because I find you most appealing out here like this and because I’m horny as hell.’
She made a sound in her throat and moved a hand up his leg, sliding her fingers down the inside of his thigh. He turned towards her and kissed her arid she reached up between their mouths with two fingers and squeezed his lips very lightly between them, and his mouth opened and their tongues touched, flirted with each other, and she moved against him, very lightly, so he could feel the fullness of her. She slid one leg up over his lap, drew her mouth away from his, and lay her head against his chest. Then she took the zipper of his jacket between her teeth and very slowly moved her head down, unzipping it almost to the waist. Then, raising her head, she kissed him again and this time both their jackets were open and as they kissed she moved her breasts lightly against him and he felt her hard nipples caressing his chest.
He was totally captivated by her, the thought of having her was dizzying to him. He felt her hand touch him and felt himself responding. He reached up, stroked her face and throat, gradually widening the circle his hand was making until it brushed her nipple. And then he knew she was already starting the build-up and at that moment Hotchins realized fully what his obsession to become president had cost him.
Chapter Seventeen
The Majestic Grill was an obscure and unrecognized landmark that had endured on the same Street corner since 1934, oblivious to the changes that had occurred around it. The shoe repair shop beside it had become .a magazine store which had become a head shop which had become a natural food store which was now a pinball parlour; the theatre up the Street had declined from first runs to double features to porn; and if the Majestic was a monument to early Thirties style, the hotel across the street was a sixstorey monument to Early Nothing architecture. It had been boarded up for years. But the Majestic never changed. It had resisted time and transition, catering to a clientele that defied demography or caste. A bum nursing a cup of coffee received the same curt service as a college president.
Inside, bacon and sausage sizzled on ancient grills, the odours spicing the heady aroma of roasting coffee. The decor was nondescript, a well-worn combination of stainless steel, formica, pale green walls, and dark green vinyl seats. A dining room had been added to the rear of the diner years before and there Papa sat, at a corner table, mesmerized by the menu from which he was about to order a breakfast big enough to delight an entire Marine brigade. Sharky and Livingston joined him and a few minutes later Friscoe arrived, an apparition in scruffy corduroys, a peaked deep sea fishing cap, and a scarred jacket that predated antiquity.
He appraised the ragtag bunch, their eyes charcoaled from lack of sleep, their cheeks scraggly from not shaving, their bodies sagging under the weight of a sleepless night.
‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘you all look like you just got sprung from Auschwitz.’
‘And thank you, Cinderella,’ Livingston said.
‘So where’s Abrams? He ain’t gonna be one of those late guys, is he?’
‘On his way,’ Sharky said. ‘He got hung up on a phone call.’
A gargantuan waitress with arms like a wrestler’s hovered over the table. ‘Are we ready here?’ she said. It was more a demand than a question.
‘We’ll have coffee all the way around while we’re deciding,’ Sharky said and she padded off towards the coffee urn on slippered feet.
Friscoe leaned back in his chair and looked at the other three detectives. ‘I’ll tell you what. I hope to shit you guys did better than me. I musta put in five hours trying to get a line on this Neil and what do I get out of it? Sore feet and a fuckin’ goose egg, that’s what.’
Papa took a tattered notebook from his pocket and licking a thumb, flicked it open. ‘His name’s Dantzler,’ he announced. ‘With a t.’
‘What’sat?’ Friscoe said.
‘Dantzler with a t. D-a-n-t-z-l-e-r. He lives in a condo in The Courtyard, which, if you’ll remember, is also where Tiffany lives. That’s because she’s Dantzler’s girlfriend. She uses her apartment mainly for tricks. She also has another boyfriend on the sly and she occasionally shacks up at Domino’s place. Dantzler’s a rich kid gone sour. His game’s pimping and scam. He’s outa town, be back a week from tomorrow.’
Friscoe stared at Papa with a hint of indignation. ‘Sounds like a pornographic soap opera,’ he said. ‘Where’d you come up with all that shit?’
‘A snitch.’
‘You got all that from one fuckin’ snitch?’
‘Had a little help from the security guard at The Courtyard.’
‘Maybe I just should have stayed in bed,’ Friscoe said, feeling suddenly inadequate.
‘Sometimes you get lucky,’ Papa said.
‘Well, sometimes wasn’t last night for me,’ Friscoe said. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Dantzler’s sporting a new Ferrari, braggin’ on the street how he took some cowboy to the cleaners. Domino is out. Didn’t know about it.’
‘And just how did you find that out?’ Friscoe said.
‘Snitch.’
‘Shit, who is this fuckin’ stoolie?’ Friscoe said. ‘Maybe we oughta put him on the goddamn payroll.’
‘One more thing,’ said Papa. ‘Dantzler hasn’t got the guts to kill anybody or get it done. Rule him out. Ditto Tiffany.’
‘Same snitch?’ Sharky said.
Papa nodded.
‘You sure he’s reliable, Papa?’ Friscoe said.
