“Joy and a half,” she said.
“Did he tell you any of his jokes?”
“Oh yes…”
“Which one?”
“The nuns peeing in a gasoline can?”
“Lovely joke.”
“Lovely,” Eileen said, and they both fell silent.
“Well,” he said.
“Listen…” she said.
“Yes?”
“I hope this isn’t going to be awkward for you.”
“No, no. Awkward? Hey, why? Awkward?”
“Cause Pete gave me a little welcoming lecture, you know…”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Did he talk to you, too?”
“About what?”
“About this being one big happy family…”
“No. What? A big happy family? Why?”
“He also told me I’m a good cop, but ‘There’s this thing with Bert,’ quote, unquote.”
“Oh.”
“So I was wondering if he’d given you the same, well,warningwas what it was.”
“No. I’d have told him to shove it.”
“Really?” Eileen said, genuinely surprised.
“My private life…ourprivate lives…are none of Pete’s business. What does he think this is, a soap opera? We’re professionals here,” Kling said. “This really pisses me off, Eileen. I have a good mind to go in there and tell him…”
“Hey, slow down, Bert. I wasn’t trying to incite a riot.”
“What’d you tell him? When he said there was thisthingwith Bert, or whatever it was he said.”
“I told him I didn’t think there’d be a problem.”
“Well, there won’t.”
“I know there won’t. You’re with Sharyn now, and I’m…”
I’m what? she wondered. Still looking for Mr. Right?
“I’mperfectly content to be here at the Eight-Seven,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure it’s cool with you.”
“It’s cool,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So, I mean, we don’t have to avoid each other, or anything stupid like that, tiptoe around each other…”
“Is that what we were doing?”
“No, I meant it’s not something we even have tothinkabout anymore, is what I meant. We’re two professionals, like you said, and this isn’t a soap opera.”
“It certainly isn’t. Besides, why should people have toforgetwhat happened between them?” he said, and she could have hugged him then and there. “Why can’t they just remember the past, and move on?” His voice lowered, but he wasn’t trying to be sexy or anything, he wasn’t coming on or anything. “There’s a lot to remember, Eileen. No one can shoot us for remembering.”
“No one,” she said, and smiled.
“You going back inside?” he asked.
“No, I was just leaving,” she said.
“In that case,” he said, and bowed her in the direction of the staircase.
She suddenly remembered why she had loved him so much.
• • •
THE GAUCHO CALLEDAine at three o’clock that afternoon, hoping he could see her again tonight. He had enjoyed being with her, and now they really had something to celebrate; the bust had gone down as predicted, and he was in possession of five hundred bucks the generous cops of the Eight-Seven had given him as a reward for his services.
He let the number she’d given him ring a dozen times.
Aine didn’t hear it.
She had shot up half an hour ago, and was lying stoned on the mattress in Emilio’s apartment, her eyes closed, a dreamy expression on her face. Emilio didn’t hear the ringing phone, either. He was on the toilet bowl, a needle still in his arm, the same peaceful look on his face.
The Gaucho hung up and went out front to greet a woman who was looking for herbs that would cure her insomnia.
CARELLA CALLED HONEY BLAIRat three-thirty that afternoon.
She came on the phone all treacle and smiles.
“Well,hello,” she oozed, “how’s it goin? What can I do for you?”
“My wife’s looking for a job,” he said.
“I’m sorry,what?”
“My wife’s looking for a job,” he said again, and then he explained that she was this beautiful speech- and hearing-impaired woman who could sign at the speed of light, and whose face spoke volumes besides, and he thought if the station was looking for someone who could appear in that little box in the left hand corner of the screen to sign for the deaf while a news report was going on, she’d be perfect for the job.
“She’s really the most beautiful woman on earth,” he said. “You won’t be sorry, I promise you.”
There was a long silence on the line.
“Honey?” he said.
“I’m here,” she said.
There was another silence.
Then she said, “You are really unique, you know that? You are positively unique.”
He imagined her shaking her head.
“Have her send me a resume,” she said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
And hung up.
AT THE EIGHT-EIGHTlater that afternoon, Ollie ran into Patricia Gomez just as the shift was changing.
“I want to thank you for that wonderful work you did on the Henderson case,” he said.
“Well, hey, thankyou,” she said.
“I already mentioned it to the Boss, he knows what a role you played.”
“Well, gee,” she said, “thanks.”
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“Did you ever find that guy who stole your book?” she asked.
“No, all I still got is the last chapter.”
“I’ll bet it’s good.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “But I’ll get him, don’t worry. There’s always another day, am I right?”
“Always another day,” she said.
He looked at her.
Quite seriously, he asked, “Are you gonna cut off my dick for a nickel?”
“What?” she said.
“And sell it to the nearest cuchi frito joint?”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, and smiled. “I don’t evenlikecuchi frito.”
He kept looking at her.
“You still wanna go dancin Saturday night?”
“I bought a new dress.”
“So okay then.”
