Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) (22 page)

“Damn him!” she said.

“What?” the driver said.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

How could Lou be such an ass? She had ordered exactly what she told him she was craving, and then for him to start preaching at her. Christ. And the way the waitress looked at them?

“Next stop please.”

The driver nodded and soon pulled over.

Robin shrugged against the cold as she climbed the steps to her place. Once inside she dialed Felipe’s pizza and ordered a medium pepperoni to be delivered. She was just pulling a bottle of Budweiser from the fridge when her phone rang. It was Drake.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I’m sorry. You took what I was saying all wrong. I wasn’t trying to say… what I mean is—”

“What you mean is I’m a fat pig and if I stopped eating like one, then maybe I’d lose some weight. Well, what a great time to bring up and make me feel like shit, with a crowd of people all around us like that.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I was attacked last night, remember?” she yelled. “I’ve got some asshole trying to kill me and people getting murdered around us and I lose my job and you want to bitch at me about what I’m eating?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, well it sure sounded like it!”

Her voice edged up an octave.

“Let me tell you something, I’ll eat whatever the hell I want, when I want. And when have I ever said anything to you about your weight?”

“Never.”

“That’s right! Tell you what Lou, run your own damn life and stop trying to run mine. Besides, who the fuck are you to give me advice about weight loss?”

Robin slammed down the phone, grabbed the opener off the counter and popped the cap off her beer.

Let him know what it’s like to wait for a call, she thought. He feels good about life right now? See how it works without me.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
N
INE

THE RINGING CELL phone interrupted the late evening movie Collins was watching on TV. He looked at the caller ID and saw it was Andrade.

Collins sighed. He was tired to the bone of dealing with departmental politics and the FBI taking over his case and Andrade’s paranoid fears about the past. All he wanted was a couple of hours before bedtime when he didn’t have to think about it, so maybe, just maybe, he could start the next morning with a positive attitude.

But he figured he’d better take the call.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone.

“Who the hell have you been talking to?” Andrade said, his voice cracking with obvious anger and strain.

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you just the other day we need to keep our heads down? We’ve got the Chief and the feds crawling all over us and you pick now to start flapping your jaw?”

“Look, I have no idea what you’re—”

“Hennings hasn’t gone anywhere you know. In case you’ve forgotten, our asses are both flapping in the breeze and—”

“Jesus, hold on,” Collins said, but Andrade kept right on talking.

“—really pisses me off that you’ve gotta be such an idiot!”

Collins held the phone at arms length and stared at it in disbelief. He could still hear the tinny sounds of Andrade yelling on the other end, the words indistinct from this distance.

“Fuck you,” Collins murmured.

He thumbed the red button to end the call, and then hit it again to turn off the phone. He threw the damn thing on the couch next to him.

Collins knew he’d catch hell in the morning, but he was in no mood to listen to that kind of crap right now. And he had no idea what Andrade was talking about anyway. It sounded like more of the same paranoid bullshit. Collins figured in the morning he’d hear all about whatever had set off the good Captain. In the meantime Collins was sure of one thing; he wished he had never heard of Joshua Hennings.

He thought back to that fateful day long ago when Hennings’ attorney, Hal Norwich had called Andrade and asked to meet him and Collins at the Rose and Crown tavern in Greenwich.

Andrade agreed to meet, but he and Collins decided to wear wires in case the bastard lawyer tried anything or said anything incriminating. Anything they recorded would be worthless in a court of law, but it was still a careful precaution.

“Mr. Hennings has a proposition for you,” Norwich said when they were facing each other over a table in the back corner of the bar.

“Mr. Norwich,” Andrade said, “if this is an attempt to influence us in any way, I’ll arrest you and charge you with obstruction, bribery and criminal intent. Be careful what you say next.”

“I have nothing to say,” Norwich answered.

Instead he pulled two legal sized manila envelopes from his briefcase and set them on the table, one in front of Collins and the other in front of Andrade.

Neither of the cops made any move to touch the envelopes.

“Mind explaining what the hell this is all about?” Andrade said.

Norwich snapped his briefcase shut and stood up.

“Call me once you’ve had a chance to look those over,” he said, and then walked out of the bar.

Collins fingered the edge of the thickly stuffed envelope.

“What’s he up to?” he asked.

“Ten bucks says it’s some kind of intimidation or bribery. He’ll try anything to get Hennings off. We can’t open the envelopes here though. Too many prying eyes. Have a look once you’re alone and we’ll compare notes later. If this is what I think it is, we’ll have that asshole lawyer in cuffs by morning.”

But Collins didn’t find a bribe in his envelope. Instead he found evidence of every improper, questionable and downright illegal thing he had done since becoming a cop.

When he first made Detective it had gone to his head. He started hanging out more in the local nightclubs during his off duty hours, and his gambling habit went from steady to out of control. Before long he found himself in debt, and started plunking down larger and larger portions of his paycheck trying for the big score that would fix everything. It never came, though, and Collins found himself owing money to the wrong kind of people. Desperation became a constant.

It was in this state that Collins found himself alone in an alley with a drug dealer one night. He had the guy dead to rights. Plenty of product, lots of cash. Irresistible cash for someone with Collins’ problems. The dealer received an on-the-spot pardon and an obligation to Collins. The new Detective got some badly needed cash and the promise of more to come.

For close to a year Collins rode the insane cycle of skimming from the local dealers and blowing the money as quickly as he got it. Eventually he couldn’t take the stress anymore, so he swore off the cards and horses and football and never looked back.

It was all in the envelope. The package showed what unlimited resources and coconut-sized balls could accomplish when there was nothing to lose. Surprisingly, the report also included a copy of his service records, list of commendations and a photocopy of a memo from Station One regarding Andrade’s consideration for Captain and Collins’ promotion to lead Detective. The message was clear, Hennings had the contacts and influence to make careers or destroy them.

The next morning he got back together with Andrade. At first they were both reluctant to share what was in their folders. Then they made a pact. It was better to know each other’s dirt and work together than to work against each other. An hour later they agreed that fighting Hennings was professional suicide. If they refused the unspoken ultimatum and Hennings did go down, their lives would be destroyed. It was a matter of self-preservation. On the count of three they exchanged packets and read through them.

“Gambling and drug shake downs?” Andrade said with a smirk. “Michael, you’re a piece of work.”

“Like you can judge. Massage parlors, high priced hookers and cocaine?”

The next meeting with Norwich was in a very dark corner.

“So gentlemen,” Norwich said, “this is an opportunity to get something you need in exchange for your cooperation. The contents of these files would end your otherwise exemplary careers. And Detective Andrade, I expect your wife would, most likely, be very displeased.”

“Keep her out of this,” Andrade growled.

“You can send Mr. Hennings to prison,” Norwich continued, “but if that happens there’s a good chance you’ll both end up there as well.”

Norwich waited to let that sink in. Neither of the Detectives seemed to have anything to say.

“Bottom line,” Norwich said, “ Mr. Hennings would be forever grateful if the case could be, well, compromised.”

Andrade sighed.

“The case against your boss is solid,” he said. “To ruin it now we’d have to discredit the evidence. And to do that we need a scapegoat.”

“We’d have to destroy Drake,” Collins said.

They all were quiet for a moment. Andrade looked grimly at Collins.

“You okay with that?”

Collins gave him a tight-lipped nod.

“It’s a bitch, but at this point it’s him or us.”

What followed was a systematic discrediting of the case. Collins played the shocked and concerned partner. Thibido was a willing participant in exchange for a blue and gold shield. All three of the conspiring cops walked away with nice promotions. The envelopes of evidence against them were never seen again, but the two detectives were keenly aware they were still out there, hanging over their heads.

Then a suspect confessed and killed himself.

Case closed.

* * *

Sandy was shocked to find himself standing naked in his living room. The apartment was stiflingly hot. He groped his way to the thermostat and turned off the heat. Where were his clothes? His tongue felt like sandpaper and his head throbbed from a staggering hangover. He saw paper strewn all around the room, and picked up a sheet. It was covered with frantic scribbles. A gag gripped him and he just made to the kitchen sink to retch up foul bile that smelled of alcohol. For a full minute he dry heaved, shaking from the effort.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY

DRAKE SULKED IN the cage. Since his fight with Robin he had not been able to write or sleep. Robin refused to answer her phone and his diet was shot to hell. He was eight pounds heavier and hated himself for it.

He had sent Robin a dozen peach roses and written her a poem of apology, begging her to forgive him. He admitted that his behavior was terrible.

She didn’t respond.

“Sugar, you’re doing this all wrong,” Regina said. “You got to show her she means more to you than just flowers and poems.”

“So what do I do?”

“Bling! A girl knows her man is seriously regrettin’ when he gives her shiny stuff that costs a lot.”

“She’s right,” Serena said with a nod. “When my man does something real bad, he has to come crawling with something sparkly or it ain’t on. And we ain’t even married.”

“Drake,” Edna said and gave him a smile, “listen to these girls. Back in my day all it took was a couple of chocolate bars and some silk stockings. But today, it takes what they said. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You love this girl?”

“Yeah, I do. And she’s never done this to me before. I was always the one who stopped calling. Then when I finally pulled my head out of my ass she was always willing to take me in.”

“How long have you two been together?” Serena asked.

“Seven years.”

“Oh Lord! That fool girl has been carrying your ass for seven damn years? And you wonder why you in the doghouse because you said something wrong?”

Edna chimed in. “What did you say to her that got her going?”

“Just that she might lose some weight if she tried eating differently.”

“Oh my God,” Regina said, her disbelief obvious in her tone. “You called her fat? You?”

“Honey,” Edna said and put her finger under his chin. “You fucked up big time.”

“I know.”

“Then I suggest that shiny thing you buy be an engagement ring.”

Drake thought of all the times she had said it. Is that a proposal? He could feel himself starting to sweat.

“Okay,” he said.

Serena beamed at him. “That’s a good boy.”