"You mean what do I do? I work for the D.A." Marlene watched his face carefully. No rush of sweat to the brow, no wild rolling of the eyes. Instead, mock wariness: "Uh-oh. I better watch my step around you. What are you, a paralegal?"
"Um, in a manner of speaking. How about yourself?"
"I'm in TV," he said. "In production at ABC."
"That's impressive," said Marlene, remembering her cards. "Do you mingle with the stars much?" Keep him talking. Keep him interested. The guy had moved around so that he stood between Marlene and the doorway. She tried to crane her neck unobtrusively, so as to keep the door in view, while at the same time darting glances at the fern wall to see if she could spot Jo Anne.
"Looking for someone?" the guy asked.
"Huh? Oh, no, not really."
"You keep looking at the door," he said.
"Oh, well, I was supposed to meet a girlfriend here later."
"Not a boyfriend?"
"Isn't that why I'm here?" replied Marlene as coquettishly as she could manage. Smile. Lean. Show some tit.
Encouraged, the guy moved closer. She could smell his cologne and the leather of his jacket.
"So. Wanna do something?" He touched his nose meaningfully.
"Um, like what?"
He laughed. "You know, blow. Do a coupla lines in the can. Get in the mood."
Marlene did not lead a sheltered life, but she had never been offered cocaine socially by a stranger before. She hadn't expected the guy to do it, and it threw her out of character. She shook her head spontaneously and vigorously in refusal.
This was apparently not the response expected of Tangerines bimbos. The guy's glib smile faded and he shrugged.
"So. Wanna dance?" he asked.
"No," she said. On the floor she would never be able to watch the door for Raney. Then, seeing his smile vanish completely, she added, "I, uh, hurt my foot playing racquetball. I'm practically crippled."
Smile again. "Hey, I play too. Where do you go?"
"Um, you know, all around."
"Like where? Tenth Street? Midtown Courts?"
"Yeah, those. And, um, you know, the Y." The guy looked at her peculiarly, his expression losing any enthusiasm. He thinks I'm lying. He thinks I'm trying to dump him. This wasn't working. She had to get JoAnne. "Look," she said, "I got to run to the ladies'. Why don't you order me another drink for us. I'll be right back. Don't go away now!" She tried to inject a flirtatious note into her voice. He nodded and she went off, remembering to drag a foot behind her, like Quasimodo.
The rest rooms at Tangerines were located off a long narrow hallway that led from the corner where the main room met the aisle of the bar. Marlene entered it, turned to make sure she wasn't being followed, and then went back into the crush of the meat market.
It was even more crowded now, at the peak of the Friday-night follies, and loud with fevered chatter. Despairing of finding JoAnne in time, she elbowed her way through to the bar and stood up tiptoe on the rail, hoping to spot the preposterous wig. To her vast surprise, she found herself staring down at a familiar head of strawberry-blond curls. It was Jim Raney, dressed for disco in a chino suit and an open-necked blue shirt.
"Raney," she shouted. "Dammit, where have you been!"
He looked up at her in amazement. "Where was I? Where were you? I've been here nearly an hour."
"Never mind that-I've got him," she said. "Follow me!"
She grabbed his sleeve and led him back into the main room. The band was, inevitably, doing "Saturday Night Fever" and showing they could play it loud. Marlene's eyes went to the wall where she had left the guy. The two glasses they had used remained on the little shelf; the man himself was gone.
Marlene clenched her fists and uttered a screech of frustration. Raney asked, "What's up? Where is he?"
"Where is he? He's fucking flown, Raney, that's where he is."
"Could he be in the John?"
"No, impossible! He would have had to get past me there, and he didn't. Shit! He must have skipped. There's a way out around the front."
Raney followed her quickly through the crowded cabaret, stepped around the ferns, over the velvet rope, and out into the street. "There he is!" Marlene shouted. Raney looked in the direction of her pointing finger. A man with a leather jacket stood on the curb, trying to flag down a cab.
Raney walked toward the man. "Hey, buddy," he called, "could I see you a minute?" The guy looked over his shoulder, saw Raney, saw Marlene. His eyes widened as he recognized her. He backed away. Raney took his leather shield holder out of his jacket pocket and flipped it at the guy. "Police," he said, and the guy ran.
Marlene was after him like a dog on a rabbit, across Madison. Raney cursed and followed, but the light on the cross street had changed and he found himself trapped briefly between the lanes of honking traffic.
Marlene was running without thought, concentrating only on the flapping crow shape of the leather jacket as it flickered, caught in one streetlamp after another.
She chased the guy north on the west side of Madison, about ten yards separating them. The foot traffic on Madison was sparse, mostly couples working the bars and panhandlers. They flicked by, barely noticing the chase. Marlene was wearing low heels, a disadvantage, but her quarry was wearing loose slip-ons, which kept flapping off his feet as he ran. Every twenty paces or so he would have to make a little skip to jam them back on, and Marlene would close the distance. Then his longer legs would tell and he would stretch it out again.
Marlene could hear his breathing become louder and more ragged. She was in better shape, she thought: raping probably wasn't all that aerobic. He wouldn't last another three blocks. With relief she heard Raney coming up behind her. The guy suddenly veered left up a side street. When Marlene turned the corner, the guy had slowed to an odd stumbling trot. He had his right hand jammed into the pocket of his jeans. He was struggling to get something out of his pocket. Marlene thought: Knife! Jesus, he brought his knife.
She couldn't stop. She was almost on him. She heard Raney shout, "Hold it, hold…!" The hand came out of the pocket and something shiny flew from it and skittered on the street.
He tried to accelerate again, but Marlene was on him, her fingernails digging deep into the leather of his jacket. He jerked his body violently and nearly pulled her off her feet. One of her shoes went flying. She felt several nails crack off. He swung an arm around, grabbed the front of her shirt, and heaved her around to face him. The shirt tore down the back and her grip on the jacket was broken.
She could see his face now, the sweat-slicked hair, the features red and contorted with rage and fear. He set his feet and aimed a backhanded right at her face.
Marlene crouched and ducked, but his knuckles still slammed against the side of her skull, reddening her vision. He hauled at the shirt, to set her up for another blow, but Marlene came with it, bringing her hard little right fist up from nearly pavement level, putting the full 110 pounds behind it, sinking it up to the wristbone in his crotch.
He let go of the shirt with a shrill cry and bent double. Then Raney was there in a long flying leap, whipping his big Browning pistol down on the guy's head with a sound that echoed from the buildings like a gong.
The guy crumpled without a sound. Marlene collapsed and sat on the pavement, sucking air, clutching the tatters of her shirt to her naked breasts. She felt the sweat drying on her back.
Raney checked the guy's pulse, cuffed his hands behind his back, and knelt down beside Marlene.
"You OK?" he asked.
"Yeah. Fine."
"Light duty, huh?"
"OK, OK, OK," she gasped. "It was a screwup. I didn't think it would go down like this."
"Yeah, well, it happens. By the way, that was quite a shot to the nuts. Characteristic, if I may say so."
"Thanks, Raney," said Marlene sourly. "Hey, can I borrow your jacket? My tits are hanging out here." Raney shrugged it off and she slipped into it, grateful for its warmth as well as the prot
ection it afforded from the gapers in the small crowd that had gathered around them.
Raney stood up and helped Marlene to her feet. She recovered her shoe and leaned against him to put it on. She was still wobbly and dizzy with adrenaline and fatigue. Raney said, "Look, we got to call this in." He pulled a card out of his wallet. "There's a booth on Madison and 66th. Call this number. Ask to talk to Detective Franklin. When you get him, explain the situation and tell him we need a blue-and-white and a bus."
"A bus?"
"Yeah, you know, an ambulance. Hey, are you sure you're OK?"
"Uh-huh. Just a little shook."
"OK, then meet me at the two-oh and we'll book him. What's the charge, do you think?"
Marlene sighed. "Better make it possession for now."
"Possession? What're you talking about? I thought this was the Wagner killer."
"It is. I think. But my witness never got a look at him and I don't know him from Adam. He just fit what we were looking for, in general. Meanwhile, he offered me coke in the place there, and he tossed a vial during the chase. You should find it in the street. It's enough to hang on to him with until I can get JoAnne there and ID him."
"Holy shit, Marlene!" Raney yelled. "You mean to fuckin' tell me-"
"Don't, Raney. It'll work out OK-trust me. Let me make that call now. You got a quarter?"
The guy was loaded and shipped, leaving a small round bloodstain on the sidewalk. The cops found the vial the guy had dumped, half-full of white powder. Raney and Marlene walked back to Tangerines in silence.
The noise of an excited crowd greeted them when they were half a block away from the club. Marlene buttonholed a chubby young woman in a fringed white dress.
"What's going on?"
"It's crazy!" the woman replied. "Some chick with a big knife got this guy cornered in the hallway by the John. She's yelling he raped her and she's gonna cut his business off. It's wild! I'm going home to watch it on TV."
Marlene felt a thrill of despair. "What kind of woman?" she croaked weakly. "A blond in a dark tent dress?"
"Yeah, frosted blond. But it was a wig. She pulled it off and threw it at the guy. It was just like the movies!"
The woman hurried off down the street. Marlene started to run toward Tangerines, but Raney grabbed her arm.
"Marlene, what the fuck is happening?" he cried.
"It's JoAnne. My witness." She broke away from him and trotted heavily down the street to the club, her belly roiling, her heart popping against her breastbone. Fifty or so people were milling around outside and more were flowing out of the door. Marlene pushed vainly against the tide. Raney caught up with her, put his arm around her, hoisted her up on his hip, and, waving his shield and shouting, "Police! Coming through!" forced their way into the bar.
Someone had turned the cleaning lights on, giving the interior of Tangerines the charm of a raddled whore at noon: stained carpet, rusty tin ceiling, overturned chairs and tables, pools of spilled drinks and melting ice. Marlene and Raney moved along the length of the deserted bar, broken glass and ice cubes crunching under their feet.
In the corridor leading to the rest rooms stood three men, two large in white shirts and bow ties, one small in a sports jacket. Raney approached the jacket, flashed his shield, and said, "Police. What's going on?"
The jacket backed out of the way and pointed down the corridor. "Bitch is crazy, man. She took this guy hostage. We haven't been able to get near her-she's got a fuckin' sword in there."
Raney and Marlene both looked where he was pointing. JoAnne Caputo was crouched in the corridor. She was muttering and snarling at a man cringing a few feet from her, backed into the corridor's dead end. In her right hand she held a K-bar knife, Marine issue, which she waved and poked at the man. Marlene noted with horror that the man bore a striking resemblance to the guy they had just arrested. He was bleeding from several cuts on the arm and his face was drawn and frightened.
"Yeah, I see," said Raney. "You the manager?" he asked the sports jacket.
"Yeah. You gonna shoot her?"
"No, I don't think so. You called the police? Good. Look, take your people and clear the area. If any more cops show, send them back here."
The manager seemed relieved and did as he was told. When they were alone, Marlene said, "Raney, let me talk to her."
"Uh-uh. This is police business. You oughta wait outside."
"Bullshit!" cried Marlene, and moved toward the corridor. Raney stuck his arm out to block her, but at that moment heavy steps sounded in the bar and a TV crew-camera with blazing lights, a soundman, and an intrepid local news reporter-came charging in.
"Get out of here! Are you crazy?" shouted Raney at the crew.
Marlene used this distraction to break away from the detective. JoAnne too had turned at the sounds. The TV light dazzled her. She held up her free hand to shield her eyes. She saw someone coming toward her out of the halo of unbearable light. She struck out wildly with the knife, felt it catch in something, heard the ripping of fabric. She saw a face inches from her own, a familiar face. She tried to shake the fog of a dozen drinks out of her mind. Arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to a body slick with sweat, a woman's body.
"JoAnne!" a voice cried. "It's Marlene! It's OK, you got him. It's over." JoAnne Caputo started to wail, horrible screeching cries, the violation of the body at last finding its own voice. Marlene held her, swaying, saying inane and calming things into her ear. The big knife clunked on the floor.
She saw the guy come out of his corner, saw him run past, heard curses and the crash of bodies. She looked over her shoulder and saw Raney wrestle him to the ground. Suddenly the place was full of cops. It was over, but only in real life. There was still the television.
THIRTEEN
Karp was sitting in the darkened living-room section of the loft, staring at the gray flicker of a late movie, when Marlene crawled in at two A.M. He looked up bleakly as she entered.
"Are you going to say, 'Where have you been, young lady?'" she asked.
"No," said Karp. "I'm not your father. And I know where you've been. It was on the late news."
"Ah, shit!" cried Marlene. She went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle of red wine and a glass, filled it, lit a cigarette, and threw herself down on a rocking chair, facing Karp. She was still wearing Raney's jacket, its lining hanging out where the blade had slashed it.
"So. How did I look?" she asked belligerently.
Karp shrugged. "Like everybody else on TV. Like an asshole."
"We got the guy," she said.
"That's nice, Marlene," said Karp flatly, still staring at the screen.
She finished her wine in two gulps and put the glass down on the old door set on concrete blocks that served the loft as a coffee table. She clutched the jacket more tightly around her. "That's it? No congratulations on a job well done from my leader?"
"No. Because it's not your job. It's not your job to go running around after suspects. It's not your job to tackle crazy women waving knives-"
"She was my witness and she's not crazy."
Karp brought his fist violently down on the coffee table, bouncing it askew and toppling the glass. The dregs of the wine spilled over the white surface like blood from a wound. "Shut up!" he shouted. "Don't argue with me! Don't make excuses! This isn't fucking court! I'm not your goddamn parole officer."
"I knew you'd do this," she snarled. "You can't stand it when I'm not a good little girl. Well, if you'd gotten off your ass and gone to bat for me with the cops, I wouldn't've had to chase the fucking bastard down myself."
Karp was up on his feet, facing her, screaming. "What the fuck are you talking about! I did go to the cops. And what the hell does that have to do with anything? Don't you get it? Even PW's go on light duty when they get pregnant! You could have lost the baby!"
Marlene shot up too, knocking the rocker backward. Their faces were inches apart. "Oh, that's what it is. The baby!"
"You don't think I
should be concerned?" Karp cried. "This is the second time this year that you've got yourself involved in a situation that required you to run around the streets with your clothes off because you insist on being Nancy fucking Drew and the girl commandos. And you promised me, you swore to me that you would take it easy. And then you go on this… I don't know… crusade-it's insane when you're carrying a child."
"There it is! Not me, not what I want, just your precious bloodline. Well, fuck you, Jack, and fuck the baby too! You think I'm gonna sit on my butt and knit booties and smile like the Mona Lisa for the rest of my life? Think again! I'm gonna live my own life exactly as I please. And that includes doing whatever I have to do to get my job done, as I decide. Not you, and not some fetus. It'll have to take its chances, the same as everybody else in this goddamn city."
"What job? You don't have a job after next week," Karp shouted.
"Oh, yes I do! I'm gonna take this case down to the wire."
"You can't! You're out!"
"No, I'm not. I get to stay for continuing cases, and this guy is the same guy who's been doing the rapes I've been working on for months, so it's the same case."
Karp opened his mouth to speak, to scream in fact, but was suddenly affected by a feeling of inutility and despair. He sank back on the couch, shaking his head. "I can't believe it," he said. "You're crazy. Out of your fucking mind."
"I'm always 'crazy' when I don't do what you want."
"Right, Marlene," Karp said with a sigh. "Whatever you say."
"Now you're going to get all depressed for days," said Marlene. "I wish one time we could just have a good fight and clear the air." She shucked out of the jacket, stuffed her rags of shirt into the trash, and vanished behind the screen that divided the living area from the bathing tank.
Karp had averted his eyes from her nakedness. What Marlene wanted, he knew, was a slam-bang battle, including blows, a long blubbering cry, and a good fuck to top it off. Karp wondered why he couldn't do it. But he could not; some deep knot of resistance to such a release tied him into this angry passivity. He was right and she was wrong.
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