropped into a chair without being asked to do so. “Any breaking news, Chief?”

  “Nobody has died in the past few hours, if that’s what you mean, and I’m fresh out of quotes.”

  “Actually I came for a special favor. I know you guys are all very uptight about the situation—and, considering the press coverage, I can understand that probably better than many others. Look, I know all your cops and I understand their routines. I’d like to do a piece from the cop’s point of view—right down under, so to speak—what it’s like on the firing line in a case like this one. I realize that I’m not your favorite reporter but I have the primary coverage for your hometown newspaper and I would like to do a really positive piece on the outstanding work of these officers during this crisis.”

  “What are you selling me, Charlie?”

  “Just what I said. I want the view from the trenches. Let me go out with your task force tomorrow.”

  The Chief snickered. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Look, you witnessed the unfortunate circus that the television media sprung on you today. I feel bad about that. I have shot a bit from the trenches myself, Chief. I would like to provide a real service for this community. Give me a go at it. If you don’t like it, you can lift my credentials forevermore.”

  Walsh stared solemnly at the reporter for a long moment then he said softly, “It would be worth it just to make you eat your words. Okay. It’s a deal. But if you say anything or do anything to further inflame this situation, I’ll lift more than your credentials.”

  “Fair enough,” the newsman replied. “What time should I be here?”

  “We roll at five.”

  Andrews winced but replied with a smile, “That means I have to be here by….?”

  “Better be here at four thirty if you intend to catch the parade.”

  Andrews said, “Thanks, Chief. I won’t make you regret it.”

  Walsh merely smiled without comment.

  The newsman obviously knew when it was time to talk and time to shut up. He went on out through the station and got into his car. So much for that. Tomorrow, he guessed, would take care of tomorrow.

  He just wished that he could have had another moment with Rebecca before that.

  Rebecca could see tinges of distant lightning illuminating the clouds over the mountains and suddenly the sky seemed to open above her with a veritable cloudburst with heavy rain pelting the windows of her car. She slowed instantly and flipped on her wipers to high speed and still could not see clearly through the sudden deluge. That was uncharacteristic of the weather patterns at this time of year and the ferocity of the attack surprised her. Of course, she’d had neither time nor inclination to monitor weather conditions of late—maybe there was another El Niño effect spreading up from Mexico.

&
nbsp; She crept cautiously through the downpour and remained in the car outside her apartment for a minute or two, hoping that the rain would break before she had to venture outside. She was fumbling through her purse for a small plastic rain hat to protect her hair when her fingers closed on Pete’s motel key. She stared at it reflectively for a moment muttered, “What the hell….”

  As though to accentuate her emotions, a thunderclap of nearby lightning dazzled the sky and startled her. She said softly, “Dammit, Pete,” and went back out to find him.

  She stopped at his favorite donut shop for a couple of coffees and a bag of jelly donuts and drove to his motel, knowing that sleep would come no easier to him this night than for herself. There was no “program” in her mind, only a desire for closeness and healing.

  So, oh, what a dope she had been.

  She was just about to rap lightly on his motel room door when she heard Pete’s laughter and the unmistakably throaty voice of Vivian Escalante, one of the dispatchers who had been involved with one cop after another over the years. It was not Rebecca’s “style” to confront the scene which was already richly detailed in her imagination. She merely quietly went away, feeling a bit sick at her stomach and strangely numb in her heart.

  She dropped the donuts and coffee into a trash can just outside the lobby and was headed toward the exit when a familiar voice called to her from just inside the coffee shop. She had honestly not connected the visiting officers with this very motel, but Sergeant Powers was grinning at her with an expectant smile.

  “You looking for me, pretty lady?”

  “Well, no I….”

  He already had her by the arm and was leading her into the coffee shop. “Looks like you just saw a ghost,” he said soberly. “What’s going on?”

  She sat down at his table and replied, “Maybe I did…the ghost of my own past. What is it with you cops, anyway, that a quick roll in the hay always seems to be the perfect answer to every problem?”

  He asked soberly, “You’re not referring to me, I hope?”