A Bitch Called Hope (27 page)
Lennox waved him back to his seat and took hers. “I’m fine, Sarge. Thanks again for the flowers.”
“Were we supposed to send flowers?” Fulin said. He shook his head, his black hair brushing the table, his mouth in a perfect “O”.
Jerry batted Fulin’s hair from his tweed blazer. “You’re too late, Tinkerbell.”
Someone from the bar changed the channel and the sound system went from eighties hits to doo-wop.
Ham looked up from his hand. “You’re late. We had to start without you.”
She’d called old Hammy from the hospital the night she was abducted. The night Dan walked out on her for good. Ham drove her home, was sitting in a chair by the window when she woke up the next morning.
Ham was the only one who knew the final chapter of the Dan Pike story. How she’d gone to his place to apologize, explain herself, whatever it took. Sure, she was a cop. When you’re under attack, you empty your clip. That’s training. That’s how you keep yourself alive.
She’d solved his father’s murder and saved his mother. Shouldn’t he be grateful? It didn’t matter. She read the loathing on his face as soon as he opened the door.
Deep down Lennox knew they never had a chance before she ever rang his doorbell. Dan had crossed the line. Hell, he was sixty-two thousand and change over the line and they both knew it. It would have never worked because every time he told their friends a story about what a big shot he’d been back in Chicago, he’d see his lie on her face.
Ham let her cry without telling her to suck it up. Brought her cartons of hot and sour soup from Zien Hong’s. But that was three weeks ago. It was time to play cards.
Jerry dealt the first hand.
Ham drew the high hand with a pair of treys and threw in a red chip. “Ten,” he said.
Katy, the cocktailer, walked in the room with a tray of empties and a shot of Jack, which she placed in front of Lennox.
“From Officer Conklin,” Katy said.
“Don Conklin?” Lennox said.
“The one and only,” Katy said.
Jerry scratched his chin. It made a nice sandpapery sound. “A fan.”
“Another cop’s glad to see Tommy taken down a peg,” Fish said. “Pass.”
“Tell him thanks,” Lennox said. She raised the shot of Jack to her lips. The bouquet of sour mash filled her head.
“I’ll see your fifteen and raise you another ten,” Jerry said. “So tell me how the priest was involved?”
“He put the idea into Scott’s head,” Ham said. “Something about Bill’s bad health, just a little nudge and Scott’s financial problems would be in the past. Scott did the actual poisoning. And if Scott went down for the murder, the priest knew Scott would dime him out. That’s why he sicced the Altar Boys on the blackmailer. And why they went after Lennox.”
“Are you passing or what?” Jerry said.
“Pass,” Ham said.
Fish said. “Third case in the last twelve months Tommy’s blown.”
“Then there’s the problem with the missing evidence,” Sarge said. “Gerber’s going after him. His name was last in the logbook.”
“The DA’s pissed, bitched him out for his sloppy work,” Fish said. He was looking mighty happy. “The DA’s convictions are way down since Cooper left homicide. He’s looking to make some changes.”
Sarge threw in his chips. “And guess who’s rumored for a promotion?”
Fish rapped his knuckles on the table.
“I thought you people prayed,” Jerry said.
Lennox glanced again at her ace-five. She had a bad feeling about this hand. She took another sip of the Jack. Maybe it was her life she had a bad feeling about. It was all very well to get another murder investigation from Kline, it’s what she said she wanted. She should be happy. She shifted in her chair to ease the pain in her side.
“Fold,” she said.
Jerry’s gaze rose from his cards and fastened on her. “You never fold on two cards.”
“She’s still recovering,” Ham said.
A cracked rib, bruised kidneys. A whole lot of bruising.
“I’m fine,” Lennox said in a voice that would go toe-to-toe with anyone who said otherwise.
Ham threw in two ten dollar red chips and Jerry dealt the next card up.
Sarge peeked at his down cards and leaned forward. “So the Altar Boys jacked Dan’s car to run over the blackmailer.”
“Father Mac knew if Scott got caught, he’d give it up in a heartbeat,” Lennox said. “Which he did. Framing Dan was Plan B.”
“Rumor has it,” Jerry said. “Dame Pike-Engstrom has hired some sleazebag to recapture her son and Mac’s inheritance once they’re convicted.”
“Sarge,” Ham said looking frustrated. “In or out?”
“Fold.”
“Too bad about Dan, though,” Fulin said. “Civilians don’t get us.”
“Did I ever tell you I dated a shoplifter?” Jerry said.
“Yeah, I heard that,” Lennox said. Maybe some day she’d even laugh about it. No, she wouldn’t. Not ever. But given time, some bit of wisdom would make itself known.
“She’ll find somebody better,” Fish said.
The game stopped cold. Everyone at the table laid their cards down and stared at Fish with their mouths open.
“What?” Fish said.
“Jeez, Fish,” Lennox said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you liked me.”
Fish blinked. “I’m just saying—” He blinked again.
“That’s okay,” Lennox said. “Don’t strain yourself.”
“Maybe you need to date other cops,” Jerry said. “Or attorneys. What do you say, Lennox?”
Fulin jabbed him with an elbow. “She doesn’t want an old man. If she goes out with anyone, it should be me.”
“What happened to your girlfriend?” Jerry said. “She get tired of you wearing her clothes?”
“I’m sincere,” Fulin said.
She adored Fulin, but some mistakes you can see before they break your heart.
Lennox’s cell phone vibrated against the front pocket of her sweater. She looked at the screen then up at the guys. “It’s Aurora.”
The room got quiet. Fish took a pull off his beer, his eyes watching her over the rim of his glass.
Ham laid his hand over her arm.
But Jerry was the one said, “Don’t answer it!”
Acknowledgements
My deepest gratitude to Susan Whitcher and the rest of the Fat Friday gang: Caroline Kurtz, Martha Raglund, Diane Ponti and Jan Baross; to the best teachers in the world: Carolyn Altman and Jim Frey; for the advice and encouragement from Martha Miller and all the folks in FWOF; to Liz Kracht for finding me a home; to all the folks at Diversion Books; and you, Michael, without you there would be no book.
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