At the last word, Ridgeway slammed his palm against the table, rattling the glasses. Conversation in the bar stopped abruptly and all eyes turned to their table, including a disapproving look from Johnny. Winter held up his hand slightly and waved him off. Ridgeway stared at the table, oblivious to it all.
Winter and Reiser sat silently. In a few seconds, conversation again picked up throughout the bar. It took another few minutes for the dark cloud over the table to dissipate. Ridgeway brooded, feeding it.
Winter broke the silence, telling them about his encounter with Poole in the locker room.
“No kidding?” Reiser asked.
“No kidding. It was strange.”
“What do you expect?” Ridgeway asked. “His wife pulled the same thing on him that Alice did on me. If you throw in being Hart’s lackey, he’s got to feel like shit about life right now. I’m surprised he hasn’t eaten his gun yet.”
“Don’t say things like that, Mark,” Winter said, more sharply than he intended.
Ridgeway didn’t react to Winter’s rebuke. “I’m telling you,” he said darkly, “sometimes a guy thinks about things like that.”
Winter eyed Ridgeway closely. “But not you, right?”
Ridgeway grunted and took a slug from his glass.
“Mark?”
“What?”
“Not you, right?”
Ridgeway stared at him, expressionless. “No, Mother Winter. Not me.”
“Good.”
A short silence followed, then Winter waved for another round. “I volunteered for Hart’s task force,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“No lie?” Reiser asked, joining in the conspiracy.
“Yeah. I drew the rover position, tomorrow night. I think I’ll put my theory to the test.”
“Theory?” asked Reiser.
Before Winter could answer, Ridgeway broke in. “Just make sure you shoot him, Karl. Don’t be merciful. Mercy is for the weak.”
Reiser half-nodded. “Mark’s right, in a way. Not for the IA reason, but this guy is either really smart or really crazy. Either way, don’t fool around.”
“It’s drugs,” Ridgeway said. “He’s doing this to support a habit. Has to be.”
Winter had already come to that conclusion. He relayed his theory about the woman accomplice in a car to the two men. Both nodded.
“Sounds reasonable. Either that or he is an Olympic-class runner,” Reiser joked.
“Those druggies have no strength. They can’t run,” Ridgeway said. “You do have one thing on your side, though, Karl.”
“What’s that?”
Ridgeway grinned but there was no humor in it. “If his getaway driver is a woman, she will eventually screw him over.”
Winter and Reiser chuckled, but it did little to relieve Ridgeway’s black mood.
Winter rose, dropping a ten on the table. “Have a couple on me, gents. I’m going home before I start to believe all these evil lies about the fairer sex.”
Ridgeway and Reiser raised their bottles in salute as he left Duke’s.
Outside, the air remained comfortably warm but he could feel the cool promise of night. He was glad that Reiser would stay with Ridgeway a little longer. A man needed his friends at a time like this.
His Corsica started up without hesitation, and he let it idle for a minute before leaving the parking lot and driving toward home. He and Mary had planned for a late night dinner after choir practice and he was looking forward to it. Already, he could see Mary’s bright eyes dancing. He could feel her smallness as she pressed against him for a hug. He could smell her delicious cooking, a skill hard-won over the years. The woman couldn’t brew tea to save her life, but she could cook like nobody’s business. He could see her apron, perhaps splashed with flour or sauce and the small wine glass on the counter that she sipped on for hours before it was empty. And he knew he would soon taste the wine that would be on her lips.
2316 hours
T-Dog reached for the phone. When Morris said now, he meant right now, motherfucker.
He dialed the number from memory.
Jimmy answered. “Hello?”
T-Dog smiled at Jimmy’s nervous tone. That was good. It would make things easier. He waited a few moments before answering. He could almost smell Jimmy’s sweat on the other end of the line.
“Hello? Hello?”
“Jimmy. It’s T-Dog.”
“Oh.” A tiny pause hung in the air. “What’s up?”
“I need your car tomorrow night.”
“The brown Chevy?”
“No, the Maserati,” T-dog sneered. Stupid shit. “Of course the Chevy, you idiot. Drive it over about seven.”
There was another, longer pause.
“Did you hear me, bitch?”
“Uh, yeah. I kinda had something going, though.”
“Reschedule.”
Pause. Then, “Okay, T-Dog. You think you could hook me up when I come over? I’m hurting.”
T-Dog grinned at the desperation in Jimmy’s voice. “Yeah, sure. Ten for a twenty-piece, since you’re giving up your car for the night.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Seven o’clock. Don’t forget.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
Dialing, again from memory, he switched gears. He punched the proper buttons and paged Cally. Had to be respectful this time. Cally was no addict. He had some juice.
It took only three minutes for the phone to ring. T-Dog picked it up.
“Cat?”
“No. T-Dog.”
“Unh,” Cally grunted. “’Sup?”
“I need two gatts.”
“Baby nines?”
“That’s fine, unless you got anything bigger?”
“Not here,” Cally told him. “I got the baby nines right now, but anything bigger might take a while.”
“How long?”
“Coupla days.”
“That’s no good,” T-dog said. “I need them before tomorrow night.”
“Then the babies is all I got.”
T-Dog considered. Three-eighties were small pistols, good for concealment, but they lacked a lot in the power department.
“I guess I’ll take ‘em, then. Are the numbers filed off?”
“They can be.”
“Need ’em that way.”
They haggled briefly over price and T-Dog hung up. He turned to Morris, who lounged on the sofa, drinking from a forty-ounce bottle of beer.
“Got the drive and the gatts.”
Morris nodded his approval and licked his top lip. “Thas’ right. Gonna get that lily-ass motherfucker.”
Wednesday, August 24th
0400 hours
Gio lay in the early morning darkness. The red numbers of his clock gave him another thirty minutes of sleep, but Gio wasn’t tired.
He could still feel Marilyn’s presence in his bed. She’d risen at midnight and left. She seemed regretful, but she had to work in the morning and could not wear the same clothes two days in a row. Gio watched her dress in the darkness, admiring the silhouette of her body and head standing and bending like a dance. Her lips radiated warmth when she kissed him wetly and slipped out.
Now, he watched the minutes slip by on his clock and dreamt a waking dream of her. He realized Marilyn was different for him. That difference frightened him.
He couldn’t be falling in love with her.
Could he?
Was this what it was like?
He never expected to feel this way. Never really thought it possible. Now, he felt a pang in his stomach whenever he thought of her.
And what was he afraid of?
Gio took a deep breath and let it out. He knew what he feared. He’d never really cared how the woman felt, as long as she felt like sleeping with him. Now, he found himself worrying about how Marilyn felt. Obsessing about it.
She had to feel the same way. Or at least be starting to. How could she make love to him like she did and not feel it? She must have the same emotions running through her. She had to know he did, too.