Black Velvet

by Steven Henry

  “It wasn’t just because of Dad being a cop,” she said. “And it wasn’t that I wanted to help people. Hell, my brother does that. Sean Junior, I mean. He’s a trauma surgeon. He sees more blood and does more good in a day than I do in a week. I guess it’s that I see the world in black and white. There’s a line, on the one side you’ve got the civvies, the ordinary Joes who are basically okay, and on the other side are the perps, the bad guys. The blue line between them, that’s the cops. That’s me. That’s what I always wanted.”

  Luke was matching Erin drink for drink, and the neatly-dressed art appraiser was starting to look a little glassy-eyed. “I get it,” he said. “But isn’t it a little… well, dangerous?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” she said. “Sure, every now and then you get a tough guy, had a few beers, thinks he can take on the whole NYPD. And it doesn’t help that I’m small, and a woman. Chivalry is bullshit. There’s plenty of guys who will hit a girl. What do you think they do to their wives and girlfriends? But Rolf’s a great partner. Your average asshole may want to fight half a dozen cops, but when the paws hit the ground, man, it’s all over. How many drunks you think want to tangle with ninety pounds of German Shepherd?”

  Luke chuckled. “There’s something about the teeth, isn’t there?”

  Erin smiled. “You want to meet him?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Like… now?”

  “You ought to know something, though,” she said. “If you come back to my place tonight, it just means you get to see where I live and meet my dog. I don’t go to bed on the first date. If that bugs you, there’s plenty of girls you can try your luck with.”

  “Believe it or not, Erin, not every guy’s looking to dive into a woman’s pants the first chance they get.” He grinned. “Not that the idea didn’t occur to me. They are very nice pants.”

  She laughed. “Careful, tough guy. I’ve got a gun, a Taser, and a trained police dog.”

  He held up his hands. “No funny business, I promise.”

  “Okay, then, just so we’re clear.” She stood up and laid down some cash to cover her part of the bar tab. “You coming?”

  Luke paid his bill, drained his last Guinness, and put the empty glass on the counter. Then he followed her out.

  * * *

  Rolf had self-control to spare. Dogs with poor impulse control didn’t make it far in K-9 training. When he saw Luke, he did his usual thing when meeting Erin’s friends. He gave the man a long, measuring look, then stalked toward him, ears pinned ever so slightly back, tail making a slow sweep. He sniffed disdainfully at the hand Luke cautiously offered, then glanced at Erin, seeking her cue. Seeing that this guy was on good terms with her, he accepted a little scratching behind the ears. Let the Labradors and Golden Retrievers of the world whore themselves out for human attention; Rolf had his professional pride. He circled the newcomer and, without taking his eyes from the man, returned to Erin’s side and sat bolt upright, waiting and watching.

  “I see what you mean,” Luke said. “I would not want to mess with him.”

  Erin rubbed Rolf’s head. “He’s friendly enough. He’s just not demonstrative. And he takes some time to warm up to new people. If you want to give him a chance, he needs another walk. You want to come along? My head could use some clearing. How many Black Velvets did I have?”

  “I wasn’t counting,” he said. “How much Guinness did I knock back?”

  She shrugged. “Beats me.” She clipped Rolf’s leash to his collar. Then, to Luke’s surprise, she fastened her holstered Glock to her belt at the small of her back.

  “You really need that?” he asked.

  “It’s not a bad neighborhood,” she said, “but after ten you want to be careful. The dog keeps muggers away, but I’d feel pretty silly if I needed my piece and didn’t have it.”

  “Why didn’t you bring it to the bar?”

  She smiled with false innocence. “I used to. But it seems to scare the men away. Do you have a gun?”

  “Good Lord, no,” Luke laughed. “I’m a… what did you call it? A civvie?”

  “I’ll just have to protect you, then,” she said.

  They walked together, the night air cool and refreshing. Erin listened to the sounds of the street, her police instincts poised for anything out of place: an angry voice, a squeal of tires, breaking glass. But the streets were quiet tonight. She was very conscious of the man at her side. It had been a while since she’d been out with a guy. Working nights played hell with her social life. She remembered what her father had said to her mother when she started working the dog watch.

  “Well, Mary, you can stop worrying about Erin. You said we could put her in a convent, but I said being a cop would work out the same.”

  “What’s so funny?” Luke asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Erin said. “Just remembering something.”

  Luke looked down at his wrist. “Oh, damn,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was this late. I… Erin, I really don’t want to say this, but I’ve got a morning meeting. Eight o’clock. I should’ve been heading back an hour ago. I knew I should’ve got a hotel in Queens. The commute from downtown is a killer.”

  They had stopped under a corner streetlight. Erin looked at his face. He seemed genuinely unhappy to be leaving. “If you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,” she said. “I’m hardly in a position to bitch about other peoples’ schedules. You okay to drive?”

  “I took a cab down,” he said. “I’ve got a car, but I don’t take it out much. You know New York traffic.”

  “And New York parking,” she agreed.

  “Listen, Erin,” he said, “I’m very glad I met you tonight. This is cliché as hell, but I’d like to see you again. Here’s my number.” He handed her a business card that appeared like a magician’s sleight-of-hand.

  “You want mine?” she replied.

  “Nine-one-one?” he guessed.

  She shook her head, smiling. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Neither are you. Yes, I’d like your number.”

  She gave it to him. “I’m working days starting next week. So I’ll be available after about six.”

  “There’s an evening gala a week from today,” he said. “The Orphans exhibit I told you about. I don’t know if you like European art, or if you were just pretending to be interested, but…”

  “Sure,” Erin said quickly, without thinking. “That sounds nice. You can tell me what it’s all worth.”

  “I’ll do that,” he said. He started to turn away, paused, and turned back to face her. He stepped forward and bent toward her.

  Erin flinched. Luke never realized just how close he came to catching a reflexive palm-strike under the chin. But he wasn’t moving aggressively. He kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “Goodnight, Erin,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Luke,” she replied, still confused. Then he was gone. She raised a hand to her face and smiled to herself. Then she looked down at Rolf, who stared back with an expression of mild curiosity.

  “What are you looking at?” she demanded.

  He slowly opened his jaws and let his tongue roll out in an unmistakable smile.

  “Shut up, furball,” she said. “Come on, it’s time we got to bed.”

  Chapter 4

  The week before the gala was busy, but unmemorable. Erin had switched over from nights to day shifts before, but it always took some getting used to. Monday and Tuesday, her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton balls. She kept waking up in the middle of the night. The daylight glare made her head hurt, so she wore sunglasses most of the time. That was okay, since every police officer was more intimidating behind a pair of reflective shades. She made a mental note to see if some novelty store made dark glasses for dogs.

  All the time, whether writing out a ticket, responding to a domestic disturbance, or asking an old woman what exactly she meant by “suspicious activity” in her next-door neighbor’s backyard, she kept thinking about Luke.
She felt silly, but she couldn’t help it. She liked him. He was funny, charming, intelligent, and handsome. And he liked her, too. It had been a long time between boyfriends, and maybe, she told herself, she was feeling a little overloaded by positive male attention. Whatever would her dad say?

  Nonetheless, when Luke called Thursday night, she practically pounced on the phone. Then she took a deep breath, composed herself, and said “Hello?” in her most nonchalant tone.

  “Erin? This is Luke… Luke Devins,” he said, sounding much more nervous on the phone than he had been in person.

  “Hey, Luke,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m all right… Say, the grand opening at the museum will be tomorrow. You might have made other plans, but…”

  “No!” Erin interrupted, then silently cursed herself for being too eager. “I mean, I was planning on it. If you’d still like me to come, that is.” Damn, what was the matter with her? Now she was simpering like some ditzy teenager on prom night. “Your other date ditch you or something?”

  “No!” Luke exclaimed. He paused. “I can pick you up at seven, or you can meet me there if you’d prefer, but parking’s going to be tight. I’m there by invitation, so I’ve got a spot reserved. The gates officially open at eight.”

  “Ooh, a man with his own parking space,” she said. “Is that supposed to make me swoon?”

  “No, but it’ll probably go easier on your high heels than walking half a mile,” he said. “It’s formal, by the way.”

  “So I should show up in my dress blues?” Without waiting for his answer, she added, “You’ll be wearing a tux?”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Well, that’s something to look forward to, at least,” she said. “See you at seven.” Then she hung up, on the principle that it was better to leave men wanting more.

  * * *

  Erin didn’t really own much formal clothing. Her options for this sort of event were limited to the “little black dress” she’d had over a decade, and was proud she could still fit into; a dark red number with a neckline that was a little too daring for a first real date; and a full-length, midnight-blue dress with a slit partway up the side that was slinky and form-fitting without promising too much. Or she could’ve gone with what she’d said to Luke and worn her dress uniform. She went with the blue gown instead.

  Her hair presented a problem. She could never quite bear the thought of cutting it all off, and at work she settled for a sensible ponytail, but that wouldn’t do for a formal occasion. Besides, who wanted to waste an hour being dolled up by a stylist who didn’t know how to shut up? She settled on a bun, but since she was doing it herself, in front of her bathroom mirror, a few strands wandered free. A single lock of hair hung down in front of her right cheek in an attractive way, but that was mostly accidental. She kept her makeup minimal, just lipstick and mascara.

  That left jewelry to figure out, and she didn’t have many options. A small pair of pearl studs, an academy graduation gift from her mother, went in her ears. She had to rummage through her dresser to find the old pearl necklace she’d inherited from her grandmother to complete the ensemble.

  Erin glanced at the clock. Even though she’d opted for a very simple look, compared to what a lot of the women there would be wearing, she’d used up all her prep time. She just had time to feed Rolf before Luke’s car pulled up in front of the apartment.

  She felt ridiculous as she walked down the apartment steps. Here she was, dressed totally impractically, without her dog, her shield, or her gun. She didn’t need to be playing dress-up with this guy she barely knew. She ought to call the whole thing off. It had been a long week, her sleep schedule was still out of whack, and—

  Hmm. Luke really did look good in a tuxedo. He was opening the car door for her and even bowing a little. There was a smile on his face as he looked at her, and it wasn’t because he was noticing how poor a job she’d done on her hair. He was admiring her, enjoying looking at her, and it didn’t give her the creeps the way it sometimes did in the precinct break room. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Good evening,” he said. “You’re looking very nice tonight.”

  “You clean up okay,” she said, sliding onto the car seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  * * *

  Erin hadn’t been to the Queens Museum of Art since she was a little girl. She remembered being fascinated by the museum’s permanent centerpiece, a massive panorama of New York City with every building lovingly rendered. She’d eagerly searched for her own house, to the amusement of her brothers and parents, and been amazed at the sheer size of the city, hundreds of thousands of tiny apartments, skyscrapers, churches, parks, and office buildings. Now, riding down Grand Central Parkway in Luke’s silver Lexus, she felt a little bit of that girlish thrill again.

  He was spouting trivia about the museum, something about it having been built for the 1939 World’s Fair, but Erin wasn’t really interested in the facts. She craned her neck as the building came into view.

  Her heart sank. The museum’s façade was marred by cranes and scaffolding. Jersey barriers channeled cars past the ceremonial entrance. Big construction dumpsters stood at the foot of the walls.

  “The renovation project will be finished in October, or maybe November,” Luke explained. “Some of the galleries are closed.”

  “Strange time for a gala,” Erin said.

  “It’s when the show was available,” he said. “Once you get inside, it’s really very nice. They’re almost done with the construction work. The exterior is all that’s left. They hope this exhibit will draw attention to the new building.”

  “Doesn’t the remodeling make for a security risk?” the cop in Erin made her ask.

  Luke laughed. “There’s going to be dozens of guards there,” he said. “They’ve brought in extras for the event.”

  “Rent-a-cops,” she scoffed.

  “Maybe, but they’ve still got guns,” he said.

  “And I don’t,” Erin said.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “A little,” she confessed. “But I can hardly bring one into a formal party. Where would I carry it? All I’ve got is this tiny little handbag, and it barely fits my phone. I gotta get a holdout piece, something I can keep hidden. Men are lucky. Their dress clothes have pockets.”

  He smiled. “I hadn’t considered all the concealed-weapon possibilities in a tuxedo.”

  “What, haven’t you ever seen a Bond flick?” she asked, grinning.

  Luke might rate preferential parking, but it was still a good walk to the museum, especially since they had to go around to the far side. They passed the Unisphere, a gigantic stainless-steel globe that towered twelve stories above Flushing Meadows. They paused to take in the huge sculpture, which seemed to float on a cushion of water-jets from the fountains around it. Other couples in tuxes and evening gowns were doing the same, enjoying the slanting evening sunlight and the fresh air.

  They made their way into the museum, Luke flashing his special badge to the guards at the door. Erin was pleased to see that, rent-a-cops or not, the men at the entrance were taking their responsibilities seriously. They checked every ID. Even though she was accompanying one of the event’s privileged guests, they still scanned her driver’s license and glanced at her face. She instinctively noted the guns at their belts, Sig-Sauer automatics. Those were good, reliable guns. Several officers at her own precinct carried sidearms just like them.

  Inside, they found a sunken courtyard with a ceiling made entirely of glass, held up by a framework of steel girders. There were tables with refreshments to one side, a crowd of VIPs mingling, and a string quartet playing something dreary that Erin didn’t care for. Then again, while she was an excellent shot, a keen judge of character, and a skilled law-enforcement officer, she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life.

  Two men approached Luke. One was heavyset—no, Erin decided, he was fat. Everything about him
was round, from his bald head to his belly to the tips of his shiny black shoes. He had a big, round laugh and a broad smile planted on his round face. He looked like exactly the sort of man she expected to see at this sort of event. His companion, on the other hand, gave her pause. His face had too many lines in it. She thought, suddenly and incongruously, of the guys who stood beside freeway entrance ramps with cardboard signs in their hands. This man looked like a homeless bum dressed up in a tux as some sort of joke. His face was weathered and lined, his eyes hard and quick.

  “Luke, my boy!” exclaimed the fat man, seizing Luke’s hand and pumping it enthusiastically. His accent was that of a well-educated Englishman. “So glad you could join us!” He thumped the younger man’s shoulder with his free hand.

  “Good to see you again, Van,” Luke said, staggering a little under the onslaught. “Erin, this is Dr. Phineas Van Ormond. He lectures at Cambridge on Renaissance art. Dr. Van Ormond, this is Erin O’Reilly.”

  “Miss O’Reilly!” the professor said with evident delight. He took her hand and bowed, planting a kiss on it to Erin’s consternation. “Please, all my friends and colleagues call me Van. I hope to count you among the former, if perhaps not the latter. And what do you do in the world of art?”

  “I did some watercolors in third grade,” she said. “Mom put one on the fridge. My teacher said I had potential.” Now that she was standing closer to him, she could see that his suit, though expensive, was looking a little worn around the edges. Maybe he wasn’t as rich as she’d thought.

  Van Ormond blinked, momentarily at a loss. Then he gave another of his room-filling laughs. “Marvelous!” he exclaimed. “Charming, utterly charming.”

  “I spent a semester at college studying abroad,” Luke explained to Erin. “I attended Van’s classes on the Italian masters.”

  “One of my very finest students,” Van Ormond said, clapping Luke on the shoulder again. “I always knew he would do great things. He—”