'There's at least three drug organizations up and running now. None of them are very nice folks,' Allen said evenly. 'Tell me more.'
'My friend doesn't want much involvement. Just some information for you, that's it, Frank. If it goes further, we can reevaluate then. We're talking some scary people if this story is true.'
Allen considered that. He'd never dwelt upon Kelly's background, but he knew enough. Kelly was a trained diver, he knew, a bosun's mate who'd fought in the brown-water Navy in the Mekong Delta, supporting the 9th Infantry; a squid, but a very competent, careful squid whose services had come highly recommended to the force from somebody in the Pentagon and who'd done a nice job retraining the force's divers, and, by the way, earning a nice check for it, Allen reminded himself. The 'person' had to be female. Kelly would never worry about guarding a man that tightly. Men just didn't think that way about other men. If nothing else, it sure sounded interesting.
'You're not screwing me around, are you?' he had to ask.
'That's not my way, man,' Kelly assured him. 'My rules: it's for information purposes only, and it's a quiet meet. Okay?'
'You know, anybody else, I'd probably say come right in here and that would be it, but I'll play along with you. You did break the Gooding case open for me. We got him, you know. Life plus thirty. I owe you for that. Okay, I'll play along for now. Fair enough?'
'Thanks. What's your schedule like?'
'Working late shift this week.' It was just after four in the afternoon, and Allen had just come on duty. He didn't know that Kelly had called three times that day already without leaving a message. 'I get off around midnight, one o'clock, like that. It depends on the night,' he explained. 'Some are busier than others.'
'Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at the front door. We can have a little supper together.'
Allen frowned. This was like a James Bond movie, secret agent crap. But he did know Kelly to be a serious man, even if he didn't know squat about police work.
'See you then, sport.'
'Thanks, Frank. 'Bye.' The line clicked off and Allen went back to work, making a note on his desk calendar.
'Are you scared?' he asked.
'A little,' she admitted.
He smiled. 'That's normal. But you heard what I said. He doesn't know anything about you. You can always back out if you want. I'll be carrying a gun all the time. And it's just a talk. You can get in and get out. We'll do it in one day - one night, really. And I'll be with you all the time.'
'Every minute?'
'Except when you're in the ladies' room, honey. There you have to look out for yourself.' She smiled and relaxed.
'I have to fix dinner,' she said, heading off to the kitchen.
Kelly went outside. Something in him called for more weapons practice, but he'd done that already. Instead he walked into the equipment bunker and took the.45 down from the rack. First he depressed the stud and action spring. Next he swiveled the bushing. That allowed the spring to go free. Kelly dismounted the slide assembly, removing the barrel, and now the pistol was field-stripped. He held the barrel up to a light, and, as expected, it was dirty from firing. He cleaned every surface, using rags, Hoppe's cleaning solvent, and a toothbrush until there was no trace of dirt on any metal surface. Next he lightly oiled the weapon. Not too much oil, for that would attract dirt and grit, which could foul and jam the pistol at an inconvenient moment. Finished cleaning, he reassembled the Colt quickly and expertly - it was something he could and did do with his eyes closed. It had a nice feel in his hand as he jacked the slide back a few times to make sure it was properly assembled. A final visual inspection confirmed it.
Kelly took two loaded magazines from a drawer, along with a single loose round. He inserted one loaded clip into the piece, working the slide to load the first round in the chamber. He carefully lowered the hammer before ejecting the magazine and sliding another round into place. With eight cartridges in the weapon, and a backup clip, he now had a total of fifteen rounds with which to face danger. Not nearly enough for a walk in the jungles of Vietnam, but he figured it was plenty for the dark environs of a city. He could hit a human head with a single aimed shot from ten yards, day or night. He'd never once rattled under fire, and he'd killed men before. Whatever the dangers might be, Kelly was ready for them. Besides, he wasn't going after the Vietcong. He was going in at night, and the night was his friend. There would be fewer people around for him to worry about, and unless the other side knew he was there - which they wouldn't - he didn't have to worry about an ambush. He just had to stay alert, which came easily to him.
Dinner was chicken, something Pam knew how to fix. Kelly almost got out a bottle of wine but thought better of it. Why tempt her with alcohol? Maybe he'd stop drinking himself. It would be no great loss, and the sacrifice would validate his commitment to her. Their conversation avoided serious matters. He'd already shut the dangers from his mind. There was no need to dwell on them. Too much imagination made things worse, not better.
'You really think we need new curtains?' he said.
'They don't match the furniture very well.'
Kelly grunted. 'For a boat?'
'It's kinda dull there, you know?'
'Dull,' he observed, clearing the table. 'Next thing, you'll say that men are all alike - ' Kelly stopped dead in his tracks. It was the first time he'd slipped up that way. 'Sorry...'
She gave him an impish smile. 'Well, in some ways you are. And stop being so nervous about talking to me about things, okay?'
Kelly relaxed. 'Okay.' He grabbed her and pulled her close. 'If that's the way you feel... well...'
'Mmm.' She smiled and accepted his kiss. Kelly's hands wandered across her back, and there was no feel of a bra under the cotton blouse. She giggled at him. 'I wondered how long it would take you to notice.'
'The candles were in the way,' he explained.
'The candles were nice, but smelly.' And she was right. The bunker was not well ventilated. Something else to fix. Kelly looked forward into a very busy future as he moved his hands to a nicer place.
'Have I gained enough weight,?'
'Is it my imagination, or...?'
'Well, maybe just a little,' Pam admitted, holding his hands on her.
'We need to get you some new clothes,' he said, watching her face, the new confidence. He had her on the wheel, steering the proper compass course past Sharp's Island Light, well east of the shipping channel, which was busy today.
'Good idea,' she agreed. 'But I don't know any good places.' He checked the compass like a good helmsman.
'They're easy to find. You just look at the parking lot.'
'Huh?'
'Lincolns and Caddys, honey. Always means good clothes,' Kelly noted. 'Never fails.'
She laughed as intended. Kelly marveled at how much more in control she seemed, though there was still a long ways to go.
'Where will we stay tonight?'
'On board,' Kelly answered. 'We'll be secure here.' Pam merely nodded, but he explained anyway.
'You look different now, and they don't know me from Adam. They don't know my car or my boat. Frank Allen doesn't know your name or even that you're a girl. That's operational security. We ought to be safe.'
'I'm sure you're right,' Pam said, turning to smile at him. The confidence in her face warmed his blood and fed his already capacious ego.
'Going to rain tonight,' Kelly noted, pointing at distant clouds. 'That's good, too. Cuts down visibility. We used to do a lot of stuff in the rain. People just aren't alert when they're wet.'
'You really know about this stuff, don't you?'
A manly smile. 'I learned in a really tough school, honey.'
They made port three hours later. Kelly made a great show of being alert, checking out the parking lot, noting that his Scout was in its accustomed place. He sent her below while he tied up, then left her there while he drove the car right to the dock. Pam, as instructed, walked straight from the boat to the Scout without looking left or
