“Once again,” I told them, “I feel compelled to point out that the object of your ridicule is, indeed, actually on the premises.”
They managed to regain semi-control of themselves, and we ordered coffee and dessert. Laura excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and freshen up. After she left, Dennis looked at me for a minute, grinned and said, “Apparently, unbeknownst to the rest of us, you were some sort of saint or something in a previous existence. No other explanation for that woman to be spending time with you.”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “That theory occurred to me, too.”
“You take very good care with this one, JB,” he said. “I don’t think there are too many others like her out there.”
I nodded.
“I hear ya, Denny.”
“Good. Now, one quick bit of shop talk,” he said. “Probably doesn’t mean anything, but Paris Soloman called me last night, asked if I’d tell you that his people have been hearing rumblings about some sort of confrontation between the Links and the Gates. Nothing definite, could turn out to be nothing at all, really, but he asked if I’d pass it along to you.”
“Next time you see him,” I said, “tell him I said thanks for the heads-up.”
Laura returned, and Dennis and I both stood, and he helped her with her chair again. I know, I know, that kind of stuff is hopelessly old-fashioned, but Denny’s as much of a romantic as I am. And so far, no one from the wuss patrol has seen fit to call us on it.
* * *
Almost three hours after our meal began, we walked out of the restaurant. While we waited for our cars to be brought around, I leaned over to Laura and said, “I may not have tip money for the valet. Think you could flash a little thigh instead?”
“Oh, I’m sure I could,” she said. “However, I may only have that one flash left in me tonight.”
“Wait,” I said. “Lookee here, I believe I do have some spare cash, after all.”
Dennis’ car arrived, and he turned to Laura and took both her hands in his again.
“Laura,” he said, “it’s truly been a pleasure. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be treating you all right, but just in case, remember that the city of Pittsburgh has entrusted me with the power of arrest.”
“I don’t think anything that extreme will be necessary, detective,” she said. Then, with a twinkle in her eyes, as she reached up to kiss Dennis on the cheek, she whispered, “But maybe I could borrow your handcuffs sometime.”
Which sent both of them into hysterics again. As the adult in the group, it took me several minutes to regain some semblance of control. Children.
* * *
Later that night, Laura and I sat on the sofa in her living room and listened to Only the Lonely, one of her favorite Sinatra CDs. I had taken off my coat and loosened my tie, and she’d kicked off her shoes. The lights were low, the music soft, the mood romantic. We talked about Dennis and the evening and us, and then we just sat close to each other for a while before I remembered something.
“Hey,” I said, “about that flashing thing.”
She turned to face me and got up on her knees on the sofa. Then, reaching behind her with both hands to take hold of the zipper on her dress, she said, “Since I might have just that one flash left in me tonight, I’d better make it a good one.”
And she did.
Chapter 21
Community Outreach was located on the periphery of the East Liberty business district, in a small building that I seemed to remember had once housed an appliance store. The place had two large plate-glass windows flanking the front entrance, which was a simple glass door of the type that you often see in small businesses. There was no parking lot, so I pulled the Camry into one of several empty spots on the street in front. As I walked into the center, I saw that it was mostly one large room. There were two doors on the back wall, one labeled Lavatory, the other, Office. Stacked up against the wall were several large boxes with the same black and white patterns as the box my Gateway computer had been in when I brought it home. Lined up against the far wall to the left were half a dozen study carrels like those you see in libraries, along with three large circular tables, each with four or five chairs. None of the chairs appeared to match. The other side of the room had two ping pong tables, an old shelving unit filled with back issues of several magazines, and a small sitting area with a sofa and two easy chairs, all of which had seen better days. Also on that side of the room, right inside the front door, was a desk, behind which, if the nameplate in front of her was to be believed, sat Tiffany Bey, a slender young black woman who looked enough like Halle Berry for me to consider asking for an autograph. Big Halle fan here.
Tiffany was reading what appeared to be some sort of textbook, and she marked her place with one finger as she glanced up at me.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, and the smile might have been even a little bit better than Halle’s. “Welcome to Community Outreach. My name is Tiffany. How may I help you?”
“We spoke over the phone last week, Tiffany,” I said. “I’m Jeremy Barnes. I have a nine o’clock appointment with Mr. Witherspoon.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Mr. Barnes. I remember you. Mr. Witherspoon will be here shortly. He just called from his car to tell me that he’s running a few minutes
