Gordy scrunched up his face, thinking. “Well, the kid…”
Ace nodded. “One hell of a novel approach for a cop outta Bismarck, I’d say. The kid was good. I’m keeping an open mind. But the kid was for real.”
“They got satellite cameras that take pictures from space, man. They got infrared over the border now. They can come up with a kid.”
Ace turned and squinted down the road. He could just make out one last flash off the sweat on her shoulder blades. “An undercover? Why now? I’m not breaking any laws, am I?”
“We been through this with the state cops. Now that the volume is scaled way down, you’re not drawing any heat. Hell, man, you’re up for sale. You’re history.”
A shadow passed behind Ace’s eyes. “What about you? You and your biker friends up north? You guys and that meth shit are all over the front page.”
“Very funny.” It was a sore subject.
“Answer the question.”
Gordy shrugged. “I ain’t into nothing that would involve you,” he said slowly. “Not specifically.”
“Not specifically, huh? That sounds like splitting hairs, like lawyer shit.” Ace measured out each word. “If she’s a cop, she’s your cop, not mine.”
“I’m telling you, this little thing I got on the side is nothing that involves you.”
“Right, half your drivers still think they’re running Dad’s cargo. And Dad just handled booze, not that bulk ephedrine you buy wholesale up in Winnipeg, that you can’t get down here cross the counter…” Ace cut Gordy with his first real sharp look of the day.
Gordy folded his arms over his chest, took a step backwards.
Ace continued. “I ain’t dumb. Same couriers. Same transport-different contraband.”
Nina was about two hundred yards down the road now, going past the Alco Discount, coming up on the Dairy Queen. Distracted by Gordy, Ace had lost the fine detail. A pickup went by, slowed to take a look. It occurred to him that some other enterprising shit-kicker was going to give her a lift, buy her a drink…
“Hundred dollars says she ain’t a cop. But she sure is something more than she’s letting on, and I just gotta find out what that is. So I’m gonna go along with her,” Ace said abruptly, making his decision as he reached in his jeans for his truck keys.
“You never bet,” Gordy said.
“Hundred bucks.”
“You’ll lose.”
“Maybe. Probably. So how about another hundred on the side?” Ace grinned slow, with just a drop of the old nasty in it. “Like, what intrigues me is-how far will an undercover go? She goes all the way, we’re even.”
“Ace, you ain’t thinking very clearly.”
Ace shrugged and headed for his Tahoe. “What the hell. Not like there’s a whole lot else going on.”
Chapter Six
Ace walked around the back and braced himself as he came up on his new Chevy Tahoe. A crease ran the length of the right fender and petered out halfway across the door. He had no idea where or when or on what he’d left the paint last night.
Four minutes later he eased up beside her, then stopped the Tahoe a few feet ahead on the shoulder and zipped down the window. When she came up even with him and stopped, he spoke up.
“So, you still want to get a drink?”
Nina pursed her lips and regarded him warily. “Let’s you and me get something straight. I appreciate you helping out back there. But don’t get your hopes up. After what I been through in the last twenty-four hours, the next guy I fuck is gonna be wearing so much latex he can be dive certified…”
“Whoa. Hey, I’m here to listen,” Ace said, marveling. Must be some gearbox she had in there, the way she could speed shift between full-bore hot and cold.
Five minutes later they were settled in a booth in a dark freezing lounge back of the bowling alley, off Langdon’s main drag. They studied each other over a pair of double gin and tonics. Her choice.
“Good summer drink,” Ace said diplomatically.
“I kinda want to ease into it,” she said.
They clinked glasses. As Nina took a sip, she noticed that the waitress who had brought their order was standing at the cash register, very involved in girl talk with two women in shorts and halters who were real suntanned and would never see thirty-nine again. All three craned their necks to get a look at Nina with a certain proprietary interest.
“Friends of yours?” Nina jerked her head at the trio.
Ace frowned. “I was hoping to hear the story of your life, not mine.”
Nina shrugged. “I went to high school in Ann Arbor. Put off going to college to join the Army.”
“That where you got the tattoo?” Ace pointed to her shoulder.
“No, I did that on a dare, in Minneapolis, after the Army, during my brief bartender career.”
“Why brief?”
She took a long pull on her drink. “Because I met this guy and put off going to college a second time to marry him.”
“And you been with him ever since,” Ace said.
Nina finished her drink and emphatically thumped the empty glass on the table. “Not now I ain’t.”
“Look,” Ace said. “The way I see it you can call your husband and have him come pick up your kid and continue on with the lovely Jane. Or you go back with him and give your marriage another try, which is better for the kid.”
Nina’s eyes flashed up. “Really?”
“Yeah. Kids from intact bad marriages do better than ones from broken homes.”
She regarded him carefully. “You figure that out on your own?”
“Nope, this counselor told me and my wife that to keep us from splitting up. Didn’t work. But my mom stayed with my dad, which probably kept me and my brother and sister from turning out even worse than we did. What about your folks?”
She shrugged. “They stayed married but he was never there when I was growing up. He was in the Army.” She chewed a lip, shook her glass so the ice at the bottom made a chilly rattle. Then she looked away. “And then one day he was really gone.
“Missing, they called it. Twenty years later, the Vietnamese turned over his remains: 1995.” She held up her empty glass until she had the bartender’s attention, then she turned her smoky eyes back on Ace. “So those are my two choices?”
“Or you could try something different.” Ace said, trying his best to look reasonable and helpful.
“I just tried something different.” She looked him over like a piece of merchandise when she said that, and Ace couldn’t tell if she was deciding to buy or walk away.
Then, after a few seconds, she said, “You’re staring.”
“Tell me what happened with your ear.”
She shook her head. “Nah, not yet. Maybe when I know you better. Try again.”
“Okay. Pryce, is that your husband’s name?”
“Uh-uh. His name’s Broker.”
“So you didn’t take his name.”
“And he didn’t take mine.”
“O-kay. What about your pal Jane? That hatchet thing around her neck,” he said, exploring.
Nina smiled. “You ever hear anybody call a woman a battle ax?”
Ace thought about it. “Sure, my Aunt Bea.”
“Was Aunt Bea a sweet soft thing, dependent on a man?”
“More like leather braid soaked in vinegar. Outlived two husbands.”
“Uh-huh. See, Jane says it’s one of those clues buried in the language. That ax is called a labrys. In ancient Greek paintings, like on vases, there’s pictures of the Amazons carrying them in battle. A lot of lesbians and feminists are into the symbolism.”
“I can dig it,” Ace said, warming to the gin and the conversation. “I’m sort of into Greek mythology myself. You ever read The Myth of Sisyphus?”
She squinted, thought; decided how to play it. “The guy chained to the rock. The birds come every day to tear out his guts.”
Ace shook his head. “That’s Prometheus.”
“Okay, then Sisyphus is the other guy with the rock. He pushes it up a hill over and over as punishment.”