Last Call

by Matthew Nunes

  I hustled up some frozen ground beef, and put it into the microwave to thaw, while I poured a cup of coffee for myself. I brought a glass of milk and a few cookies to ‘Sol’s room, feeling like a mom in a Norman Rockwell print. She looked up, said “Thanks,” and went back to a word problem.

  Later, we drove to the library. On our way home, I started to tease her about how many books she’d gotten, and how it would make Mr. Emmet Davis so happy. She poked me in the ribs. She hit one of the sore ones, and I hissed.

  “Sorry, Daddy, sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Honey, it’s okay, just an accident. It’s my own fault for zigging when I should have zagged. ‘Sol? It’s okay, honey, really.”

  “I just want things to be the way they were. I want you to work so I can miss you, and come home, so I can be glad to see you. I want to make coffee that you pretend to like. I want Mrs. Pina not to look scared and mad. I want you to not be all bandaged. I want to fly our kite.”

  “Sweetie,” I said, but stopped. I wanted a lot of that, too. I also liked feeling more alive and connected. I didn’t like being hurt, but I enjoyed mixing it up. No way was I going to tell her that.

  “Honey, I’ll get back to work, soon. Things will be more normal. We just have to get through this. We’ve been through hard times before, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And we know how to get through them, right?”

  She nodded again; her head was up and she was looking at me directly.

  We lugged her books to her room, and stacked them on the floor next to her desk. She never used it to do her homework, but we both pretended she did. I marked the book return date on the calendar in the kitchen, and called Mrs. Pina. I took my time getting dressed, settling on a jacket, slacks and a tie. I planned to pick up my weapon, and the jacket would help to conceal it. I wanted to get used to wearing a gun again. It was best to have it and not need it, than to need it and not. It wasn’t profound, but it was true.

  Mrs. Pina and Marisol grinned, and nudged each other and whispered as I left. I mugged a scowl, and I stopped at the bus terminal and signed for my package, bringing it to the car unopened. I clipped the holster and weapon on, and put one of the extra magazines in the inside jacket pocket. I found the restaurant, fifteen minutes early.

  So, I sat in my car, sipping cold coffee. A Boston cab pulled up, Dana got out and paid the fare through the window. Her hair was up in some kind of twisted arrangement at the back of her head, leaving her neck exposed. There was an erotic charge from the way her neck moved that was out of all proportion to what she revealed. She was wearing a suit of some dark material, with slacks. When she bent over to pay the cabbie, they drew snug across her rear.

  She saw me, and her face brightened. The look was worth the long drive. Except for ‘Sol, Mrs. Pina, and the occasional thirsty customer, no one had looked glad to see me in two years. She walked over, put her arms around my neck and drew herself to me. My arms went around her waist, and I had my face in her hair. I smelled her cinnamon perfume, and her shampoo, and drew back to look at her. I kept my arms around her waist, and she had her hands draped loosely behind my neck. “Hi,” we both said at once.

  “I missed you,” I said. It was true, and it was what I felt. I had probably spent less than four hours with her, but it was true. She was looking at my face, and the bandage above my eye.

  “How does the other guy look?”

  We walked into the restaurant. The tiny Japanese hostess wore a formal kimono, and bowed as we came in. I nodded to her. We removed our shoes, and Dana took my hand, walking beside me.

  “Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

  I spun towards the familiar voice, and Dana wheeled with me. I hadn’t realized that I’d pulled her along. Detective Petersen was sitting or kneeling at one of the low tables with a pretty young woman. She looked familiar. On the floor, with a table in front of her, I couldn’t place her. She wore a formal looking green dress, with her hair loose around her face. She looked embarrassed. “Seems like if the suspect fucks one of the investigators, another one gets fucked,” he said, too loud. His date looked down.

  I remembered. She owned the first pair of bare breasts I’d seen in more than two years. I gave her a five-dollar tip at the strip joint. I looked over at Petersen, and did a lot of guessing for a few seconds.

  “Sure, you start seeing the Fed, and suddenly you’re not a suspect, you’re packing heat, and I’m off the case, because I know—”

  “Petersen—"

  “It’s Detective, asshole!”

  “Sorry, Detective Asshole.” His date got up and headed for the ladies’ room. I felt Dana’s hand give mine a warning squeeze. I’d been looking forward to my time with Dana, and I’d been looking forward to this moment with Petersen. Anger won out.

  His face got red, and he started to stand.

  “Let me explain things to you, slowly so even you can understand.” I was pleased with my level tone. “You’re off the case because you lied about an investigative matter, and you got caught. It was a dumb, bad lie. You’re off the case because you lied to hide how close your association is with that strip club,” I nodded towards the ladies’ room, “and its employees. You’re off the case because people are starting to wonder how you afford your expensive, yet tacky wardrobe. Most of all, you’re off the case because you failed to tell anyone about your relationship with the late Congressman, and half-ass pimping for him. Finally, you’re off the case because you’re an incompetent doofus who was in way the hell over you’re pointy head.” “Doofus,” was one of Marisol’s favorite insults, but I stole it without shame. I was watching him closely, as he tried to stand.

  I looked around the room at what seemed like a cast of thousands staring at us. “Petersen, if you so much as hint at reaching for the two thousand dollar phallic symbol, I will break some bones. Then I’ll take your cannon and use the barrel to turn you into a lollipop. You didn’t have to lie, because nobody would have cared. They knew where I was going and why. If you didn’t want to go in and be seen, you could have said that the place was too empty to follow me in. Nobody would have thought twice, and I might still be a suspect, Detective Asshole. Frankly, if I were you, I’d collect my date, and bug the hell out of here, after you pay your check and leave a generous tip. Then again, that would show a bit of class.”

  His hands were trembling, and his face was the color of old bricks. When the girl returned from the ladies’ room, he took her hand, nearly dragging her past the frozen patrons, waitresses, hostess, bartender and bouncer. I was glad I didn’t have to sit in the passenger seat of his car for a long ride back to Providence or wherever.

  “Well,” said Dana, softly, “I’m comfortable.”

  “Yes, that went well.”

  “Miss, could you show us to our table, now?” I said to the hostess. I was still holding Dana’s hand, and we walked together to our table. I was proud of her poise, despite the scene. She folded to the floor, and was instantly in a comfortable and attractive position. I got down there and adjusted myself, without whimpering.

  Dana ordered for both of us, starting with sake, and going on from there.

  “Dana, I have some notes back in my car, and I really need some expert opinion about some of the things I ran into down in D.C. On the other hand, I don’t want to ruin our evening with shop talk.”

  “Sake first, then food, then we’ll decide what to talk about, okay?” She had one warm hand resting on my knee, and I wanted it to stay. My mouth was dry. I took a sip of ice water.

  “Paul, about Petersen…” She stopped when the waitress showed up with a tiny ceramic carafe and little cups. She dropped them off with hot damp towels and a couple of empty bowls. We wiped our hands on the towels, and put them in the empty bowls. She poured the warm sake into our cups, and we gently toasted, without saying anything. The tiny contact felt intimate in the soft light. I noticed that all of the tables were sited so that each customer or couple ow
ned a bubble of privacy. We could have been alone in the place.

  “About Petersen, how much of what you said is provable fact?”

  “Probably all of it. His clothes are expensive, although unsuitable.”

  “I got that part, but if he lives modestly in other ways, he could just spend most of his money on clothes.”

  “Uh-huh, and jewelry. The watch is worth about a grand and a half, retail. His weapon is two grand. That all adds up to a lot of skimping on meals, and living in a small apartment, and driving a car like mine.

  “He lied. You remember that part, and he was avoiding anything to do with that strip club. His date is a dancer there.”

  “Does she look that good when she’s, um, you know.”

  “She seems more like artwork than a human.”

  She murmured something about art to herself, but I let it go.

  “And the bit about the Congressman?”

  “He frequented strip joints and hooker bars, and places where he was likely to find Petersen. The congressman had ways to keep his fun and games private. A pet cop seems helpful. Petersen knows his way around and, knowing Morley, there was a quid pro quo for whatever Petersen did for him. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. You saw his reaction when I tossed that one at him. He could have hit it out of the park if it wasn’t true, and he didn’t even swing.”

  She nodded.

  “Talk to DaSilva. He’s a good man, and he’s straight. His good will couldn’t do any harm.”

  She was looking hard at me. “You really have gotten back into the swing.”

  “Maybe, or maybe it’s just the bartender coming out. Getting along with people is a big part of it.”

  “You could be doing lots of other things, so why do you do that work?”

  “Trying to improve me?”

  “Nope.” Her hand on my knee slipped upwards a fraction. My eyes went wide, and she smiled. “I’m just curious.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her hand slipped a tiny bit higher, then lifted from my leg completely.

  I shifted to ease the erection that was tenting my trousers, getting it to settle into a bearable position. The soup was gone, and the bowls were whisked away for a small plate of sushi.

  Rather than answer her, I started to talk about the whole Morley bunch. It took concentration, because I could see her breasts rising and falling with each breath, smell her scent, and hear the whisper of fabric slipping over smooth skin. She listened silently. We finished each course as it came, ending with green tea ice cream and ginger sauce. Her focus was almost physical. I saw the agent who could conduct complicated investigations, and the woman who could have been a therapist.

  “What kind of opinion are you looking for?” she said when I had wound down.

  “I don’t know. I mean the whole scene was disturbing, you know? I guess I was hoping to get some confirmation that I wasn’t imagining the whole thing.”

  “The spook you referred to, what about him?”

  “I’m pretty sure that he was, and is, having some sort of affair with Mrs. Morley. He seems like a senior guy, and has whatever it is that CIA guys have in their attitude. Probably that’s why it’s always so easy for the bad guys to catch our guys.”

  “You’ve known CIA officers?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve never worked that kind of case, but I think I know what you mean. You can tell DEA from ATF and so forth, just by meeting the agent or operative.”

  “So, what do you think?” I asked.

  “It’s been awhile since I did anything clinical, but you’re on the beam as far as I can tell. There’s pathology there, or a whole set of them. The level of ongoing trauma and stress could have driven her into all kinds of illnesses or possibly a mixed set of disorders.”

  I thought about that. “So, she’s pretty ill.”

  “I’m not going to try for a diagnosis, but for discussion’s sake, she’s in a lot of trouble. It’s not impossible that she was sexually abused by her father, brother or both.”

  “I think she would have told me,” I said.

  “She probably would have, unless she repressed it so deeply that she honestly doesn’t remember it. All she’d remember is tension, stress, fear, anger and a sense of betrayal. It may be hard to get at reality.”

  I nodded. I knew about denial, and the idea that it could become that extreme wasn’t farfetched.

  “The brother, Jason?”

  I nodded.

  “ ‘Psycopath’ isn’t a clinically accepted term, but there’s really no better word for him. From what we found out—”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  She rolled her eyes and went on, “Okay, from what you found out, it’s a case of ‘like father, like son.’ Adam, God knows. I could be wrong, but I’d suspect he’d go to prison rather than let one of them get punished. I’m still guessing, but I’d bet that Mrs. Morley’s an alcoholic, emotionally retarded woman.”

  “A mess,” I said.

  “The good Congressman has a lot to answer for, wherever he is now.”

  “Hell.”

  “We can only hope.”

  I told her about the Morley house, and the beating that followed. I told her about Sandra, the TV person and how she’d helped. I told her that DaSilva had the file and my report, and she nodded as if she knew.

  “I don’t understand why they came to the motel and did that,” she said when I was done.

  I nodded to the waitress for our check, and we rose. She gracefully, like a gymnast finishing a routine. I didn’t groan about it. I was proud of that, until she took my elbow and lifted gently as a hint to straighten. It hurt to take a deep breath. I reached into my pocket and took one of my painkillers dry. “Dana, did you ever hear the joke?”

  “Which one?”

  “Why does a dog lick his own balls?”

  She grimaced, “I don’t know, why?”

  “Because he can. I think there’s a lot of that in young Jason.”

  “That would fit, but he was taking a huge chance.” We were at the door, looking out at a rainstorm.

  “I hope it isn’t an imposition,” she said, “but I was counting on you for a ride.”

  My mouth was very dry, “No, it’s no trouble at all.”

  “Maybe you could walk me to my door?”

  “Sure,” I answered, forcing the word over a sere tongue.

  “And maybe you could come in with me?”

  I nodded, and ran for my car.

  Chapter 15

  In the parking garage, I closed and locked her door, and we walked to the door of an apartment building. She took my right hand and dropped a set of keys into it. I fumbled and unlocked the door and held it open for her. She stepped inside, and turned and looked at me.

  “Paul?”

  “Yes?”

  She started to grin, “Care to see my etchings? Maybe you want to slip out of those wet clothes?” I swallowed and managed a smile. At the door to her apartment, she drew me inside, by the hand.

  We were in a short hallway, at a small table with a lamp on it. There was a light blinking on the answering machine. She kept walking, still holding my hand, so that our arms stretched out and I followed her into the living room.

  She stopped, standing next to a table that ran the length of her couch, along its back, and reached inside her jacket. The gun, holster and extra magazines hit the table. I took mine off and placed it near hers. She turned, and we were holding hands, standing face to face.

  “Do you think you’re ready?”

  Instead of answering, I stepped forward and drew her closer at the same time. Freeing one hand, then the other, I took her face in my hands, and bent closer. The universe stopped. An eternity passed, as I slowly brought my face closer to hers. Her eyes searched mine. She saw something, and her expression relaxed, just as her face went out of focus. My lips brushed hers, and we were apart, then together again.

  Her lips parted and my tongue slipped easily past her t
eeth, before we began to invite each other’s entrance and retreat. My hands slipped to her neck, and then down, until they reached the small of her back, just above the swell of her buttocks. I felt the fabric of her jacket, then blouse, some silky lingerie, and finally, the smooth skin beneath.

  Her hands came up, one around my shoulder, the other reaching for my neck. I felt her nails pushing against the skin, causing something that might have been pain any other time. We were pressed together, from our mouths all the way down to our knees.

  Pushing herself away, she pulled her blouse up and over her head, where it joined her jacket. She kicked her shoes away and tugged her pants down, stepping out of the pool of cloth at her feet.

  I kicked my pants, shoes and socks loose, into a pile behind me. “What about a bed?” I asked, my breathing ragged.

  “Too far,” she said, whispering with long breaks between the words, “We’d never make it.” The minutes that followed were consumed by blind, urgent needs answered, sweetly and finally, with a gentle sense of completeness.

  ***

  Afterwards, we sagged to the floor, and she pulled herself away, causing an amazing tingle. We kissed slowly. “Do you have to go, Paul?”

  “Maybe not right away,” I answered, looking at my watch. It was just about midnight. On her couch, we dozed and cuddled and kissed and touched each other for a while with almost no sexual appetite.

  “I have to work tomorrow, and I have to get some sleep. If you can stay, I want you to.”

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your beauty sleep, even if you don’t really need it “

  “Maybe I can get by with just a tiny bit less,” she smiled, with a wicked, playful edge.