Striker

by Patricia Green

  “You can take off your hat and coat, you know.”

  “Oh, right.” I shrugged out of my trench coat and put it and my fedora on the sofa next to me. “So why did you ask me in?”

  “I don’t know. I guess… I don’t know.” Her cheeks flushed and she looked down at the glass in her hands.

  I had this feeling, this vibe, that maybe she was interested in me for more than my incredible investigative savvy—a thought that made me scoff in my head. First of all, I was a capable detective, but no Columbo, and second of all, a girl as bright and pretty as Angelica could take her pick. Why would she want a guy like me, a pretty average Joe, maybe a little taller than most, maybe a little more fit, but certainly nothing to write home about. A woman in a bar once said I looked like a younger Tom Hanks. I bought her a drink on the strength of that, which was her goal, I think.

  An awkward silence drew over us like a rough, wool blanket on naked skin. A pair of minutes passed. I put down my empty glass and stood. “I should go.”

  She rose. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For… this. For wasting your time.”

  I patted her shoulder in what I thought was a brotherly fashion. I really wanted to touch her face, feel that smooth skin under my fingers, cup her chin and lean down for a sweet kiss. But I dashed that thought nearly as quick as it came. It would be inappropriate, inadvisable, and dangerous. I’m afraid my next words were a bit rougher than I intended. “My time to waste, Piccolino. My choice to come in.”

  Her eyes settled on my mouth, and she licked her lips. My resolve went out the window. This time, I did cup her chin, touching that little round point with my thumb. I locked my eyes with hers, seeking permission, and found her gazing at me with a blurry kind of look, one that said she was curious and confused all at once. “Say no now.”

  Shaking her head, she licked her lips again. They were wet and smooth, inviting mayhem in the form of seduction. “I don’t want to say no.”

  I gave her a small nod and came in for the kiss.

  I’ll be damned if I know what got into me. I didn’t want to kiss her, not intellectually anyway, but my body said something completely different. It was screaming for completion; completion in the arms of this little woman with the big eyes and childish voice. I broke all of my rules, threw out my professional distance, and kissed her. It was a testing kiss at first, giving her another chance to withdraw, to do the thinking for us both, the better thinking that would stop this madness before it got out of hand. But that denial never came. She kissed me back.

  Her lips were soft, moist, untainted by the taste of lipstick and a little sweet from the lemon-lime soda we’d drunk. I kissed her like that, gently, questioning our sanity but unable to resist, then held my breath when I felt her little tongue against the seam of my lips. That was it; the floodgates opened and I combed my fingers into the hair on the back of her head, holding her steady for the onslaught of a real kiss, a dirty kiss, the kind of kiss that says “you’re mine—at least for now.” This was Mike Hammer and the femme fatale in every Mickey Spillane book. It was hot and heavy, tongues aggressive. Her arms went around my waist and pulled me into her body. I knew she could feel my erection and I reveled in it. I wanted her to know that she excited me beyond a kiss, that I was hard and ready for more.

  But I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t realize we had to stop. It was enough… enough for now. I wasn’t going to throw her down like a caveman and ravish her. I was no romance book rogue, unable to control himself when it really meant something. I ended the kiss firmly, but—I think—gracefully.

  Putting my forehead against hers, I closed my eyes and caught my breath. She was panting as well, and her grip on my waist lessened only a little bit. “No more,” I told her. “We can’t do this.”

  A shake of her head, then she said, “Now I’m saying no.”

  “No more kisses?”

  “No to no more kisses. I want more. Kiss me again?”

  “Can’t. Won’t. I need to go. This isn’t smart.”

  She pulled away and dropped her gaze to her shoes. “I came on too strong. I’m shitty at relationships. Sorry.”

  I took her hands and squeezed them. “Look at me.” She did, though her cheeks got as pink as her freshly kissed lips. “You didn’t come on too strong. It’s just not right to start something like this. We need to work together. Sometimes we’ll be in danger. Sometimes we’ll disagree on what we should do in any given situation. If I’m involved with you outside of a professional relationship, I don’t know if I can be objective about things. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, a very small nod, an unwilling nod. “Sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. If there’s fault to be assigned, I’m as guilty as you are.”

  “Okay.”

  I took a step back, thinking that I needed distance. She was too tempting otherwise. I’d fall into that trap again, a trap of my own making. “I ought to go.”

  “Sure.” Her voice sounded shaky. Was she crying?

  I touched her face again, a gentle lover’s touch that burned my fingers like the hot frying pan I was trying to jump out of. “Angelica…”

  “Go,” she said, taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m alright. I’ll be okay. Go.”

  I quickly parted from her, grabbed my coat and hat and made for the door.

  “Striker,” she called, as I turned the knob. “Work like usual tomorrow, right?”

  “Absolutely, Piccolino. As usual.”

  Her smile was false, but I accepted it with one of my own. I can’t remember ever being so reluctant to leave a woman before. But I made myself. I’d deal with the feelings later. Much later.

  Chapter Four

  There was an uncomfortable silence as we drove in my car the next day. Our standard issue unmarked cruiser would be in the police garage for a while. I wasn’t about to let Angelica drive, so I was behind the wheel. She looked stiff, and when her phone rang, she sighed.

  “Piccolino,” she said into the device. There was a pause as the other person talked. “Okay. I’ll try to get there soon. It might not be for a while, though.” Another pause. “I’m at work! Yeah, I know. I know. I’ll do my best. Keep him busy in the meantime.” She poked at her phone and put it in her purse. “Umm, Striker?”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what was up. Her voice said I probably wouldn’t like it. “Yes?”

  “Can we make a stop?”

  “We ought to try to track down ‘High-and-Mighty’ Mason, Piccolino. And I need to get to the station and check for new reports.”

  She nodded. “I really appreciate you picking me up today. I dunno what’s wrong with my car. It’s not always such a shit.”

  “No problem.”

  “But I really need to make a detour. It would only be for half an hour, one hour tops.”

  “Where?”

  “Shady Grove Senior Village.”

  My eyebrows rose. What the hell was that about? “Why?”

  “It’s my grandfather.”

  “Is he sick?”

  “Yeah. His nurse needs me to come by. I’m the only one who can calm him down. He has these… spells.”

  I could see that she was very uncomfortable, but she was in a predicament. “Yeah, sure. Address?”

  “Thanks, Striker.” Her smile was a bit forced. Whatever it was that was on her mind was serious business. I hoped her grandfather wasn’t dying or something. She gave me the address and I made a U-turn in order to get going in the right direction. About twenty minutes later, we were at a sprawling campus on the outskirts of the city, in the hills of La Crescenta. The lawns were green, the walks were clean, and the buildings’ blue-tinged glass sparkled in the cloud-spattered sunshine.

  She immediately opened the car door, even before I put the car in park. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said, quickly gathering up her purse and scooting out.

  I spoke before she got all the way out. “I thought you said it
would take half an hour.”

  “Um… It might.” She bit her lower lip and memories of the kiss the night previous flooded in like a tidal wave.

  I wasn’t going to sit in the car for half an hour or longer. “I’ll come in with you.”

  “No. I’ll try to make it quick. You don’t have to come in.”

  Now I was curious. “No problem. I won’t get in the way. Just point me toward the waiting room and I’ll be fine.”

  Her gaze shifted from side to side. “There isn’t really a waiting room where I’m going. Can’t you go get a doughnut or something?”

  “No. You might end up waiting for me. Can’t have that.” I got out of the car and we both slammed the doors.

  “Really, Striker. You’re being a turd.”

  “One of these days we need to talk about your fascination with excrement, Piccolino.”

  She smacked me in the arm, as we were walking toward the center building. “I should have said that you’re being a fucker, hm?”

  That wasn’t better. “I thought we were best friends,” I said.

  She snorted and we entered the building.

  It was true; there was no waiting room. There was a small foyer with a receptionist at her desk, and a hallway behind her. It went off toward the east and west wings.

  “Hi, Grace,” Piccolino said to the brown-skinned woman behind the desk. I couldn’t tell the ethnicity of the receptionist, and of course, it really didn’t matter, but as a detective, I liked details. A moment later, however, I had my answer.

  “Hola, Angelica. Did Maryanne call you?”

  “Yep. Do you know if they’re in the rec room or in his bedroom?”

  Grace looked at her watch. “Should still be in the rec room. Go on over.” She took a moment to size me up. “Who’s this?”

  “Jase Striker, my new partner.”

  Grace’s smile was wide, her eyes sparkling. “Nice to meet you, Jase Striker. You here to meet the sergeant?”

  I shot Angelica a look. Was I?

  She cleared her throat, her voice a little shaky when she answered. “Yeah. He can come with me, right?”

  “Unless he wants to wait in the men’s room, there’s no place else for him to go.”

  Piccolino forced a chuckle. “Right. Well, see ya later, Grace.”

  “I’ll be here,” Grace replied, giving me a wink as we walked toward the east hallway entrance. I smiled back, of course. She was flirtatious, but cute, and I’m not immune.

  I followed Piccolino down the east hall and we opened a set of double doors. Inside was a big room, with wood floors, like a gym, and a ping-pong table, shuffleboard court, and many round card tables. A TV was blaring from one corner, where three long couches and a pair of chairs stood facing the large screen. There were a lot of elderly folks about, some sitting at the tables, some playing the games, and a number glued to the TV. A few had walkers nearby, several sat in wheelchairs, and at least one was hooked to an oxygen canister. Over in a far corner, beyond the shuffleboard court, stood an elderly man, a little hunched, but otherwise robust, barking out commands in a strong, steady voice. People around him rolled their eyes, but played along until they could get away. There was a nurse holding the gentleman’s arm, apparently trying to calm him down.

  Next to me, Angelica sighed. “Come on.”

  We walked together toward the shouting fellow, and when his faded gray eyes lit on Angelica, he nodded. “Private Piccolino,” he said loudly. “Where have you been?”

  “Reporting for duty, Sergeant,” she said, standing up straighter.

  “You’re not wearing the uniform of the day, Private.”

  “Sorry, Sergeant.”

  There was a pause as the nurse once again tried to get the old fellow to lower his voice and go sit down. She addressed him as Mr. Piccolino.

  “What is this, Piccolino?” I asked, my voice for her ears alone.

  “This is my granddad. He was a sergeant in the Korean War. USMC. He sometimes gets these spells where he thinks he’s back there again and starts ordering everyone around. It’s some form of dementia. It would be funny if it didn’t happen so often. I’m the only one who can coax him to behave.”

  “I presume drugs aren’t the solution.”

  She shook her head. “They’d make him a vegetable. I just can’t see that.”

  “Who’s this with you, Private?” Sergeant Piccolino enquired.

  She appeared to think about it for a moment. “This is Lieutenant Striker. He just got back from a sortie.”

  The older gent straightened and saluted. “Sorry, sir, I was distracted and didn’t see your insignia.”

  “Umm.” I took the plunge and saluted him back. “Don’t let it happen again, Sergeant,” I began. “What’s this I hear about you giving unauthorized commands?”

  He dropped his salute and stood at parade rest. “The troops are unruly, sir. I was trying to bring some order to the chaos.”

  Piccolino nudged me with her elbow.

  “I admire your by-the-book attitude, Sergeant, but the troops need some R and R after such a hard won victory. Give them a break.”

  He frowned a bit, but then nodded. “Understood, sir. R and R.” He looked around at the people watching. “Shall I dismiss the troops, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Company dismissed,” he barked, then turned to the nurse. “You too, Nurse Abel.”

  The woman in the white uniform looked at Angelica and me, but patted the old man on the arm and trod away in her rubber-soled shoes.

  “Can I get you a seat, Sergeant?” Piccolino asked.

  He seemed deflated somehow, but shook his head. “Keep your place, Private. That’s an order.” His voice was quieter, and he was less agitated. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

  “I…um…Piccolino said you were in charge of this operation, so I wanted to meet you since I’m the new officer on staff. I like to get to know my men. A sergeant like you is a very valuable asset.”

  His shoulders straightened again. “Thank you, sir.”

  The younger Piccolino spoke. “I should be taking the Lieutenant to the other units.”

  “Of course, Private.” He saluted at me. “Nice meeting you, Lieutenant.”

  “And you, Sergeant,” I said, saluting back quickly. I hoped I’d gotten it right. With the exception of childhood days spent playing soldier, my experience with the military was minimal. “Carry on. But remember: R and R.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on, Piccolino,” I said. “Let the Sergeant get back to his business.”

  She eyed her grandfather carefully, and he appeared to be much calmer than when we’d arrived. He even gave her a little smile. His lined face was friendly all of a sudden. “Angelica! How nice to see you!”

  Smiling, Piccolino gave him a warm hug. “Grandpa, I missed you.”

  “It’s been a few days, hasn’t it? Sometimes I get time a little confused.”

  “Yes, a few days.” She gestured toward me. “This is Jase Striker. He’s my new partner—on the police force.”

  “Ah.” He held out his hand and we shook. It was as though we were meeting for the first time. The change in him was amazing. “Nice to meet you, young man. Shall we sit?”

  He graciously offered us chairs against the walls, and sat with us. We had a nice, light conversation, with none of the formality or strange behavior he’d shown before. Angelica and I exchanged some glances. Hers looked grateful, and I’m sure mine were reassuring. That was how they were intended anyway.

  After a while, as the conversation dwindled down and Mr. Piccolino yawned, we suggested he take a nap, and he agreed, so we parted. Angelica escorted him to his room, while I made my way back to the car.

  It had been an odd morning, but it made Angelica seem a lot less rough around the edges. She had family, and her family had some problems, like other families did. Although I’d horned in on her encounter with her grandfather, I wasn’t sorry I did.

 
; A few minutes later, she came back to the car and got in. Her face showed relief. “Thank you, Striker.”

  I started the engine and nodded toward her. “No problem.”

  “You handled that well.”

  “I’ve calmed my share of distraught victims. Besides, he was a decent codger, just a little confused.”

  She sighed. “Confused. Yeah.”

  Although I was afraid it was too friendly and might open a can of worms again, I patted her hand. “No worries, Angelica.”

  Her eyes never strayed from the road we traveled, and she hesitated, but ended up giving my hand a squeeze. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  People on the streets weren’t any more forthcoming with information about this High-and-Mighty Mason guy, except for one squirrely addict who said that he’d seen the man’s girls around and they were hot. His name was Mickey Tobin, and I’d run into him a time or two. I tried to pin him down on where he’d seen them or what they looked like, and showed him a picture of Amy. His eyes narrowed on the photo.

  “Yeah, man, I’ve seen this one. She’s one of Mason’s.”

  We were getting closer. “Where did she hang out?”

  “Dunno, exactly,” he said. “You got any cigarettes?”

  I didn’t smoke, but carried a pack around for situations like this. I withdrew a pair of smokes and handed them over. He immediately put one in his mouth and gestured for a light. Angelica supplied a flame, and he drew in deep gouts of carcinogens and let them out very slowly. “Thanks, man.”

  “So where did you see this girl?”

  “I’ll get in trouble if I say.”

  I growled. “You’ll be in more trouble if you don’t.”

  “Tell us, Mickey. She’s dead and we think it’s foul play,” Angelica said.

  He smoked for another few seconds. “Dead, huh?” He shrugged. “It happens. Usually you shitheads drag away the corpses and never look back. What makes this girl so special?”

  “We can’t say,” I told him. “But if you know something, spill it.”