who might live forever. Repetto wished she could.
“You okay, Vin?” she asked. “You look sort of pensive.”
“A lot to think about, I guess.”
“Yeah, you always did think too much to be completely happy.”
“Is there such a thing as complete happiness?”
“Naw.” She patted his arm and moved away.
Dal came up to Repetto as the cake was being cut and drew him aside, until they were standing a few feet inside the kitchen.
“I can’t believe Mar came all the way from Philadelphia by train for this, at her age,” Dal said. “She’s a helluva lady.”
“You’ll never know.”
“Michaels tells me I should test up for lieutenant,” Dal said. “I’d be doing Street Narcotics Enforcement.”
“Running a unit?”
“Before long.”
“Not a bad career move.”
“I want the shortest route to make detective, like you are.”
“Were,” Repetto corrected.
Dal grinned. “Word’s around you’re getting the call to go after the Night Sniper.”
Repetto sighed. “The NYPD leaks like the
“You considering it?”
“We’re opening gifts,” Lora called from the living room.
“The beer’s not in the fridge, you two,” Amelia shouted. “It’s out here in a cooler.”
Repetto and Dal laughed. “She’s got us figured,” Dal said.
“Always has,” Repetto said. “We’ll finish this talk tomorrow morning.”
Repetto hooked up with Dal Bricker the next morning where they often met, away from the apartment. Dal would leave the unmarked he was driving parked off Fourteenth Street, and they would stroll.
It was a clear morning, with the sun glancing warm off the buildings. The kind of morning Repetto liked most in New York. Night had been chased away. The sights and smells and sounds were as newly created. Anything might happen. City of promise.
“Lora told me about what Melbourne wants from you,” Dal said. He was a taller, heavier figure in the corner of Repetto’s vision. Walking next to someone larger was an unfamiliar sensation for Repetto.
“I figured she would. No secrets. What do you think?”
“I think it’s your call.”
“What if it wasn’t just my call, Dal? What if I asked for your advice?”
Bricker grinned as Repetto looked over at him: big, broad guy with curly black hair, looked like he should be a country-western star.
Sometimes it made Repetto ache when he thought how happy Dal and Amelia could be. Not that it mattered what he thought. It was just that people were so damned blind when it came to the future.
“I’m usually the one asking for advice,” Dal said.
“Not this time,” Repetto said.
Bricker took a deep, noisy breath. “What I think you should do is what Melbourne is asking.”
“You’ve given it some thought?”
“Lots, since I talked with Lora. Bottom line is, I figure you’ve got an obligation. I didn’t tell Lora that, but I’ve thought so from the start.”
“Well,” Repetto said, after a dozen more strides, “I asked you.”
“Lora’s gonna come around to your way of thinking anyway,” Bricker said.
“
“C’mon, Vin. You know damn well you do.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree with you. But there comes a time in every marriage. .”
“Yeah. Like I said, it’s your call and yours only.” But that wasn’t the way Bricker was looking at Repetto. Damn kid always knew what was in his mind.
As if they were blood.
“I’ll talk again with Lora.”
“That’d be best.”
But Repetto knew he wouldn’t initiate the conversation. It would be better if she broached the subject, made the suggestion herself. He knew Lora, and Bricker knew both of them. There was no way Lora could hold Repetto to his word and watch him stay on the sidelines while the Night Sniper took more victims. That would, in a way, make her and Repetto responsible for the dead; they’d be the killer’s once-removed accomplices.
Dal was right; it was Repetto’s call. But Repetto was patient, confident of the decision Lora would soon make. She was a good woman, a brave woman with a nagging conscience.
“Got time to stop in at the deli?” Repetto asked. They’d gone around the block, and the unmarked Ford was visible beyond the corner deli. “I’m gonna pick up something for breakfast to take back to the apartment. You can join us.”
Dal thought about it. “Sounds good, but I really got no time to stop. I’ll get some fruit, maybe. Eat while I drive.”
They walked to the deli’s outside produce and flower stalls. Like the flowers, most of the fruit was flown in from sunnier climes where it thrived this time of year. Repetto preferred it in season, so he’d wait until Dal had chosen, then go inside with him to the register and buy something sweet and sinful in shrink-wrap to take back to the apartment.
“Peaches look best,” Dal said.
He braced his thighs against the wooden stall, leaning forward and stretching out his right arm so he could reach a large, ripe peach in the last row.
Repetto saw the bullet slam into the back of Dal’s head and heard its impact a moment before the rolling
Bricker settled down on the peaches, his arm still extended, the fingers of his right hand straining forward. Repetto was aware of peaches forced over the edge of the stall, bouncing and rolling at his feet. Bricker’s head tilted to the side, as if he were trying to get more comfortable on his pillow of peaches, and the blood came. And came and came.
Repetto backed away, unable to stop staring at Bricker, at the blood on the peaches, the blood now trickling from the stall onto the sidewalk.
“Christ!” he heard someone say. “Looka all the blood! Fuckin’ flood!”
People were moving around Repetto. He could hear their soles shuffling on the pavement, see them like shadows at the corners of his vision. It was unreal. All so unreal.
“. . guy’s clock has stopped … dead. .dead. .”
“Get back. Please, you get back from him!” Kim’s voice. The deli’s owner. Kim knew Repetto and had come outside despite the possibility of another shot.
“Don’t matter, man. He’s dead. Looka the fuckin’ blood!”
“Watch where you step. .”
“Get a cop!” a woman said.
“Somebody inside’s calling the police.” Kim’s voice. “Somebody’s already calling.”
“Get a cop!” the woman insisted, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Get a cop.”
