by Sandra Brown
Pinkie. Nobody's seen him around. When I went back to that shit hole he
was living in, he'd moved out. I came down pretty hard on the landlord,
but he swore to me that Basile left in the middle of the night. Dropped
his rent and key in the mail slot. This isn't the kind of place where
you leave a forwarding address. It's like he's vanished. One of our guys
in the N.O.P.D has been sniffing around. He says nobody has heard from
Basile since he surrendered his badge."
"You should have had someone tailing him."
"Yeah, well, who knew?"
Basile's seeming disappearance made Pinkie uneasy. Basile hadn't
declined his job offer with a polite "No, but I'm flattered that you
asked." He had refused in a way that left no room for negotiation.
This bothered Pinkie for two major reasons.
First, it pissed him off that a nobody ex-cop had insultingly refused a
well-meaning offer. This was the first time Pinkie had tried to lure
Basile to the other side of the narcotics business, but it wasn't the
first time he had considered throwing out some bait to see if Basile
would bite. What better way to eliminate an enemy than to enlist him in
your camp?
And Basile was an enemy. Within the Narcotics Division, he'd been a
constant nuisance, insisting that a postmortem be conducted on every
operation, successful or not. He was a crusader, demanding
accountability for mistakes, seeking out the whys and wherefores of
every screw up. He was a nagging conscience that kept the department
reasonably honest, although not entirely so.
Worse, he appeared to be incorruptible. Pinkie had commissioned
purveyors of every conceivable vice to try to find a weak spot in
Basile's moral armor. None had been successful not the bookies not the
drug dealers, not the women. All had tried to compromise him, all had
failed.
So for years Basile had plagued Pinkie Duvall's operation. He was a
self-appointed general in the war against drugs and he had the ability
to rally the troops. When Kev Stuart was killed, the conflict had turned
personal. Basile was still bitter over that and, despite the Bardo
verdict, was not going to let the matter drop. He wasn't going to rest
until he had avenged Stuart's death. Quitting the N.O.P.D had been a
smoke screen.
Which brought Pinkie to the second reason he had hoped Basile would sign
on with him. He could keep a closer watch on him if he were an employee.
As long as Basile was with the police department, his activities were
easily monitored. Now he had vanished, and no one seemed to know his
whereabouts or his intentions. Pinkie didn't like it.
A man didn't ascend to the powerful position Pinkie held without
cultivating a legion of enemies along the way. He couldn't begin to
count the threats, real and implied, that he'd received over the years.
He paid dearly for protection against people with grudges. He felt
secure. Even so, he was smart enough to know that for all the
precautions he took, he couldn't be one hundred percent protected,
twenty-four hours a day. No one, not even a head of state, was
invulnerable.
Burke Basile was out there, a loose cannon with a short fuse, harboring
a lot of hatred for Pinkie Duvall. He'd be a fool not to be a little
edgy about that.
The system in which Basile had placed his trust had failed him, so he'd
thumbed his nose at it and walked away. His actions were no longer
governed by the rules and regulations of law enforcement, which made him
doubly dangerous.
Of course, Basile couldn't harm him without tarnishing himself but that
was small comfort. Just how crazy was the man? How far was he willing to
go to get his revenge? What did he have to lose? Not a career.
Not a wife and family. Nothing in the way of materia possessions. Not
even his integrity or good reputation, which the media had trampled.
That's what disturbed Pinkie most. Experience had taught him that the
less a person had to lose, the more of a threat he posed.
"I want him found," he told Bardo emphatically.
"What do I do when I find him?"
Pinkie gave him a pointed look.
Grinning, Bardo nodded."It'll be a pleasure."
Pinkie's secretary knocked. He beckoned her into his private office.
"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Duvall, but you asked for this information
as soon as I obtained it."
Having given Bardo his assignment, Pinkie dismissed him and took from
his secretary the typed memo regarding Jenny's House. When he had
arrived home last evening, Remy was behaving more like her old self.
She was excited about the charity, spearheaded by this Father Gregory,
who had invited her to visit the facility. Pinkie had promised to think
about it. It seemed harmless, especially if it lifted her out of the
doldrums she'd been in.
He had questioned Errol at length about the priest's visit and had been
surprised to learn that there had actually been two who attended the
meeting. One, he was told, was older and more businesslike. The younger
one was handsome, but probably gay, according to Errol. It was he,
Father Gregory, who'd done most of the talking. Errol said that he had
remained in the room for the duration of their visit, and that the two
churchmen had discussed nothing except a refuge for kids.
Fingering the business card the priest had given Remy, Pinkie asked his
secretary if she had called the number printed on it."Yes, sir.
The phone was answered by a woman."
"How'd she answer?"
"Jenny's House."
"So it's legit?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Duvall. I asked to speak with Father Gregory. She told me
that neither he nor Father Kevin was in, but she would be pleased to
give them a message."
The secretary then laughed."She thought I was calling to make a donation
She gave me much more information about the facility than I asked for. I
didn't get it all down verbatim, but as you can see by the memo, I took
extensive notes."
Very nicely done, Dixie." Burke took the telephone receiver from the
girl and hung it up. The pay phone was in the second-story hallway of a
flophouse that stank of poor plumbing.
"It was worth forty bucks."
Although he had paid her beforehand, Dixie followed him into the room he
was renting by the day under an assumed name. She climbed onto the bed,
digging the stiletto heels of her white patent boots into the stained
bedspread. When she smiled, he could see her chaw of apple green gum
stuck between her molars."You really think I sounded like a nun type?"
"Could've fooled me. Drink?"
"You bet."
Burke fished a canned soft drink from the Styrofoam ice chest the room
didn't come with a refrigerator and passed it to her.
"When you said drink, I thought you meant " "Nope. You're below legal
drinking age."
Finding that very funny, she popped the top on the drink and sipped the
fizz that spewed out."Did you mean what you said?" "About what?"
"I sounded like a nun? Maybe I missed my calling."
<
br /> "Maybe."
"But, when you think about it, I'm sorta like a nun."
Burke raised his eyebrows skeptically.
She propped herself up on her elbows, a position that thrust her breasts
almost out of the black-lace demi-bra beneath her open denim jacket."I'm
serious."
"Nuns don't wear red vinyl miniskirts and heavy perfume, Dixie."
Her gardenia scent was her trademark. When Vice went looking for her,
they sniffed her out, literally. In this small room, where no doubt a
thousand sordid transactions had taken place, the sweet fragrance was as
thick as a gumbo and slightly nauseating.
"Nuns serve their fellowman. Isn't that what I do?"
"I think the distinction lies in the manner in which you serve."
"Well, sure, if you're going to get technical ..." She slurped her
drink."You Catholic, Basile?"
"Raised that way."
"Hard to imagine you praying and stuff."
"It's been a long time," he murmured.
It had been a sure bet that Pinkie would check out Jenny's House,
especially if his wife had asked permission to visit it. Working under
that hypothesis, Burke had paid a starving artist twenty dollars to
sketch a phony logo for the bogus children's refuge. He then went to a
self-service print shop and made up a dozen business cards with the logo
and the number of the pay telephone across the hall from his room.
He'd left one of those cards with Mrs. Duvall.
Earlier today, he'd gone in search of a "secretary" and had bumped into
Dixie. She was a good whore and an even better snitch. The former he had
no personal knowledge of, but he had bought information from her several
times, and it had always proven to be valid. She'd been working the
streets since she was thirteen. It was a marvel to Burke that she'd
lived to the ripe old age of seventeen.
"You know, I hardly recognized you this morning," she observed as she
rolled the cold can across her heavily rouged lips."When did you lose
the mustache?"
"Few days ago."
"How come?"
"Felt like it."
"You working undercover now?"
"You could say that."
"The bitch on the phone said she was from Pinkie Duvall's office.
What gives?"
"You don't need to know."
"Jeer, Basile, you're a hard man to draw out."
"I guess I don't feel like talking, Dixie." He stretched out on the bed
beside her and wadded the flat pillow beneath his head.
She rolled toward him and placed her thigh over his."Fine and dandy with
me, honey. We don't have to talk."
Her hand slid down his chest to his belt buckle and began to unfasten
it. He covered her hand."That's not what I meant. You've already earned
your forty dollars, and I'm on a tight budget."
She thought about it for a second or two. Then she ran her long
fingernail along his recently shaved upper lip."What the hell, I'll
throw it in for free."
"Thanks, but not this time."
"How come? Are you the last remaining faithful married man?"
"Not anymore."
"You're not faithful anymore?"
"I'm not married anymore."
"Then what's the problem? Come on, Basile. I've had other cops.
Dozens of them. You're the last holdout, and I've got a reputation to
uphold. Can you honestly say you haven't thought about boffing me?"
He smiled at her."Dixie, you're a knockout. I'm sure boffing you is one
of life's greatest pleasures. But I could have a daughter your age."
"What's age got to do with it?"
"Right now, everything. I'm tired and need some sleep."
"It's the middle of the day."
"I was up late last night."
"All the more reason for you to relax and enjoy. I'll do the work."
Her hand wandered back to his belt buckle.
Again he stopped her."Not this time."
She expelled a green-apple-scented breath of disappointment.
"Okay," she said grudgingly."But could I just lie here with you for a
while and rest?"
His glance moved from the rosy pout of her lips to the breasts spilling
from the lace brassiere cups."I don't think I'd get much rest."
She grinned impishly."So I do turn you on."
"Scram, Dixie. Let me take a nap in peace."
He gave her an affectionate push, and she scooted off the bed."Oh well,
I gave it my best shot." At the door, she stood with one hand on her
hip, the other on the doorknob."If you're screwing around with Pinkie
Duvall, you're asking for trouble."
"I know."
"Good guys like you are few and far between, Basile. Take care of
yourself, okay?"
"You too, Dixie."
Just as she opened the door, the pay phone in the hallway rang.
Basile came off the bed like a rocket."Answer it," he told Dixie pushing
her across the hallway ahead of him."Same as before."
The prostitute sounded like a trained secretary when she picked up the
telephone on the third ring."Good afternoon. Jenny's House." She
listened, then said, "Hold on, please."
Covering the mouthpiece, she whispered."She wants to speak to Father
Gregory."
"She? The same woman as before?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Tell her that Father Gregory is out. Ask if she wishes to speak to
Father Kevin."
"And that would be ... ?"
"Me."
Dixie eyed him suspiciously, but she relayed the message. After a
moment, she handed the receiver to Burke."You're on, Fadre."
"Hello. This is Father Kevin."
"Hello, Father. It's Remy Duvall." His eyes closed momentarily. So far,
it was working."Oh, yes.
Hello.
How are you, Mrs. Duvall?"
"Fine, thanks. Is the invitation to tour Jenny's House still open?"
"Certainly. When are you available?"
"The day after tomorrow? After lunch?"
Day after tomorrow. After lunch. Barely forty-eight hours. Could he make
all the arrangements by then? "That would be fine," he heard himself
say."Three o'clock?"
"Perfect. What's the address?"
"Uh, actually, Mrs. Duvall, it's rather hard to find. Instead of giving
you directions, it would be much simpler if Father Gregory and I picked
you up and took you there."
"Oh. I don't know ..." Sensing her hesitation, he said, "Your
contribution was a direct answer to our prayers. We used your check to
purchase a muchneeded van.
We'd like to show it off." Dixie was giving her chewing gum a vigorous
workout and watching him with amused wonder.
"I'm so pleased you were able to put our donation to good use," Remy
Duvall said.
"So, shall we pick you up?"
"Well, I suppose that would be all right." Then, more definitely, "Yes,
pick us up here."
" Us'?"
"My, uh, Errol. He'll be coming along."
"Fine."
"Then I'll see you the day after tomorrow at three."
He agreed to the day and time and hung up but kept his hands around the
receiver. He was standing still, staring vacantly into near space, but
his mind was racing. After a moment, he realized that Dixie was still
there, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, observing him
shrewdly."What's with you, Basile?"
"What do you mean?"
"You look like a boy who just got a date with the prom queen, excited
and scared at the same time."
"Hardly a date, Dix," he said absently. Then, shaking himself out of his
daze, he thanked her again for her help."I couldn't have done it without
you."
"What'd you do?"
"Never mind." Impulsively, he began patting down his pockets in search
of something to write on."Listen, I'm going to give you an address, and
I want you to keep it. If you ever need a safe place, go there."
He found an old convenience-store receipt in his pants pocket and
scribbled down the address. Dixie barely glanced at it before tucking it
