“Weren’t you, in your elegant phrase, banging Hasty Hathaway’s wife a few years back?”
“I was,” Suit said.
“And not embarrassed about it,” Molly said.
“She was hot,” Suit said.
“And Mrs. Fiedler?” Molly said. “With the teeth?”
“You’d be surprised,” Suit said.
“You together often?” Molly said.
“Whenever Mister goes traveling.”
“Which is often.”
“Often enough,” Suitcase said.
“You think there’s any conflict of interest here?” Molly said. “We’re sort of opposing her efforts to keep the Latinos out of the Crowne estate.”
“Sleeping with the enemy?” Suit said.
“You might say that,” Molly said.
“We don’t talk about the Crowne estate when we’re together.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Sex stuff,” Suit said.
“Jesus,” Molly said.
She stopped the cruiser beside Suit’s truck.
“You want to hear what she says when we’re in bed together?” Suit said.
“Good God, no,” Molly said. “I’m already horrified.”
“It’ll be our secret, though, right, Moll?” Suit said. “Chief might not like it.”
“He’s nobody to disapprove,” she said. “I’m surrounded by a bunch of billy goats.”
Suit got out of the cruiser. He leaned his head back in through the open door.
“Mum’s the word, Moll?” he said
“Mum,” Molly said.
Suit closed the door and got in his truck.
As she drove away, Molly giggled.
“Miriam Fiedler,” she said aloud. “Oh, my sweet Jesus.”
17.
The sun shining through the window made a long, bright splash on the far wall of Dix’s office. Dix was at his desk. As always, he was immaculate. His white shirt gleamed. His bald head shone. The crease in his gray slacks could have been used to sharpen pencils. His cordovan loafers gleamed darkly.
“Why do you suppose she’s like that?” Jesse said to Dix.
