by Leslie Glass
"Yo quiero, te amo," he said softly.
He liked her, he loved her, that was nice. Then her bewilderment ceased. "What do you mean it's not my show?"
"Don't take it personally." He'd suddenly become elaborately casual. He took her arm and tried to move her gracefully down the stairs. "I love you. How about dinner?"
"I don't want dinner. I caught this case. I want to keep it," she insisted.
He shrugged as if the thing were out of his hands. "Major Case has it now. The PC calls it. I don't call it. Let it go." The winning smile cajoled her. Let it go, he was saying. Be a good sport. She was being manipulated by her boyfriend and didn't want to be a good sport. She wanted to have a temper tantrum.
He took her arm and turned her around. This was trouble. She knew if she got into a shoving match with a lieutenant on the stairs, she might be able to inflict some damage; but a crowd of uniforms would gather, everyone would be amused. And he would win in the end.
"What do you feel like eating? I'll buy you the dinner of your dreams." Mike gave her another ingratiating smile. They got to the bottom step. He had her moving toward the door.
Conflicting emotions kept her quiet. Wasn't she supposed to have some choice in this? They were leaving the precinct. He was supposed to love her. If he loved her, why was he doing this? Mike's ancient red Camaro was parked across the street.
"Okay, querida, fill me in," he said as they got into the car.
More outrage filled her. He started grilling her before she'd even attached her seat belt. Her cheeks burned some more at the disrespect for her car, too. She didn't want to leave her car there on Fifty-fourth Street. She wanted to go home on her own, later. Now, she wanted to go back upstairs to her office and check with the parents of those kids, check with the parents of Maslow Atkins, check this patient list, try to locate Allegra.
Mike looked serious as he gunned the engine and headed east. Where the hell had he been all day? He hadn't done anything useful. What was with him? She studied his profile and sighed. Even when he was humiliating her she thought he was cute. That was a bad sign.
She gathered, without his even telling her, that he'd been the one assigned, and the case was now his. He was the big gun, after all. And she was just a water pistol. She shook her head to cool down. How he managed to do these things she had no idea. The heat slowly receded from her face. She was used to working with him. She trusted his judgment. Maybe he could help her. Old habits die hard.
She collected her thoughts and slowly began to tell him about Jason's call from Maslow, about Maslow's concern for his patient, about his meeting a dark-haired girl outside the park, his not returning home after his evening jog-if he ever actually planned to take one. She described her search of Maslow's apartment, finding his wallet and the cash, the voice on the answering machine. She told him about Officer Slocum's search of the area with the dog, Freda, and how she'd called the K-9 unit because Pee Wee insisted he'd seen a dead man. Some of it he'd heard before. She told him about all the people she'd interviewed, including the two kids at the end of the day. She told him about Allegra.
As she told the story, she had the strong suspicion that the 911 call she'd investigated last night might actually have had nothing to do with Maslow. It now seemed more likely that his mystery patient whom she let go was a skillful psychopath who had somehow killed or kidnapped her shrink.
When she finished talking, Mike told her that a check of ERs had turned up nothing. "But he's a doctor. If he's gay and met with some mishap during a sexual encounter, he might well have called a friend to treat him privately. I keep wondering if it's a gay thing," he added.
"Pee Wee James may have seen him in a homosexual encounter. Jason told me Maslow was a rigid, careful kind of guy. The call for a meeting may have felt like a flare to Jason. But something makes me think Maslow wouldn't bother him just because he had a bad patient session. The second thing is that Pee Wee kept saying he had people taking care of him. Who could be taking care of him? Maybe the whole thing is some kind of setup. Maybe Maslow wanted to disappear. Why do I have the feeling he's still alive?"
April thought of the soft voice on the answering machine again. She fell silent as they entered the Midtown Tunnel. He was heading home to Queens. That meant she'd have to come into the city with him tomorrow to get her car. Good. She'd worm her way back on the job. She knew how to handle Mike. She added to her list of things to do: Call John Zumech, the tracker. Develop the photos Woody had taken of Allegra. Someone out there knew who she was. Locate Pee Wee. She had her agenda and calmed down. Mike would rub her back. They'd make love and erase jurisdictional lines.
The moon over Forest Hills was just a sliver short of full. Mike parked in his covered space in his building's lot and they went upstairs. From the elevator April smelled roasting chicken from Mike's apartment. She was puzzled. When did he have time to go to the grocery store, purchase a chicken, put it in the oven? She glanced at him. Under his lush mustache his mouth tightened.
"What's going on?" April asked.
"Nothing," he said, but he didn't look happy. He inserted his key, opened his door, marched into his apartment, then stopped short, his eyes rolling up in his head.
"Jesus." He whistled softly. "Jesus, what the hell are you trying to do to me?"
Lying on Mike's sofa wearing the nightie Mike had bought April only three weeks ago was a girl with an absolutely stunning body. Nightie, color peach. Legs, long and brown. Hair, long and curly, dyed blond. Lips, big and red. Eyes, brown and surprised by the reaction she was getting from Mike. She was wearing no panties. April's first thought was: Where are my matching panties with the white lace?
"Oh my God, it's April!" the girl cried, jumping up. She wasn't a bit alarmed. "Oh my God, I've heard so much about you. Mike thinks the world of you." She crossed the living room to give April a hug. She was barefoot, tall. Looked about fifteen.
Mike intercepted her. "What are you doing here, Carla?" He took her by the arm. Speechless, April watched him.
"You promised me money for that dress, and then you left without giving it to me." Mike quick-stepped her toward the bedroom. "Put on some clothes and get out of here."
She turned her head to look at April. "Wow, April is so pretty. Just like you said, Mike."
"I never promised you money for a dress." Mike kept talking as he shoved her into the bedroom.
"How can I go to that party with my boyfriend with nothing to wear?" she complained.
"Carla, out!" Mike said.
"You said I could stay as long as I wanted," she wailed.
"I never said that."
"You did, you said-whatever I need, you'd see to it."
"You're going home now."
"I told you I can't. My parents would kill me," she squealed.
"Carla, you told me if I let you stay one night, you'd be out of here by ten."
"But, Mike, I have nothing to wear. I need some clothes. Come on, Mike, be a pal. Don't be mad. I made you guys dinner, didn't I?"
The voices faded when Mike closed the bedroom door. Then, Carla's voice, sulky but resigned. "Okay, okay, I'll go if you give me a hundred dollars… Oh, come on, Mike, you know I wouldn't have told my dad. He'd kill you."
Those were the last words April heard. She was out the front door, and taking the stairs because she didn't want to wait in the hall for the elevator. She took the stairs at a fast clip, her cell phone out. If she'd been another kind of girl, she might have stayed to hear his explanation and chew him out. But she wasn't in the mood. He'd let the girl spend the night. He hadn't told her. He'd stolen her case. Her back hurt like hell. She'd deal with all this tomorrow.
Her heart was an angry drumbeat in her chest. Her hands were sweaty and shaking. She realized she was mad enough to have shot them both. In one evening she could have given up her career and had a baby, or killed for love. She'd never wanted to be at risk for passion like that. She punched in the number of the nearest precinct, where an old scho
ol friend was Desk Sergeant. Only in this was she lucky today. Laura was on duty and answered herself.
"Laura, it's April Woo. Listen, could you send a unit for me? I'm on a case at the Garden Towers, know where that is? Yeah, that's right. My car won't start____________________
No, no, I don't need a tow truck. Just a lift." She gave the address and hung up. Great, now she was lying. But lying for love was a step up from killing for it.
By the time she got downstairs, a blue-and-white was pulling up in front of the building. Sometimes it paid to be a cop. She dove into the unit and gave her home address to the driver. Whatever Mike was doing to get Carla out of his place, he didn't do it in time.
She fumed all the way home to Astoria. More luck, bad this time, was Skinny Dragon Mother waiting at the door as she got out of the car.
"Spanish call tlee time. Something long?" she cried out into the street. Clearly, she hoped so.
Twenty-six
After the dog search and their encounter with the cops, David and Brandy were still a little high. David wanted Brandy to come to his place, so they took a taxi to the East Side apartment where his parents never were and the maid they called his nanny had already gone. The place was like a museum after closing, dead and deathly quiet. Not even the phone ever rang there. David took Brandy into his room.
"Want to see something to get you in the mood?" he asked.
"The mood for what?" Brandy bounced on his bed, knowing what this did to him.
"You promised, Bran, don't let me down again, okay?" he said angrily. He opened his laptop and turned it on.
She laughed. "Fine, let's see a movie." She knew he could show movies on the computer.
"This is better than a movie." He clicked a few buttons and brought a picture up on the screen that blew her away.
"Wow." She studied it with her thumb in her mouth. At first, like with her dad last night, she couldn't figure out what the two people were doing. Then she got it. "Holy shit!"
He clicked to the next one, then the next, and the next, running them quickly to show off his collection.
"Wait a minute, will you? Wow." She didn't know which interested her more, the spread legs and pussies of the old women, the young girls licking each other's teeny breasts, or the mature women with tits as impressive as hers in a threesome with a man whose cock was bigger than anything she'd ever thought existed in real life. She clicked her tongue pierce against her teeth and slapped at David's grabby hands when he swiveled around in his chair to get to her.
"Jesus. Is that thing real?" She hung over his shoulder, mesmerized. The picture showed a kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen, with his cock sticking straight up. It looked like a mushroom on a thick stem, huge, much bigger than David's. The boy's chest and belly and thing took up nearly the whole space except for the little girl with blond hair, about five, on the lower right of the screen looking at it with her mouth open and her little tongue showing. The title was "Little Sister 1."
David laughed. "Of course it's real. Want to see more?" "Little sister 2" showed the blond girl lying on her back with her finger stuck in her little hairless pussy and a different boy with a different-shaped penis hovering over her.
This made Brandy uneasy. "Do they do it?"
"Nah. In this series she just does blow jobs." David clicked and the picture disappeared, then clicked on a file called "Mom and Pop." In that one, a woman who looked a lot like Brandy's mother was on her hands and knees in a black bra with the nipples cut out. She had big tits. A guy as gorgeous as Brad Pitt with another huge cock was fucking her from behind. This one was a video, and Brandy could see the thing going in and out. She'd never seen anything like it. She wondered if he was doing it in her ass and noticed that the man was not wearing a condom. This made her uneasy, too.
David was all turned on by the pictures and her breathing on his neck. He swiveled the chair around and pulled her over so that she was standing between his legs. It annoyed her at first, but then he reached under her angora sweater, squeezed her breasts, and started breathing so hard she thought he'd have a stroke. She giggled and rubbed against him, undecided how far she'd go. He wasn't a very good kisser, but his cock was up there, and she almost felt like it. Almost.
"Oh, Bran," he moaned, pulling her over to his bed, a queen. A nice big bed with a bedspread that Brandy recognized as a Ralph Lauren. She liked the fifty-three-inch TV, too, but was not interested in it at the moment.
The laptop was on the desk. The same scene played over and over on the computer. David got on top of her, but Brandy kept her head turned away from his sucking kisses. She focused on the screen, where the cock kept going in and out. She liked watching it. David moved on top of her, trying to figure out what to do next, and she felt his cock trying to bulldoze through his clothes. His weight was crushing her.
"Daavvvid!" she complained.
"You promised."
"Show me another one."
Grumbling, he got off her. He was all rumpled and red in the face. He sat at his desk and clicked on another file for her. She jumped up to see it better. This one showed a young boy with an older woman sitting on him. David returned to the bed and pulled her between his legs again, rubbing against her frantically. Then suddenly he stopped. Brandy was disgusted. He hadn't even started and he'd come in his pants. So much for that.
He got very subdued and showed her the "Daddy" series to remind her of what she'd seen her own daddy do last night. Then they drank some of his father's New Amsterdam beer. After that he felt better and wanted to try sex again. He knew his mother wasn't coming home for hours. But Brandy had another idea. If he was such a good driver, why didn't they take his parents' Mercedes out of the garage and go for a ride.
"Fine," he said. He was pretty high on Brandy at the moment. He'd drive to the end of the earth if she asked him to.
They went downstairs to the garage in the building and took the Mercedes out. The attendant knew David and didn't question them. David was not nervous at all. He'd driven the car before with his driving instructor, but never at night. This time, as soon as he got in and adjusted the seat, he felt great right away. They headed out to Long Island, filled the tank at a gas station in Queens, got some junk food to eat, and he was thoughtful enough to use cash so his parents wouldn't find out. They were out for a few hours driving around, and David didn't hit a single thing even though it was night. He could read maps and everything.
Brandy crashed into a dark mood when he told her they had to go home. She wanted to stay on the road forever. They had money, credit cards. "Why not split?"
David snorted. He was angry at her getting him all messed up again. He had long since sobered up, and by ten-thirty he was thinking about all the cops she'd talked to in the park and given their names. That was an irresponsible thing to do, considering that bum who'd seen them there. He was worried about that bum.
"Come on," Brandy whined. "It's early. Don't be such a dork."
"Look, Bran, my mom will be home soon. And I have stuff to do."
She blew air through closed lips. "What stuff?"
"I'm not sure. Who knows, he may have been breathing. Maybe I should make sure he's dead." He didn't mention the bum, didn't want to scare her.
"So what if he's alive? He'll die soon. How long could he live without food?"
"It was your dumb idea that they try another dog tracker. If they get Zumech and Peachy out there, for sure they'll find him tomorrow. When they do, he better be dead."
"It's your own stupid fault. You should have made sure he was dead before we left. I thought you were so OCD."
"What's that?"
"Obsessive compulsive. You know." She twirled her finger around her bangs.
"Shut up, you idiot. I'm ADD."
She snorted. "Crazy is crazy."
"You don't know what you're talking about," David raged.
"You're so fucking crazy, David. What difference does it make?"
"Don't call me crazy!" David said menacing
ly. Sometimes she got so flaky he wanted to squeeze her neck to shut that damn blabbing mouth of hers.
"Well, what do you want to do about it, asshole?"
"I want to talk to Zumech."
"What for?"
"Just do," David said vaguely.
Brandy shrugged. "Whatever."
He was silent as he drove to Zumech's place. He wasn't sure why he wanted to see him. He just knew that was where he needed to go. It was on the south shore of Long Island, not far away. In less than ten minutes they were cruising past his house. There was no sign of him. No sign of Peachy in the dog run. The lights were on in the house, but no one came to the door when they rang the bell. He had an idea. He tried the side door of the garage. It was open. Zumech's car was there, but it was locked. The garage had a weird smell. David poked around for a few minutes, looking for the source. When he found it, Brandy realized what he was doing. They gave each other the high five because now they really could fake out any tracker alive.
In great spirits, they drove back into the city across the bridge, and the car was back in the garage long before midnight.
"See you," David said when they got outside.
"What are you talking about?"
"You're going home now."
"No, I'm coming with you."
"Uh-uh. You take too many risks. I have to do this myself." The truth was he was getting tired of her and wanted to fix the situation himself. It was serious now. He had to do this thing his own way.
"You're not treating me right!" she said accusingly. She looked really mad.
His cheek twitched at the unfair accusation. It was the kind of thing his mother said to his father. He relented.
"Oh, all right. Just do what I say and keep quiet."
A dog walker in a sweat suit jogged by with a golden retriever on a retractable leash. David hailed a cab, shaking his head at having given in. It made him feel like a loser. She got in with him, all cheerful again, and they took a cab to the West Side.
