wasn’t a police officer with a beating heart who wouldn’t have given his eye teeth to be in Ryker’s place, most detectives weren’t in the same position. Solving the murder of Lin Dan was going to eventually involve something incendiary, either for the victim, or his family. The press was already on it-Ryker’s cell phone mailbox was full of messages from local beat reporters he knew, all angling for a juicy story that was a newsman’s dream. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to speak to the press directly, unless directed by his superiors, but on occasion, those jackals were sometimes capable of producing a nugget of information that could be worked into something that might fit inside the investigation’s framework. So far, given that James Lin was generally uncooperative beyond producing a different shine on the painfully obvious-Lin Dan was a playboy, and had obviously pissed off someone-the investigation was limping along without much in the way of real breaks.
Ryker pulled his Impala into the station parking lot. He put the vehicle in park but sat behind the wheel for a long moment, his hand paused on the ignition without turning off the engine. Images of Valerie Lin flashed across his mind’s eye: her mouth forming a perfect O was she climaxed beneath him; the sweep of her perfect hip, illuminated in the wan evening light; the almost chaste kiss she gave him as he left the big house in Sea Cliff. The images all conspired to arouse him yet again, and Ryker sighed, willing the ridiculous tumescence away. He couldn’t go strolling into the stationhouse with a full woody, so he had to sit in the car and repeat his social security number over and over in his head. Eventually, his erection subsided to a more manageable level.
“Oh man,” he sighed as he switched off the ignition and unfastened his seat belt. “What the hell am I going to do now?”
He threw open the door and emerged into the overcast day. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he noticed Chee Wei standing nearby, leaning against the rear of his Lexus sports coupe. The slender Chinese man was looking at him with a quizzical expression.
“You all right?” Chee Wei asked.
“Fine,” Ryker said. He returned Chee Wei’s expression with one of his own. “What are you doing here?”
“I still have to report in for start of shift, remember?” Chee Wei answered. “You know, regulations and all that, since I’m still on the clock?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Ryker rubbed his eyes. “Who relieved you last night?”
“Morales. Here’s hoping he can keep his hands to himself-that woman’s a real maneater, and she’ll leave him with only stumps.” Chee Wei straightened and hitched his trousers up on his hips, staring at the building across the street.
Ryker smiled.
“What, you upset that we have a rotation going?” he asked.
Chee Wei looked over at him, frowning.
“Hey, he’s former NYPD. Those guys can be real pigs, you know? All that hard-edged east coast, big city bullshit they push around.”
Ryker snorted and pushed his hands into his pockets.
“You’ve
Chee Wei’s face flushed with embarrassment, and he waved the statement away.
“Hey, don’t take it the wrong way, man. She’s just high-end, you know? A guy like Morales wouldn’t know what to do with something like that, anyway.”
Ryker shrugged and started toward the stationhouse. Other police officers were arriving; to his great displeasure, Ryker saw Cueball hurl himself out of his flashy new Dodge Charger. Their eyes met, and Cueball favored Ryker with a half-sneer, half-snarl. Ryker merely looked away.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” he said to Chee Wei. “By the way, how were the dumplings?”
Chee Wei let out his breath like a deflating tire.
“Man, you know about that?”
“Of course-I am a detective, after all.” Ryker walked up to the glass door leading into the stationhouse and pulled it open, motioning Chee Wei ahead. “Go on, I’ve got the door-you’re obviously having a tough day.”
“Thanks, and blow me,” Chee Wei said, marching through the door.
“Can’t we just cuddle?” Ryker stepped across the threshold and let the door close just as Cueball piloted his bulk toward it. Ryker didn’t wait to check out his expression, just turned his back toward the bigger man and followed Chee Wei.
“Let’s take the stairs,” Ryker said, pulling open the stairwell door. Chee Wei turned back, a questioning look on his face. It faded as soon as he saw Cueball pushing through the door behind Ryker.
“Yeah, let’s.” He followed Ryker into the stairway as the older man began climbing them, taking them two at a time. Chee Wei hurried to keep up.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” Chee Wei asked. “This your new exercise routine or something? Trying to get yourself in shape for Valerie Lin?”
Ryker turned on the landing and shot Chee Wei a sharp glance without meaning to. Chee Wei caught it and smiled, happy that he had stroked an apparent nerve.
“Yeah, that’s it, a couple of days running up and down the stairs’ll make you into a lean, mean fighting machine,” the younger detective continued. “Pretty soon, you’ll be in as fine of shape as, say, me.”
“And I really look back on those days when I was a skinny twelve-year-old kid with acne,” Ryker shot back, resuming his climb up the stairs. “Did Zhu cop to anything yesterday? Anything that might be relevant to the case, that is. I’m sure she told you all about the lady Rolex watch she wants for Christmas.”
“Uh-huh, the one that’s diamond-encrusted. I told her I’d go knock over the Federal Reserve and see what I can do. No, she didn’t come up with anything we didn’t already know. Once the lab results came in, I thought we were writing her off?”
“I’m not writing off anything. Lab reports can be wrong, and they’re not infallible. You start believing in everything some crime scene tech brings to you, and you’re either fat and lazy-”
“Hey, I ain’t Cueball!”
“-or you’re just plain retarded,” Ryker continued. He started trudging up the last set of stairs, mounting the flight with substantially less than vigor than when he had started. His chest already felt tight, and his breath was beginning to sharpen.
Ryker pushed open the door to the fourth floor and stepped out, Chee Wei right behind and absolutely no worse for wear; the climb probably hadn’t even elevated his heart rate. Ryker straightened his red and blue striped tie and strolled toward the squad room. Cueball had beaten them, but only just; as Ryker and Chee Wei entered the room, the fat detective was just pulling out his chair. A bag of doughnuts from Winchell’s sat on the desk before him.
“Hey Cueball, those double-long cinnamon twists have about four times the amount of fat and cholesterol required to choke a whale,” Chee Wei commented as they breezed past his desk.
Cueball patted his crotch.
“The only thing that’s double-long and fat is what’s right here, and I have the testimonials to prove it,” the rotund detective claimed loudly.
“Yeah right, like I care what they say about you when you’re singing karaoke for the twinks over at the Midnight Sun,” Chee Wei shot back, referencing one of the Castro’s better-known gay night clubs.
Cueball grunted, and his small eyes locked onto Ryker.
“Hey, Ryker! Looks like your little pet here needs to go back and complete his sensitivity training-some of the gay guys here might get offended by his act. Either that, or he’s trying to compensate for some latent sexuality he’s been repressin’ for too long.”
Chee Wei turned, his face turning red.
“Hey Wallace? Fuck you,” he said, voice even despite his obvious anger at the jibe.
Cueball laughed and pulled lowered his big ass into his chair. It creaked beneath his weight.
“Punk,” he said, opening the bag before him and pulling out a sticky glazed doughnut. “You know what you remind me of? A little Chihuahua on a leash, barkin’ up a storm but not able to do shit.”
“You-” Chee Wei started, but Ryker put a hand on his arm, interrupting.
