"I don't see how that means Mike is doing something wrong. I mean, don't cops do that all the time,follow up on cases?"
"Yeah," Durand admitted uneasily. "Only usually they let their partners in on it. And this bit about the knife; I think I remember that the gypsy had a knife when we busted him, but I don't ever remember Step turning it in. And the hotel murder was done with a knife. See?"
"Not really." Her tone flatly denied that Mike could be mixed up in anything he shouldn't be.
"Look," Durand amended. "I'm not saying he's done anything wrong. But I think he's bending the rules, a lot. And no cop can afford to do that, even a little. My dad taught me that, when I was real small.A cop always has to play by the rules, whether he likes it or not. A cop without rules is nothing."
"Rules without common sense are stupid," Tiffany said flatly.
Durand was silent for three blocks. This was as close to a fight as they'd ever come, and he didn't want to get any closer.
"So," he finally said as the Chevy idled roughly at a stoplight. "What would you do? Ignore it?"
"Of course not! For crying out loud, you're partners! Come right out and ask him about it."
"And of course Step will tell me the whole story,"Durand observed with heavy sarcasm.
"He will, if you ask him right," she said quietly,He glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead, and he knew that, in some odd way, he'd hurt her. It bothered him a lot more than he'd have thought it would. Especially since her left hand had never left his shoulder. He tried to find words to apologize, but it didn't seem like apologizing was the thing to do either.
The Chevy crept out into the intersection, clutch complaining all the way. "Okay," Durand said quietly. "I'll do my best to ask him right."
"Thank you," Tiffany said, just as quietly. Durand was left reflecting on why it was that the times when he understood her least were also the times when he loved her most.
If there's more to making choices
Than luck and happenstance,
I hope I do it right
Next time I get the chance.
"NO PASSENGER"
The bus hissed like a tired snake as the door opened.The Coachman was the first man off. He leapt to the ground and pirouetted, smiling. "Welcome to Lakota," he said.
Daniel climbed out, buttoning his heavy green coat.He followed the Coachman out to the street, and looked up at the glass skyscrapers. "A city," he said."Is a city."
"Not so," said the Coachman. "Each has its own rhythms. You'll see."
Daniel snorted. "If you like. In any case, we're here. What now?"
"Now? Well, it is Wednesday. Tomorrow, we will begin looking around. If we haven't found anything,I'll try to borrow a coach on Friday. I'm sure to get it on Sunday, if we haven't had any luck before then."
"What will we do with a coach?"
"Ride around the city. If your older brother has arrived, and your younger brother hasn't let himself be killed, I will find them, and pick them up, and then we will see what happens. Or maybe not. I don't know as much about this as you may think I do."
"Well,1 know even less. As I said, what now?"
"Have you any money?"
"Some."
"Good. Let us find a place to sleep. It would be good to stay out of sight, if we can."
"Whose sight are we staying out of. Coachman?"
"The Wolf's, of course," said the Coachman,smirking, and hailed a taxi.
EIGHT
The Wolf, the Badger,and the Old Woman
Old woman, I hate too much.
I must give it vent.
Old woman you are hiding
here inside your tent.
Old woman, how much more
will I have to repent?
Old woman will I have left a mark
When my days are spent?
"BLACKENED PAGE"
"Mike!"
At the shout, Stepovich jerked awake. Reflexes rolled him off the couch and onto his feet as he scrabbled for a gun that wasn't there; shoelaces tied together brought him down just as swiftly. He caught himself painfully on one elbow, managed to avoid hitting the coffee table more than a glancing blow.
"You son of a bitch," he said with great feeling.
Ed laughed. "Works every time," he observed cheerfully, even though it was at least four years since he had pulled the same stunt. He turned his back on Stepovich and headed for the apartment's tiny kitchen. "'You want coffee?" he called back over his shoulder.
"That dead bolt cost me fifteen dollars. If you've screwed it up, I'm gonna feed it to you."
"Me?" Ed stuck his head back around the corner."Thing wasn't even shot, Stepovich. Door wasn't locked. I just waltzed right in."
"Uar," Stepovich muttered, working at his knotted laces. He'd never been able to figure out how Ed did it. The man was overweight and clumsy as an ox,but there wasn't a lock he couldn't slip, and Stepovich couldn't count how many times in the years of their partnership that Ed had taken him unawares. When he was a rookie, Ed had almost convinced him that he,Stepovich, just wasn't alert enough to be a good cop. It had taken him a long time to realize that the big man could walk softer than a cat, and could take damn near anyone by surprise. Grabbing cat burglars from behind had been one of his favorite tricks, once upon a time.
Stepovich retied his shoes and got up to make his way into the kitchen. Ed had half the stuff out of his cupboard stacked on the floor. "Where in hell are the coffee beans?" he demanded as Stepovich came around the comer. Sneaky bastard didn't even bother to turn and look at him. Just knew he was there.
"Don't have any." Stepovich reached up to the shelf over the stove, took down a jar of instant. "Coffee's right here."
"That shit?" Ed stepped casually away from the mess he'd made. "Let's skip it, then. We can grab some on the way." He glanced back once at the packages and cans he'd rummaged through. "Pretty sorry haul, Mike. Nothing there I'd feed the neighbor's cat. When's the last time you went shopping, anyway?"
"Don't go shopping, I just pick up what I need for the day on my way home from work. Where we going? And what the hell time is it?"
"Just about midnight. Witching hour. Best time for witches, vampires and gypsy fortune tellers. But, hey,Mike, this is no way to live. Coffee is not something to take casually. You've seen how I do it, little hand grinder, drip pot, and keep those beans in the frig until you're ready."
"Where we going?" Stepovich repeated wearily. Midnight. Shit. He had to work tomorrow. Maybe Ed had been retired long enough that he'd forgotten what it was like to drag his ass out of bed at six in the morning. Look at him. Eyes bright, hair combed,black bomber jacket that could no way meet over his gut anymore. Looked like a teenager going out cruising. Same stupid shitty grin when he finally met Stepovich's eyes and answered.
"Where we going? We're going to get fortunes told,sweet baby mine. Madam Moria sees all, and I've got her primed to tell all. Let's go."
He tossed Stepovich's jacket at him and the flying sleeve stung his face. Ed was humming "Captain of the Pinafore" as Stepovich followed him out the door. Despite himself, Stepovich felt a small quickening of pulse. Gilbert and Sullivan had always been Ed's hunting tunes. Quick, Watson, the game's afoot and all that.
They were into the Cadillac before Stepovich remembered to say, "But Ed, I told you the thing with the Gypsy was all done and it turned out to be nothing after all."
"Bullshit," Ed said kindly, and slammed his door so hard that Stepovich's ears popped. The engine started with a roar, then Ed eased it back to a purr-like a big cat's. It slipped into gear with a barely perceptible whump! and prowled off down the street.