I had met Manny at a police officer’s funeral three years ago. Then I remembered a fellow cop telling me that Manny had graduated from Quantico, the FBI’s National Academy, but after a couple of years of service, he decided not to go that route. The thought of making an appointment with an ex-Fed who would most likely side with Dorrick went down the drain with my shower water. Most likely he had already talked to Greenwood about the investigation anyway.
I got out of the shower and put on a pair of boxers and stared at myself in the mirror. My six-pack was slowly turning into a four-pack. I told myself not to become the cliché of an overweight cop with a donut in his mouth.
The hall air was cool when I stepped out of the foggy bathroom. If I thought of Jennifer, automatically Dr. Melon Head appeared on my couch smelling Jennifer’s panties and twirling them while he laughed in my face. And then I got angry again.
I poured myself some coffee and fell into the sofa. I sat slouched in my underwear in silence, holding a cup of coffee that would burn my top layer of skin off if I spilled it.
Believe Jennifer.
I wanted a plan, some miraculous direction I could go in the Feds hadn’t thought of, but my mind was numb.
I turned on FOX just for curiosity’s sake, and there was Agent Wayne standing in front of a batch of microphones with Greenwood right beside him. My captain had failed to mention that a press conference had been scheduled for this morning. He was probably afraid I’d show up.
They were inside a huge room with a plain, light blue wall behind them. Wayne was dressed in a nice white shirt with a gold tie in contrast to Greenwood’s wrinkled, faded blue polo shirt and fat blue and gold striped tie. Dorrick was nowhere to be seen.
Agent Wayne was caught in midsentence as the volume rose to its appropriate level. “. . . to break this case. Lotz knows we’re after him. He knows there’s no place to hide. It’s just a matter of time before he’s spotted and apprehended.”
A picture of Lotz spread halfway across the screen. Wayne squinted at the flashes going off in his face and pointed past the cameraman to a person I couldn’t see.
Then I heard a question from a female reporter. “Is it true that the lead detectives were taken off this case? If so, why?”
“I’ll handle this one.” Greenwood stepped in front of Agent Wayne. “We have no comment at the moment.”
I laughed at the ridiculous face Wayne made when Greenwood stepped back to his position. I’m sure he tried to control his natural reaction, but, Jesus, could Greenwood come across any more like Barney Fife?
As my laughter subsided, the idea I had been searching for finally hit me. Usually I was a by-the-book kind of guy, always playing by the rules, but this was different. I had been pushed off the playing field so far out of bounds that I was in the bleachers. And in that realm, anything goes.
I decided to go out partying. There was a certain club that closed down called The Castle where Spider used to go. I should investigate if it had reopened. There wasn’t anything inappropriate about checking out the scene. Nothing was against regulations about going to a dance bar and having some fun and maybe asking a few questions while trying to make new friends. Keeping my cheating girlfriend out of harm’s way was the most important reason to do it. But wouldn’t catching Spider right under the Feds’ noses be the ultimate revenge?
I found out that The Castle, situated just off Causeway Boulevard near Lakeside Mall, had become Tripper’s. But the crowd was still the same—kids in their early twenties, wearing Gap and J.Crew, dancing to songs with monotonous beats that seemed to never end.
A little research on the Internet told me that Tripper’s was dark, too loud to talk, and if you wanted to play pool, you had to wait a long time for your turn. Ecstasy was still big there, and if you knew the right people, some cocaine and heroin could find their way into your possession.
I had come up with a plan, and it was only 10:45 a.m. Jennifer was going to work a double and I had all day to be with myself, and I liked to keep busy. I looked around the house as dust floated in the sunbeams shooting through the room. We had old mail, clothes, and dirty dishes lying about as dust bunnies clung to furniture legs. It was time for a major cleaning. I put the television on Mute and slid six CDs into my stereo.
My clothes for the night consisted of a short-sleeved, zipper-collared shirt with a white band traveling down the sides. It was one of many attempts by Jennifer to buy me something hip, but it just wasn’t me. Blue jeans and black hiking boots finished off the ensemble.
I didn’t want the hassle of having to fight through a huge crowd, so I arrived at Tripper’s early. It was about ten o’clock when I showed the bouncer my ID. He was one huge, hairless muscle that blocked the whole doorframe. I felt like I was twenty-one again, only this time, I showed him my badge.
“Go right in, Officer,” he said. “Don’t worry about the cover.”
In most cases, the relationship between bars and cops was symbiotic. Police were hired to watch the door and, in turn, could warn the owner of impending raids so they could check IDs a little closer and not let in the hot babes who might not be of age. Bars on good terms with officers tended to have less trouble and great response time when trouble occurred.
“Thanks.” I pulled Spider’s picture out of my shirt pocket. “Have you seen this guy here before?”
He took a closer look and then gave the picture back to me. “That’s the Absinthe Killer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, we have reason to believe he might have frequented this place when it was The Castle.”
“I don’t recognize the guy, but you can talk to George the bartender. He’s the only one who carried over from The Castle.”
Half the booths were taken with the early birds, while the bar maintained a one-deep crowd with several holes in it. The best light from the whole place was coming from the back room where there was another bar and four pool tables.
When I was a few feet inside, I found myself in front of a girl with large fake boobs in a green psychedelic bikini with pink handprints. She was standing behind a gigantic tub of iced beer for incoming patrons. I saw just how cold she was in that position.
“Can I get you a beer?” She had a glowing line of pink neon under each eye as if she were on some tripped-out football team.
I leaned forward so I wouldn’t have to yell. “Can you pick out George for me?”
She looked over at the main bar and pointed at the man who was filling up four shot glasses with tequila. His hair was short and spiky, and he was laughing with the shot drinkers like they were good friends.
“Thanks.” I took one last look at her quality swimwear and walked over to the bar, squeezing in between two sets of people.
George noticed me as a new customer right away and came over. “Hey, man. Where y’at?” He retained the smile he had on earlier.
“I’m good.” I showed him my badge. “You used to work here when this was The Castle, right?”
He lost his happy face. “Yeah. What’s this about?”
“Have you seen this guy before?” I handed him Spider’s picture.
“Here? I don’t know. He looks familiar.” George stared at the picture for a while. Eventually he handed it back to me. “No, sorry. I see so many faces every night. They all blend together.”
“Thanks, anyway. I’ll take an Amstel Light.” I threw a five-dollar bill on the bar.
He returned, giving me the beer, then slid the money through a water ring back at me.
Ignoring the wet Mr. Lincoln, I turned around and sat on a nearby stool as I scanned the area. My gaze ultimately returned to the bathing beauty near the entrance. The high beams were still
on, bless her heart.
I finished the nearly frozen beer in about two minutes and got up to leave. Then I noticed that about twenty more kids had showed up since I came in, and I could see through the front window that a line had started to form. I turned to George, ordered another beer, and told him to keep them coming.
I eventually got to my fourth beer and felt a pretty good buzz going. It wasn’t the same as college when I could down a twelve-pack and still walk straight.
George slid the beer to me along with a shot of tequila accompanied by two limes and a saltshaker.
“I didn’t order this,” I yelled over the noise.
George pointed at the other end of the bar.
I nearly fell off my stool. Sarah Simpson was smiling at me as if she had come back from the dead to haunt me.
She disappeared into the growing gaggle and reappeared in front of me holding her own shot. “Hello, Detective.”
I blatantly checked her out from head to toe. She had on black high-heeled sandals and skintight black pants that started inches below her visible belly button. Her maroon blouse covered a navy tube top and was tied into a knot across her midsection, opened just enough to show the men what she was supporting.
“You look fantastic.” I picked up my shot. We both threw our heads back to down the tequila, then finished the process with the lime. I stared at her with a devil on my shoulder.
Sarah looked me over and smiled. “You clean up pretty good.”
“Thanks. This is my first time wearing this shirt.”
“What are you doing here?” She licked the lime from her fingers. “Are you alone?”
“I’m alone and I’m off duty. That’s all I’m allowed to say.”
“I guess I would have heard if Lotz was caught.”
I nodded. She squeezed herself next to me, leaning her frame against the bar. Suddenly, I was twenty-one again, getting drunk and flirting. I didn’t say much at first so as not to lead her on, but I could tell she was interested.
“What’s it like being a detective? I know people must always ask if you shot anyone. Have you?”
“No. I almost did a couple of times.” I spoke so forcefully over the blaring bass that spit came out of my mouth. I was glad to see that she laughed it off. I finished my beer in one big swig, and she already had two more coming with two more shots.
“You trying to get me drunk?” I asked in her ear. I could smell her sweet fragrance mixing with the mango scent in her hair. I didn’t care what the answer was.
She pulled back to take me in. “Maybe. You gonna dance with me?” Our cheeks lightly touched, and I felt the warmth of her breath spread over my ear.
My lips said the opposite of my brain. “Of course.”
She led me onto the dance floor, and once we were out there, I let my body do its own thing. A hip-hop song made the floor pulse, while lights flashed the colors of a rainbow and laser beams seemed to follow flies on the wall.
Sarah smiled seductively as she moved in close enough to rub on me until we both were in full dry hump, sweating from the heat of the crowd. I imagined we looked like embarrassing outcasts, but glancing around, I saw that we fit right in.
I didn’t know exactly how it happened, but I found myself walking into Sarah’s house. I remembered dancing, having a good time, drinking some more, and Sarah saying how scared she got at night when she heard noises. She convinced me to follow her home to make sure she drove okay. Then she convinced me to check out her place to make sure Lotz hadn’t broken in. So far, all legitimate reasons.
I roamed around a bit, noticing how bare most of the rooms were. She could pack her things and move quickly if she wanted. Everything ended up being clear, and I circled around to find her sitting on the couch with two glasses of wine already poured. The lights were off, and two candles illuminated the living room.
“Have a nightcap with me,” Sarah said.
“Just one glass,” I whispered as I sat down, suddenly uncomfortable.
Her hand swept behind my head, and she gently rubbed the back of my neck. I closed my eyes, and the room began to spin. Her hand slid down my back, and she began kissing my cheek. I felt the crotch of my pants begin to empty of free space, and all other thoughts melted away. Her warm tongue slid gently up to my eye where her lips puckered on my eyelid.
I was drunk, mad at Jennifer, and I made myself single again. I kissed Sarah hard, finally giving into a fantasy I’d had ever since I first saw her.
She pulled away in order to climb on top, smothering me with her perfect body. As she balanced herself on her knees, with me between them, she took off her blouse, then her top. I think her twins got this kind of reaction all the time because she stopped for a moment, letting me take my time with them. After things got going, I found that I couldn’t look her in the face.
My senses were dulled and things got hazy at times, but I knew what was happening, and because of Dr. Melon, I justified it in my mind. I decided not to let myself feel guilty until the morning. The mutual pleasure as she rose up and down filled me with a sexual power that I usually lacked when inebriated. I wasn’t the rough spank-me type, but the surge was strong enough for me to pick her up and prop her against a wall.
“Oh, God, yes. Yes. Yes,” she yelled with every thrust. Pictures fell and shattered on the hardwood.
I stopped and turned her around, pinning her face against the wall so I didn’t have to look at her. I became angry when I started again, seeing a foreshadowing of the guilt I’d have in the morning, and it became clear that this was nothing special. This was too easy—she was too easy.
I’m sorry, Jennifer.
I’m so sorry.
It was 6:45 in the morning, and my head was pounding with guilt. I awoke with a reality I thought I had dreamed, then eventually escaped from Sarah’s place before she awoke, closing the door very quietly.
The night before, I had ended up parking a few houses down the street. As I walked, a nondescript white van pulled alongside me as if it were slowing to deliver newspapers, but then two men with masks jumped out and grabbed me before I could retrieve my weapon from my ankle holster.
They moved swiftly and with purpose. Some kind of bag was put over my head, and I was tossed into the van and felt myself being pummeled with kicks, bats, and God knows what else.
“I’m a cop,” I yelled as I tried to go for my gun again, but it wasn’t there. One of the men must have removed it.
They flipped me onto my back, and I was struck hard in the face. The blood running down my chin felt like a bug crawling on my face.
“What do you want?” I feared this was going to be the end. They were going to shoot me with my own gun.
After two more hits, I found I couldn’t lift myself up anymore. I didn’t know if the van was moving or if they had parked it somewhere in order to toss me into a Dumpster. I lay in a half dream.
I felt my body get hit again, but there was no pain. I began to regret that Jennifer would remember me for dying the morning after I cheated on her. I wasn’t ready to die, damn it.
Just before I lost consciousness, a man whispered into my ear, “Leave it be, or you’ll regret it.”
Then came the blackness.
My head was killing me. When the realization of my ass kicking finally dawned on me, I opened my eyes wide and tried to raise my head. Big mistake.
Jennifer was standing at my bedside, and I saw that I was in a hospital. She was holding my hand with her worried look. On the other side of me was Sal Coronada, a cop who worked the area where Sarah lived.
“Where am I?” It seemed like a good first question.
“Charity. You were beat up good,” he said with a smile.
“No shit. Did you catch them?” My bottom lip felt as big as a bicep.
“No. Some kids found you behind Popeyes on Gentilly and called 911. I was in the area. A couple of uniforms questioned people, but no one saw anything.”
Jennifer kissed my forehead. “The doctor
says you have bruised ribs. He put ten stitches over your left eye and a few over your lip.” She lightly ran her fingers over the outer edge of the bandage.
“What do you remember, Deck?” Sal asked, notebook open.
“I stopped in Tripper’s to get a beer and hang out with a friend who never showed. After a while, I got kind of buzzed and was going to go home. I ran into a woman we interviewed about the Absinthe Killer case, and we got to talking. Before I knew it, I was sloshed and so was she. I thought it best if I followed her home. I’m embarrassed to say I puked. I knew I couldn’t drive, and she invited me to sleep on her couch. I got up the next morning and was walking to my car when I was jumped by two or more guys in a white van.”
I glanced at Jennifer to see if she believed me, but I didn’t notice a reaction. “I didn’t get a license number or a look at any of them. They were average height, and I’m pretty sure they were white.”
“Too bad,” Sal said, closing his notebook. “A doctor gave me your ankle gun when they cut your pants off. I unloaded it, and it’s with the rest of your belongings. It’s a good thing they didn’t find it. You could be dead right now.”
I didn’t want to tell him that they did take it off me with Jennifer in the room. “Don’t say anything about me getting whacked in front of my girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry about that comment, Jennifer. We’re going to follow up and sweep the scene. We’ll let you know if we find them.”
Dorrick and a couple of henchmen pulling masks over their heads popped into my mind. “Thanks, Sal.” I watched him leave the room.
I didn’t know if Jennifer was going to let it go or wait until I’d healed to start the accusations. “Honey, I couldn’t say it in front of Sal, but I was at Tripper’s asking around about Lotz. The rest of it is true.”
“I’m going to get the doctor,” she said softly. “He said he wanted to examine you after you woke up, and if everything’s okay, he’ll release you.”