Rizzo's Fire

“Yeah,” Rizzo responded. “And if our other idea ’bout him being local is correct, then dollars to doughnuts his family dentist is from the neighborhood, too. Hell, my guy practices about two blocks from where I live. Has his office right on the lower level of his house on Tenth Avenue.”

“So we track him through the dentists, not the bars or hunting leads,” Priscilla said.

“Yes,” Rizzo said as they reached the lobby and left the elevator. “The bar and hunter stuff, that was all theoretical. The busted teeth, that’s fact. We go with fact over theory every time.”

As they neared the gray Impala, parked at the side of the ambulance entrance ramp, Rizzo shook his head.

“Now I gotta go back to Vince and tell him to hold off on that artist request. And him the guy pushin’ us to see the vic before running off half cocked, like a couple a half-assed rookies.”

Priscilla laughed, her face beaming. “Instead a just one half-assed rookie, eh, Joe?” she said.

“Yeah,” Rizzo answered, pointedly glancing behind his partner. “But from where I’m standin’, there ain’t nothin’ half-assed about you, honey.”

Again Priscilla laughed. “Yeah,” she said. “Karen mentions that once in a while. With the same dopey grin you got now.”

WHEN PRISCILLA arrived at the Six-Two at four p.m. Wednesday, she found her partner at his desk, sipping coffee from a paper cup and leafing idly through a Daily News.

As she reached the desk, Rizzo greeted her. She sat down. “I thought I’d find you workin’ the horn to all the dentists in the precinct,” she said to him. “Isn’t that the excuse you used to grab some early overtime? Takin’ a little break, are we?”

“Nope,” Rizzo said. “Done with that. I hit gold on the eleventh call. Guy over on Twenty-fourth Avenue.” He looked down at the scribbled note sitting atop a messy pile of papers on his desk. “A Dr. William Davenport, DDS. I spoke to his receptionist or secretary or what ever they call themselves. She said they had to schedule an emergency appointment for nine a.m. Tuesday morning, two hours before their regular office hours. The call came in Monday night through the doc’s ser vice.”

Priscilla smiled. “Let me guess: couple of broken teeth?”

Rizzo nodded. “Yep. Two cracked molars and a chipped incisor.” He paused and sipped at his coffee. “Wanna hear the best part?”

Priscilla shifted in her seat, crossing her leg. “It gets better?” she asked.

“Yeah. Guy said he broke the teeth in a little accident he had. Seems he was out huntin’ all weekend, and Monday night, guess what happened?”

“A bear smacked his dumb-ass head and busted his teeth?” Priscilla asked.

“Not exactly,” Rizzo said. “Seems he tripped on something and banged his jaw. On the tailgate of his pickup truck.”

“Well, well.”

“Yeah. And right about then, the woman I was talkin’ to started getting a little uptight. Thought she was fuckin’ with doctor-patient stuff, so she put the doc on. His office hours end at five today. We got an appointment with him then.” Rizzo peered at Priscilla’s mouth. “You got any dental issues? Maybe we can get you a free cleaning or something.”

She stood up. “I’ll pass, Joe. Tell you what, I have to fill out the union forms so they can switch me over from the PBA. I need to get them to the delegate’s in-box today. So how far is it to this guy’s office?”

“Ten minutes. You got plenty of time. I’ll be waitin’ here.”

JUST BEFORE five, Rizzo at the wheel, the two detectives drove toward the dental office of Dr. William Davenport.

“So how’s the redecorating project going?” Rizzo asked.

“Okay, I guess. Don’t ask what it’s gonna cost. Me and Karen coulda done the whole deal, painted all four rooms in a couple of days. For two, three hundred bucks.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be happy I was you,” Rizzo said. “Get the in-laws to pick up the tab, avoid all that aggravation and mess. You oughta count your blessings.”

“Yeah, I know. And they can afford it, that’s for sure. But this is just an apartment, not a condo. Lot a money to spend on something we don’t own.”

Rizzo slowed for a light and glanced over at his partner.

“What kinda building?” he asked.

“Nice old brownstone. On East Thirty-ninth off Third Avenue. We’re up on the second floor with one other tenant.”

Rizzo nodded, watching the traffic light. “Sounds nice. But like I tell my kids, rent is money down the drain. You gotta own something, build up the equity. The old Italians around here, the old-timers from the other side, you give ’em a choice between twenty thousand shares of some stock and a quarter acre of land, they’ll go with the land every time.”

“Depending on the stock, real estate might be the way to go,” Priscilla said. “But right now I’m not looking to buy. Karen will never leave Manhattan, she’s too into it. And anything in the city is way out of my league, dollar- wise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rizzo said. “But Karen’s a high-priced lawyer making big bucks. Proportion it out and buy something soon. You won’t regret it.”

After a moment or two of silence, Priscilla replied. “I’d rather wait. We’ll do one-year leases, then see,” she said.

Rizzo grunted and eased the car forward as the light changed.

“Sounds like cold feet to me,” he said. “You lookin’ to keep the door half open, are you?”

She shook her head. “No. Not really. But there’s no hurry with anything. We can chill for a while.”

“Okay, Partner,” Rizzo said. “But remember this, somethin’ else I tell my girls. You buy together, better odds you stay together. Financial ties have saved more marriages than Dear Abby.”

“I think Dear Abby is dead, Joe,” Priscilla said.

“Well, then, Dear Whoever-the-fuck. You get my point. You tangle up your finances, it’s more of a commitment. So if Karen burns the toast once too often, you can’t just say, ‘Fuck off, Sweetheart,’ and head for the door. It’s like insurance, Cil. Believe me.”

“Well, Karen and I aren’t married.”

Rizzo shrugged. “Civil-unioned, married, what ever. Same shit.”

Priscilla shook her head. “We ain’t anything yet. Just together, that’s all. I get my medical and pension through the job, she gets hers through the law firm. Don’t be gettin’ me overcommitted here.”

Rizzo glanced at her as he wove through the traffic on Twenty-fourth Avenue.

“Didn’t you recently tell me you were done trollin’ around? When that redheaded nurse was droolin’ over you?”

“Sure,” she said with a small smile. “But you never know. That’s all I’m saying-you never know.”

“I get it, Cil. So, you’re the guy in this couple, eh?”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “Let me explain somethin’; there ain’t no guy. That’s sorta the point, Joe. We’re both female. Don’t be stereotyping my situation to fit your fantasies. Didn’t Mike warn you about me, Partner?”

“You bet. He warned me I’d have your shoe up my ass the first week we worked together.”

Priscilla laughed with Rizzo. “You’re right on schedule, paesan,” she said, shaking her head gently. “Right on schedule.”

He slowed the car and angled in toward the curb to an open parking space. “This is it,” he said, glancing at the address on the building. Then, turning to his partner, added, “Just remember what I said. About the finances. Insurance, Cil. Doesn’t hurt to have some insurance.”

She released her shoulder harness and reached for the door handle. “Okay, Daddy,” she said. “I got it. In a year or so, they may reach me on the sergeant’s list. Sooner maybe, with all those retirements comin’ up. Then maybe I can swing my end of the nut a little better. So, we’ll see.”

Rizzo shut down the Impala’s engine and nodded.