'Old Waxie. You know, he was sucked down so deep into those tunnels they never did find his body. Probably got eaten by an alligator.'
'Or worse.'
She paused. 'The force is different now, really different. Thank God-what a cast of characters we had to deal with back then, when I was just a new jack.'
'You remember McCarroll at the T.A.? They called him McCarrion because of his breath?' He chuckled.
'Do I. I had to work for that bastard for six months. It was tough to be a woman on the T.A. force back then. I had two strikes against me: not only was I female, but I was in graduate school. Make that three strikes: I wouldn't sleep with McCarrion.'
'He made a pass at you?'
'His idea of a pass was to get real close, breathe all over me, tell me I had a nice body, and pucker his lips.'
D'Agosta made a face. 'Oh, my God. You report him?'
'And kiss my career good-bye? He was just a harmless cretin, anyway, not worth reporting. Now the NYPD is like a different planet-totally professional. And anyway, nobody would dare pull a stunt like that on a captain.'
The second round came, and D'Agosta buried his mug in it and listened to her reminisce, telling funny stories about McCarroll and another long-gone captain, Al 'Crisco' DuPrisco. It brought back a lot of memories.
He shook his head. 'Jesus, there's no better place to be a cop than in the Big Apple.'
'You said it.'
'I gotta get back on the job, Laura. I'm rotting out there in Southampton.'
She said nothing. D'Agosta looked up, his eyes meeting hers and seeing what-pity? 'Sorry.' He looked away. Funny how life had reversed everything. Now here she was, probably the youngest captain on the force. And he . Well, if anyone deserved success, she did .
'Look,' he said, suddenly professional again. 'I really asked you for a drink because I wanted to make sure you were okay with Pendergast. I've worked with him on not just one big case, but two. Believe me, his methods may be unorthodox, but they work. You couldn't ask for a better fed on your side.'
'I appreciate your loyalty. But the fact is, he's got a cooperation problem. I went out on a limb to have that subpoena and warrant ready to go, and he embarrassed me. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt this time, but please, Vinnie, keep the guy in line. He obviously respects you.'
'He respects you, too.'
There was a silence.
'So how come you gave up writing?' Hayward asked, shifting the subject back to him. 'I thought you had a pretty good career going.'
'Yeah, a career in bankruptcy court. I just couldn't make it. After two novels, I didn't have two nickels to rub together. Lydia-that's my wife-she couldn't take it anymore.'
'You're married?' Her eyes rapidly glanced at his hand, but his wedding ring hadn't fit for years.
'Yeah.'
'Why am I surprised? All the good guys are taken. Here's to Lydia.'
She raised her pint. D'Agosta didn't raise his glass; instead, he said, 'We're separated. She's still living in Canada.'
'I'm sorry.' She lowered her pint, but she did not look very sorry. Or was it just his imagination?
'You know that threat Bullard made against me?' D'Agosta swallowed. He wasn't sure why he was telling her this, but he suddenly felt he couldn't go another minute without getting it off his chest. 'He somehow found out my wife was having an affair and told me about it. Along with a lot of other compromising personal information he dug up and threatened to make public.'
'Bastard. In that case, I'm glad Pendergast stuck it to him.' She hesitated. 'You want to talk about it?'
'We are talking about it.'
'I'm sorry, Vincent. That's tough. Is the marriage worth saving?'
'It was over half a year ago. We've just been in denial stage.'
'Kids?'
'One. Lives with his mom. Going to college next year on scholarship. Great kid.'
'How long were you married?'
'Twenty-five years. Married right out of high school.'
'God. You sure there isn't something there worth holding on to?'
'Some good memories. But nothing now. It's over.'
'Well then, Bullard just did you a favor.' She extended her hand and laid it on his, comfortingly.
D'Agosta looked at her. She was right: in a way, Bullard had done him a favor. Maybe a really big favor.
