Hostiles

by Ethan Johnson

  Brent’s eyes widened, then he nodded his acquiescence. “Wow, you’re not messing around. Make it two.” He grinned at Diane. “Go big or go home, am I right?” After the bartender flitted away to prepare the drinks, Brent leaned over to Diane and gave her a sultry stare. “We can go big at home too, just saying.”

  Diane scrunched up her face at this, then remembered her mission. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Is that right? Not to brag, but I’ve been with hotter women than Alexa.”

  “And here you are now.” Diane accepted her drink from Raul, then raised her glass. “You’re a generous man, Brent. I like that in a gentleman.”

  Brent raised his glass and clinked it against hers, then took a stiff drink. “I ain’t no gentleman, begging your pardon, little lady.”

  The word ain’t sounded like an alarm in her ears. For being the richest man in Cape May, he sure had a lot to learn. She felt smug and superior to him. She gave him a derisive sneer and said, “And I am not a lady, Brent Moorcroft.” She took a bigger gulp of her drink. Her throat burned and her eyes watered. She suppressed a cough, then another.

  Brent nodded his appreciation. “Well, you certainly mean serious business. Why don’t we move this to a more… private setting?”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” Diane said flatly.

  “I meant that table over there. These bar stools make my butt itch.”

  Diane granted his request. Brent led her to a dimly lit table in the rear of the club. It was lit by a single artificial candle. Diane liked the hypnotic glow. Brent’s eyes sparkled with a certain devilish charm, which Diane also enjoyed. She felt privileged to have Alexa’s biggest male rival vying for her attention. With her relationship with Lyssa damaged and possibly over, she wondered if maybe a night with Brent Moorcroft wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, Diane reasoned, Alexa had used him for her needs. Why couldn’t she do likewise?

  Brent downed the remainder of his drink in a single gulp. He exhaled with a gust of satisfaction and gave Diane a lusty stare. “I’ve never seen you in here before. Which one of these do you belong to?” He wiggled his fingers at the men who stood nearby, discussing business and politics between sips of expensive liquor.

  Diane glared at him. “I don’t belong to anybody.”

  “Well, that’s promising. No fuss, no muss. Refreshing change of pace, for me.”

  “Oh? Would you like me better if I belonged to one of them? So you could take me? Or win me, is that it?” Diane downed her drink as well. She did a better job suppressing her urge to wince and cough. The room spun sideways for a moment as she felt the effects of the potent alcohol.

  Brent smiled and waved over a waitress dressed in a tight green and black outfit. Her butt and legs were covered in a sheer black mesh, terminating in spiky heels with painted toenails poking out of the front. Diane peeked under the table at her own heels and frowned at the closed-toe style. She wondered why her toes weren’t sexy enough to be seen, compared to the waitress. Diane looked up at a pair of glossy lips and a young woman with a disaffected look on her face that didn’t change when she spoke. “Ready to order?”

  Brent gave the waitress an easy smile. Diane didn’t like it. It made her feel less special, like he would turn on the charm for any hore who looked his way. Diane considered her dress and fumed. Oh, he thinks I’m a hore? Then I’ll make him pay. Big time. Any reservations she had about using him as directed by Lady Diamond evaporated in an instant.

  “Yes I am. Another Straight Shooter for the lady, and I’m going to switch to a Virgin Sunset.” He winked at Diane. “Don’t want to peak too soon, if you catch my drift.”

  Diane recalled seeing that on a list of non-alcoholic drinks. She picked up on his game and smiled innocently. Inwardly, she plotted her next move. He wanted her drunk. He wanted to stay in control. She focused on Lady Diamond’s lessons and mixed in scenes from Fortune and Destiny when Alexa Charlevoix was being challenged.

  “That suits me just fine,” she said with Alexa’s signature twang.

  “You heard the lady,” Brent said, and gave the waitress a dismissive wave. He shifted in his seat and gave Diane his full attention. “Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. You were telling me your name before we were rudely interrupted.” He flashed a winning smile.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Diane said. She let Brent’s face register his disappointment before she smiled and gave him what he wanted. On a visceral level, she knew he didn’t care what her real name was. He just wanted something to call her during their brief time together.

  Diane thought about Sapphire and Lady Diamond, then came to the frank realization that she didn’t care what their real names were either. The secrecy was exciting, even though she wanted Sapphire dead. She tried to think of a fake name that would protect her true identity and give Brent what he wanted. She spied a decanter on the edge of the bar and found a suitable alias.

  “Crystal,” she said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Brent Moorcroft—or to be precise, Steve Halloran, the actor who played that role on Fortune and Destiny prior to its untimely cancellation—leaned back in his seat and eyed Diane silently for a moment. Diane accepted her drink from the waitress and cradled her glass in her hands. After taking a sip from his mocktail, Brent shook his head. “No, I’m not seeing it. There’s no way you’re a ‘Crystal’.”

  “My birth certificate says otherwise,” Diane lied, and wished she knew for sure what it did say.

  “No, there’s something about you. That name doesn’t fit. Nice try, though. I can think of worse things to be compared to than a fancy, empty vessel.”

  “Crystal shines. That’s what Momma told me.”

  “I don’t doubt that someone named Crystal you knew had a momma that told her that. No, let me see if I can guess. Three tries, okay?”

  Diane pretended to sip her drink. “Okay, but you’ll be wrong all three times. I already told you my name.”

  Brent raised a shushing finger and fell into a cloud of deep concentration. After a moment, he opened his eyes and pointed at her. “Nancy,” he said.

  Diane pretended to spit up her drink. She sloshed some of it on the table. “Nancy?”

  Brent shook his head. “Okay, that was a gimme.” He laughed and said, “That’s my mother’s name. Smooth move, Steve. Come on!” He sipped his drink and nodded. “Alright, take two.”

  Diane brought her drink down between her legs and tried to think of ways to discard it without drinking any. She conceded that she might have to drink more than she had intended. She tapped her foot on the carpeted floor. She shrugged and decided to take the risk. Diane tipped her glass forward and let a small trickle splash onto the carpet. She raised the glass to her lips and faked another sip.

  Her performance was interrupted by Brent. “Donna!”

  Diane lowered her glass. “Not even close.”

  “No, not Donna, it’s something like that, though. Di… Dia…” Diane felt her face go flush as he sounded out the word. “Not Donna. Ugh. I’m right on the verge.”

  “Are you having fun over there? Why can’t you just accept what I told you and move on? I’ve never gotten this much crap about my name before.”

  “I’ve got it!” Brent raised a triumphant finger. “Melissa!”

  Diane snorted and downed half of her drink. Lyssa would never forgive her this, of that she was certain. Then again, Diane figured, Lyssa wouldn’t believe her anyway. How jealous would Diane have been if Lyssa had met not just Alexa Charlevoix but Brent Moorcroft a day apart? Okay, Brent she wouldn’t have cared about, but Alexa? Never in a million years.

  “Busted,” Diane said. “You win. Except I go by Lyssa.”

  Brent pumped his fist happily and raised his drink. “It’s great to finally put a name with the face, Lyssa.”

  Diane clinked his glass. “Likewise, Steve.”

  Brent shook his head. “No, call me Brent. I figure it’s a fair trade. I wouldn’t let you give me a bull
shit name, and you like calling me by mine. I’ve been called far worse, trust me.”

  Brent Moorcroft’s features became blurry for a moment, then swayed from side to side. Diane lost all feeling in her legs and her fingers began to tingle. Brent tipped his head and asked if she was okay. Not wanting to show weakness to a rival, Diane smiled and nodded. “Just enjoying my drink.” She polished off her cocktail and slumped in her seat.

  Diane awoke to Brent Moorcroft holding her in his arms. He jutted his chin at a taxi and used his head to punctuate his verbal commands. He placed Diane gently in the back seat of the cab, then hurried to the other side of the vehicle. “She’s had a big night,” he said apologetically to the driver. Noting the look of grave concern on the cab driver’s face, Brent added, “I’ll cover any spillage.” He flipped a $100 bill to the driver to support his claim.

  Diane lolled her head around and looked at Brent. “What time is it?”

  “Bedtime for you, little lady. I can’t believe you drank two of those things.” He cocked his head. “At least, two that I know of. You’re not gonna hurl all over my Thom Allen suit, are you? I just got this back from the cleaners.”

  Diane felt around for her comm unit, then panicked when she couldn’t find it. “The comm. I had it at the bar. It probably fell under the seat. We have to go back.”

  Brent raised a shushing finger. “Relax, baby. I grabbed your fancy doo-dad.” He produced her comm unit from his inside coat pocket and turned it around in his hands. “I haven’t seen these before. Is this that new ARCTURUS Phaedra I heard about? I didn’t see any name plate on it.”

  Diane lurched forward to snatch it from him, then cupped her mouth. She stopped herself from throwing up on his lap. The cab driver looked sharply over his shoulder. “If that girl pops in here, you owe me a new cab. You guys can walk home.”

  “I said I’ll handle this,” Brent snapped. “Hey, I’ve got your, uh, thingy safe right here. It would help if we knew where to take you.”

  “Home,” Diane said. “You said you were taking me home.”

  “Right, and that’s easier to accomplish with some clue as to where that is.” Brent held up the comm unit. “Is the address in here? Can he feed this to the GPS?” He pointed to the driver.

  Diane fought the urge to vomit, then took another swipe at the comm. “I can’t let you touch that. Or him. That’s police issue.”

  The driver looked up at his rear-view mirror. “You’re a cop?”

  Diane raised her hand weakly. “Relax, I’m off-duty. Just out for drinks. Too mush fun. Too mush…”

  Diane passed out on Brent’s lap. Brent raised his arms in surprise and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, Jesus. She never said she was a cop. I don’t think I did anything wrong, but… let’s get her out of here. Let me see if this fancy gadget says where.” The comm unit buzzed in his hand. He tapped the screen and gulped hard.

  The driver glanced over his shoulder. “What’s it say?”

  “It says ‘Panther’. Any clue what the hell that’s supposed to mean?”

  The cab driver nodded. “My cousin works there.” He took a sharp right turn. “Five minutes. Then the girl throws up there, got it?”

  Brent nodded. “Just make it happen. I’ll try to figure out how to explain this to my wife after.”

  A sharp banging brought Diane out of her near-comatose state. She reached over to her right to smack the snooze button on her alarm clock. Her hand slapped a painted concrete wall. Diane snapped her eyes open and found herself in a jail cell below the Panther Division headquarters. A male guard she didn’t know used his nightstick to tip his hat. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Briefing’s in a half hour.”

  Diane looked down at her wrinkled dress. Her feet were bare. She sat up and stepped on her studded heels. She yelped as one of the studs pressed into her arch. “I’m in jail? What for?”

  The guard scoffed. “To dry out, Pembrook. Jesus Christ, you smell like you took a whiskey bath. You better do something about that before the briefing. Kenner’s not going to be on board with his favorite looking and smelling like the day after spring break on patrol. Scoot.” He used his nightstick to direct her out of the cell.

  Diane picked up her heels and padded gingerly across the cold floor. “Where’s my comm? Brent Moorcroft had better not have stolen it, or I’ll kick his ass ten ways to Sunday.”

  “It’s upstairs. You’re damned lucky you were only down here to dry out, Pembrook. Police gear in civilian hands is the fast track to administrative review.”

  Diane nodded sheepishly. “No harm, no foul, huh?”

  Officer Clemson waved his hand across his nose and grimaced. “Go take a shower. Jesus, God.”

  Diane did as she was told. She didn’t normally use the showers at Panther mostly out of a lack of time. She groaned as the water ran cold. Rather than fuss with the dial, she used the accompanying adrenaline rush to scrub up quickly and get to a towel even faster. She made it to briefing room 1A with thirty seconds to spare. Hathaway scowled at her and lifted his hat from the seat beside him. Diane plopped down and smiled at him gratefully.

  “Where were you last night?” Hathaway’s voice had a sharp edge. The question wasn’t conversational, Diane noted.

  “I told you, I had a thing.”

  “Who were you with?”

  “Nobody,” Diane lied.

  Hathaway inhaled to speak again but was cut off by the arrival of Sergeant Addison. “New rule,” the Sergeant said, “do your drinking on your own time. The drunk tank is for the civilians. We didn’t build this place to dry you guys out. That’s an order.” He looked around the room, never focusing on one person, but Diane felt the sting of accusation in his words.

  Sergeant Griggs sniffed and raised his chin haughtily. “We must all adhere to the highest standards of decorum, gentlemen and ladies.” Diane glared at him and wondered why the two senior officers were tiptoeing around the issue and not flat out telling her not to get drunk on work nights.

  “Won’t happen again, Sergeant,” Diane said.

  “No, it won’t,” Sergeant Addison said with an air of annoyance. The sergeant let off an exasperated sigh. “Look, I get it. We’re up to our butts in criminals and every day is another mad scramble to keep some moron with a lighter and a liquor bottle from torching the place. But we’re goddamned professionals, people. Get with the program or hit the showers. Your call.” He pounded the lectern angrily as he spoke.

  “I said—” Diane was silenced by a red-faced stare from Griggs.

  “Dismissed. Let’s get some touchdowns,” Sergeant Addison said. “And not another Arbor.”

  Diane patted the ceremonial photo of the old Sixth Precinct building on the way out of the briefing room and felt someone poke her on the shoulder. She looked back to find Gabe leaning close to her ear. “Guess you like guys again, huh?”

  Diane cocked her head. “Excuse me?”

  “I was pulling a double shift last night to cover for Hendricks. I saw the dude you were out with. You were so blasted you couldn’t even stand up. He was, uh… I can’t compete, is what I’m saying. Neither can Lyssa, looks like. Maybe me and her can hook up.”

  “Do you want to die? Keep pushing me, Gabe,” she hissed.

  “Hey. I’m just saying… you won’t have any problems with me, okay? I’m officially giving up.”

  “On what?”

  Gabe drooped his head and turned away without another word. Diane chewed her lip and tried to comprehend what had happened. Since when did Gabe think I was ever going to get back together with him? Was that before or after he buddied up with Cade Goodwin?

  Hathaway was at her side immediately afterward. He straightened the brim of his hat and leaned forward. “I’ve still got questions for you. You better have some damn good answers.”

  Diane rubbed her forehead and huffed. “Noah, I’ve had a crazy night. I need to get my head in the game pronto ay-sap, or it’s our asses. I’ll meet you at the cruiser
.”

  Hathaway grabbed her arm and gave it a stiff yank. Diane looked up into his crazed eyes, ringed with dark circles and fully bloodshot. “And I’ve spent the night tearing this city apart. We lost our Number Two last night, Pembrook. One shot, clean through the back of the head. Remind you of anybody?”

  Diane feigned outrage. It wasn’t hard to pull off, as her head was throbbing, and she was desperate to go back to sleep. Duty called, which meant she had to power through another day shift plus whatever the Masked Man decided to throw at her afterward. She clenched her jaw and said, loud enough to attract attention from passing officers, “I don’t know, ‘Lightning’, does it? Or do I only get respect as a marksman if it means throwing me in solitary and a one-way trip to the firing squad?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? My whereabouts were accounted for. I was in the West Ballroom at the Grand Empyrean last night, waiting for Assistant Director Stiller to brief us, when word came in that he’d been shot. He was dead before he hit the ground, Pembrook. I know I can score that kind of hit at long range. So can you.”

  Gabe stepped forward and tapped Hathaway’s shoulder. “Hey, not to butt in, but I was there when she was brought in last night. There’s no way she was out shooting anything but hard booze. Her BAC was sky-high. Not only that, she’s iron-clad.”

  Hathaway cocked his head. “How do you figure?”

  “The dude she was out with. He says they were out drinking together all night. He named the place. Figure there’s witnesses. Sergeant Winslow took his statement. I was sitting behind him and heard the whole thing.”

  “Holy crap. Well, that, uh… that’s new information that…”

  Hathaway reeled as Diane slapped him. “I’m taking a sick day. Find another partner,” she said angrily, then stormed off. When she was out of earshot, she raised her comm unit and switched it to Black Channel Delta. “We need to talk.”