She walks her fingers up my chest. ‘What are we? Strangers. Sofia, please.’
I clear my throat. ‘It’s dangerous for you here. . Sofia.’
Delano puts her cheek against my heart. ‘Remember when you first called me Sofia, baby? That night in Coney Island. I’ll never forget it, Carmine.’
Carmine? Now I’m somebody else. Is that an improvement, I wonder?
Mrs Delano’s make-up leaves a face print on my chest when I peel her off.
‘You need to go upstairs now, Sofia. Go up and wait for my call.’ I flash on the rows of pill bottles in the upstairs kitchen. ‘Do you have any medication you should be taking?’
Sofia Delano frowns. ‘No more pills, Carmine. They make me stupid.’
‘How about one? Just one to help you relax until I call?’
‘Maybe just one for you, baby.’
‘Good. Good. . baby. You promise?’
‘Sure.’
‘Say it. Promise me.’
Delano pouts and suddenly ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ starts playing in my mind-pod.
‘I promise. Happy now?’
‘Yeah. Happy now.’
I steer her towards the hallway, but she stops at the door, planting her back against the frame. Her chest is heaving and her eyes are bright.
Carmine was a lucky guy, I think. What did he do to you?
‘Kiss me, baby,’ she moans. ‘I’ve been dreaming so long.’
After all this time I get lucky twice in one day. Pity about the blood-sodden circumstances.
‘Come on, Carmine,’ says Sofia, her voice sulky and impatient. ‘No kiss, no pill.’
So I kiss her. She grabs a fistful of my neck hair and pulls me in deep, and it’s like a movie kiss, long and languorous, and after a year or so I start wishing my name was Carmine.
We come up for air and Sofia’s eyes are wet. Blue mascara flowers on her cheeks.
‘We still got the spark, Carmine.’
I’m feeling a bit emotional myself. ‘Yeah, Sofia. That was something.’
Her nose crinkles. ‘But what happened to your hair?’
I hustle her up the stairs with Ghost Zeb chuckling in my ear.
I shut the door behind Mrs Delano, then take the steps three at a time back to my apartment. Deacon is up and about, stumbling around head in hands, swear words drooling from her lips. She’s not fully conscious yet, but any minute now.
She spots me with one rolling eye, and lurches in my direction like an extra from Day of the Dead.
‘Easy there, Detective Deacon,’ I say, gallantly steering her to the remains of the sofa. She plonks down, deep into the butchered cushions. Her entire midsection disappears, from boobs to knees. On any other day you’d have to laugh, except maybe yesterday or the day before that.
‘How you feeling, Detective?’
‘Screw you.’
‘We did that, remember.’
‘Did we? I didn’t notice.’
‘I have it on very good authority that I have a lovely pee-pee, so lay off.’
Deacon’s eyes are clearing up now. I can see craftiness in the corners.
‘Okay. It was wonderful. You were like a stallion, Daniel.’ She rattles her cuffs under my nose. ‘So let me go.’
I nod slowly. ‘You put together a good argument, me being like a stallion and so forth. So okay.’
I slip off one cuff just long enough to attach it to the sofa’s exposed metal frame. Deacon does not bother yanking her chain.
‘Bastard,’ she sighs, rolling her eyes.
‘It’s temporary,’ I assure her. ‘Just until I can figure out what to do with you.’
‘You could stick a knife in my forehead.’
I mull this over. ‘Tempting. But no. What if I winged you, then you shoot yourself half a dozen times?’
‘That’s not funny, McEvoy,’ says Deacon, throwing a futile kick in my direction.
‘Exactly.’
I finish dressing, hang my jacket on a nail and run the kitchen faucet over my head.
‘Why did Goran want to kill you?’
Deacon hawks and spits on my floor. ‘Blood. I bit my tongue. I’m going to track that crazy bitch down, no doubt about that.’
‘It was because of Faber, right? For some reason she didn’t want Faber investigated.’
‘I don’t care where she hides. Nobody takes a swing at Ronelle Deacon and gets away with it’
I clap my hands triumphantly. ‘Ronelle! Well hello, Ronelle.’
Deacon scowls, disgusted. ‘People call me Ronnie. Good for the straights and the gays.’
I nod. ‘Ronnie. Yeah, that would work. Cute or butch, depends on how you look at it.’ I dry my head gingerly, zip my bag and throw it over my shoulder. ‘Well, Ronnie, you ready to cooperate?’
‘You are a wanted man, McEvoy. Surrender yourself into my custody and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Come on. You got a body in the trunk.’
‘You’re the only one who knows that. And you’re a fucking knife killer. What kind of credibility do you have? If I was as bent as Goran used to be, I bet I could come up with a scenario where you killed my partner and held me captive.’
I am not liking the sound of that, or the glint in Deacon’s eyes when she says it.
‘I think I’ll turn you in and take my chances.’
Deacon shakes her head. ‘I don’t believe you. One of those bullets in Goran’s shoulder is yours. Maybe you killed Connie DeLyne, then you shot down the investigating officer. I bet my superiors would go for that.’
She’s right. So I say: ‘Ronnie, when you’re right, you’re right.’
‘You got it, Daniel. All I need to do is put a bullet in your brain and then cry at Goran’s funeral.’
She sneers Daniel like it’s a fake name that might fool others but it won’t fool Ronelle Deacon.
‘You, cry? I’d pay money to see that.’
‘You already saw it, asshole.’
The lady is right again. Last night, coming in the door, there were tears on Deacon’s cheeks.
‘You’re not going to kill me, Ronnie.’
She shrugs. ‘Not without a gun. Unless you want to fight like a man.’
‘I gave up being macho for New Year’s. Bad for my health.’
‘Pussy.’
‘No thanks.’
I turn my back on the exchange because it’s giving me a headache and duck into the bathroom to use the facilities and check my hat. I talk while I work.
‘Here’s the plan, Ronnie. I’m going to stash your car somewhere safe. You know, the one with the dead detective covered in trace in the trunk. I’m also taking your blouse with the blood spatter that I’m sure the forensics guys can read like a book. Then I’m coming back here and we can work this out. You want a career and I want you to have a career.’
‘Blackmailing motherfucker,’ Deacon calls from behind the sofa. ‘Maybe I should just throw you out the goddamn window. You could land on the car.’
‘Bring it on, doll head.’
My headache spikes behind one eye. Even at a time like this, people will not lay off the scalp.
‘I have had transplants, if you must know,’ I say, a little touchy, striding into the living area. ‘This bald thing is temporary.’
Deacon is standing by the window, cuffs on the floor, her gun in one hand, mine in the other.
‘For you, Dan,’ she says, ‘everything is temporary.’
If I had the time and the flexibility, I would kick myself in the arse, not a glancing blow either.
‘You had a key on the memory bracelet, right?’
Deacon smiles like a wolf. ‘That’s right. One of my fondest memories is a little handcuff session a couple of years ago. Now take your hand out of your pocket, kneel down and say please, please don’t shoot me in the balls, Detective Deacon.’