the Academy. Probably thought it would be a good way to weed the female boots out. But it was like home to me. Besides, it's a great station for homicide. I'd go crazy in one of the white-collar divisions.'
Gail narrowed her green eyes. 'You're not one of those adrenaline junkies, are you?'
Frank thought of Kennedy and said, 'Definitely not.'
They rolled into Frank's driveway. She switched lights on while Gail ooed and ahhed over the split level living room.
'Do I get the grand tour?' she asked.
'Soon as I get rid of this,' Frank replied, emptying her bulging pockets. Gun, badge, and cuffs took their place next to case folders and manila envelopes on the crowded dining room.
'The place belonged to an architect,' Frank explained, showing Gail the guest room and master bedroom to one side of the living room. She paused at the kitchen, open to the living and dining area, and pulled two Bass Ales out of the fridge.
Indicating the other side of the living room she said, 'There's a den over there, and that second door used to lead into the garage. Now it's my gym.'
She poured Gail's beer into a mug from the freezer. Hers she left in the bottle.
'Cheers,' Gail said.
Frank nodded, draining a quarter of the bottle. She made the sandwiches as they talked easily about staffing nightmares and supervising men in a man's world. The conversation shifted to movies, then food, and Frank found Gail both articulate and amusing. Well after they'd finished the sandwiches, they each nursed a pony of Ruby Pinto, and it hit Frank that she hadn't thought of Placa in hours. She felt a stab of conscience and decided that was pretty unreasonable. Clay was right, maybe she rode herself too hard sometimes.
Gail must have sensed that Frank had drifted from the conversation, because she said, 'I think I'd better go. It looks like I'm putting you to sleep.'
'No. Not at all. I was just thinking...' Frank hesitated, wondering if she should admit it. 'What a nice night it's been.'
'Yeah,' Gail agreed, rising. 'Maybe we can do it again sometime.'
'Yeah.'
Frank walked Gail out to her car, telling her how to get back onto Huntington. When she went back inside the house was too still. She put a handful of CDs into the player and tapped the random button. She paced through the dining room, the kitchen, back into the dining room, her hand lingering over reports. She glanced at her wrist, wondering if it was too late to call Noah. Probably not, she thought.
The phone buzzed in her ear and she was about to hang up when Tracey answered.
'Hey. Is this the most beautiful woman in L.A.?'
'Oh, hang on a sec. You want my twin sister who's forty pounds lighter.'
'No, I think I've got the right sister. Hi, gorgeous. How's No?'
'He's okay. He's planted in front of a
Frank tried to protest but Tracey had already slammed the phone down. When he picked it up, Frank said, 'Mr. De La Hoya, my man. Didn't mean to interrupt the cultural hour. Just checking up on you.'
'Dudess. I'm sorry about this afternoon. I shouldn't have lost it like that, in the morgue and everything.'
'Don't worry about it. I'll ream you out tomorrow. 'Sides, gave the doc a chance to give me a ride home.'
'Oh, yeah? Did you ask her out?'
'Yeah, sure. You know what a play-uh I am. I made her one of my killer roast beef sandwiches and we had a couple beers.'
'Oh, yeah? Then what?'
Frank smiled into the receiver, glad No was okay and back to matchmaking.
'That's it, dummy, else I wouldn't be calling you.'
'Aw, man.'
'Look. Get back to Ginger and MaryAnn. I'll see you tomorrow.'
'That's a big 10-4. Hey, dudess?'
'Yeah?'
'Which one you like better? Ginger or MaryAnn?'
'That's easy. You sleep with Ginger. You marry MaryAnn.'
'Right on. Hey. Thanks for callin'.'
'No sweat.'
Frank tipped herself back on the barstool at her kitchen counter. She felt surprisingly good. She was warm and well fed, and had a nice buzz going, but she had to admit she'd had a really good time tonight. In a town like L.A., where people were obsessed with cash and flash, Gail's simple good looks and honest conversation were refreshing. Attractive, Frank decided, then dropped the stool back onto all fours. That was neither here nor there.
Stretching and sighing, she planned out tomorrow. She needed to talk to Johnnie and sit him down with Noah, have them make peace. Christ, she thought, I'm running a Romper Room, not a homicide squad. Miles glided
Chapter Thirteen
Before Johnnie and Noah went out, Frank called them into her office. Noah sat on the thin couch and Johnnie straddled a plastic chair. Cocking a hip on her desk, Frank glared down at both of them, a rare vantage.
'What happened in the morgue yesterday was inexcusable. Johnnie, your comment about Placa was inappropriate, unprofessional, and offensive to everyone in the room. You apologize to Doc Lawless and her staff, today.'
Johnnie started his usual bluster, but glaring at Noah she continued, 'Your behavior wasn't any better. You apologize along with your partner.'
Noah rolled his eyes and crabbed, 'Whatever. But that crack —'
'I don't want to hear it,' she said. 'I want that apology today, in person, both of you. Got it?'
'Fuck,' Johnnie said, 'I got court all day.'
'I thought that wasn't until ten.'
'I gotta get a wit before that,' he complained.
'Then you better get going. Morgue opens at eight.'
'Come on, Frank,' Noah tried intervening, 'can't this wait until tomorrow?'
'Nope. I want this taken care of before you,' she said to Johnnie, 'open your fat mouth again, and before you,' to Noah, 'pretend to be Sugar Ray again.'
Noah hung his head, but Frank could see the grin under his bangs.
'You can go,' she told him.
Johnnie squirmed in his seat, whining like a schoolboy, 'How come he gets to go?'
Frank ignored him, telling Noah to close the door. When he did, she answered, ' 'Cause he's not using all his sick time on hangovers.'
'Did he tell you that?' he said jerking his thumb at the door.
'Didn't have to. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out when you come in shaking and sweating, bloodshot as hell. Want to tell me about it?'
'There's nothin' to tell about! Shit, Frank, I don't have enough fingers to count the number times you've come in lookin' like something the cat threw up.'
'You're right. Everybody ties one on sometimes, me included, but we don't skip work because of our hangovers, and when I'm getting complaints about one of my cops leaning out of his car and puking in the street, then I've got a problem.'
'I had the flu or something. That fucking chicken at Popeye's.'
'Johnnie. You can bullshit this all you want. That's your decision. I can't make you talk to me. But I'm telling you, you're walkin' a fine line. You got a problem? That's okay. Everybody's got 'em. Hell, I got 'em, and I'll do whatever I can to help you. If you can handle it on your own, great. Show me. If you can't, and it starts interfering
