Blue Smoke (10 page)

“Don't blame you. But you do want flowers, right?”

“Well, of course I want flowers.”

“Let Bella do them.”

“I don't want—”

“Wait. You know the sort of thing you want, you know the colors you want. But Bella knows more. The one thing she has in spades is style.”

“I'd be drowning in pink roses.”

“No, you wouldn't.” Or, Reena thought, she'd personally drown Bella in them directly after the ceremony. “You want a simple wedding, old-fashioned and romantic. She gets that. Okay, she doesn't get why you want that, but understands this is your line. And your day. She wants to help. She wants to feel part of it.”

“She
is
part of it.” Fran pulled at her hair now while Bianca sat silently. “She's matron of honor.”

“She wants to give you something. She loves you.”

“Oh, Reena, don't.” Fran put her head on the table, banged it lightly. “Don't guilt me into this.”

“She's a little bored, feeling a little separate.”

“Mama. Help me.”

“I'm waiting to hear it all first. To see why Reena's taking your sister's part in this.”

“For one, because I think—No, I know she can do this. And at her expense.” She jabbed a finger at Fran as Fran's head whipped up and protest covered her face. “A gift from your sister isn't an insult, so just choke that back. She wants to give you your wedding flowers, and she'll want you to be pleased with them, so she won't screw it up. Quick, name five flowers that aren't a rose.”

“Um . . . lily, geranium . . . damn it, mums, pansies. This is too much pressure.”

“You remember how she hounded those landscapers when she was putting in those gardens, the shrubberies? She knows more than any of us about this, and about coordinating something like this. She said she could do a kind of cottage garden theme. I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds nice.”

Fran bit her lip. “I'm not sure exactly what it means either. But it sounds right.”

“It would mean a lot to her, and I think when it was done, it would mean a lot to you.”

“I could talk to her. Maybe we could go to a florist, or I could go over and look at her gardens again, and she could show me what she means.”

“Good.” Knowing when to desert the field, Reena slid out of the booth. “I've got to head home.” She leaned down, kissed Fran, started to kiss her mother, but Bianca got up.

“I'm going to walk out with you, get some air.”

As they went through the door, Bianca put an arm around Reena's waist. “That was unexpected. You're not one to take Bella's side.”

“I don't usually agree with her. Plus, my gut tells me there's no way she'd screw this up. It's partly for Fran, part for her own ego. It's a no lose.”

“Smart. You've always been my smart one. Why don't we all go look at flowers? The women of Sirico's.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Now, call me when you get home.”

“Mama.”

“Just call, so I know you got home safe.”

Four and a half blocks, Reena thought as she strolled away. Through my own neighborhood. A trained police officer.

But she called when she got home.

B
eing a rookie cop meant Reena was at the bottom of the department food chain. The fact that she'd graduated in the top five percent of her class didn't hold a lot of water once she was in uniform and on patrol.

That was fine. She'd been taught to earn her way.

And she liked patrolling. She liked being able to talk to people, to try to help solve problems or disputes.

She and her partner, a ten-year man named Samuel Smith, responded to a report of a disturbance on West Pratt in the southwest part of the city the locals called Sowebo.

“Thought we were going to hit Krispy Kreme,” Smithy complained as he turned in the direction of the call.

“How do you eat all those doughnuts and not put on weight?”

“Cop blood.” He winked at her. He was six-four, and a stone-solid two-twenty. His skin was walnut, his eyes sharp and black. Out of uniform he'd have looked intimidating. In it, he looked ferocious.

It was a comfort to someone in her first year on the force to be partnered with someone built like a truck. And as a Baltimore native, he knew the city as well as—or better than—she did.

She could see the crowd on the sidewalk as they turned down the block. This area ran more to art galleries and historic homes than the street brawl she realized was in progress.

Indeed most of the people watching the two men roll around on the asphalt were dressed in style—a lot of bold colors and New York black.

She got out with Smithy, moved with him through the crowd.

“Break it up, break it up.” Smithy's voice boomed, and people flowed back. But the two men kept pummeling each other. And not very skillfully, Reena noted.

Designer shoes were getting scuffed, and the Italian-cut jackets were going to be trash, but there wasn't much blood.

She reached down, as Smithy did, to pull them apart. “Police. Cut it out.”

She had her hands on the smaller of the two, and he rolled when she gripped his arm. His other came up, fist clenched. She saw the swing coming, had a moment to think, Shit, and blocked it with her forearm.

Using his momentum, she shoved him over on his face, then yanked his hands behind his back. “You swing at me? You're going to take a punch at me?” She cuffed him while he rocked his body like an upturned turtle. “That'll get you popped for assaulting an officer.”

“He started it.”

“What are you, twelve?”

She pulled him upright. His face was a little scraped up, and she judged him to be mid-twenties. His opponent, in basically the same shape, and of approximately the same age, sat on the ground where Smithy put him.

“Did you take a swing at my partner?” Smithy pointed to the second man. “Stay,” he ordered and stepped up into the first man's face. It was like a redwood towering over a sapling. “Did your dumb ass swing at my partner?”

“I didn't know she was a cop. I didn't know it was a she. And he started it. You can ask anybody. He started pushing me inside.”

“I don't hear an apology.” Smithy tapped his ear. “Officer Hale, do you hear an apology out of this dumbass?”

“No, I don't.”

“I'm sorry.” He didn't look sorry, but he did look mortified, and on the verge of tears. “I didn't mean to hit you.”

“You didn't hit me. You punch like a girl. You people go about your business,” she ordered the onlookers. “Now, you can tell me your side of it while he tells my partner his. And I don't want to hear you say he started it again.”

A
woman,” Smithy said with a sigh when they drove away. “It's always over a woman.”

“Hey, don't blame my breed for the stupidity of yours.”

He turned his head, widened his eyes. “You a woman, Hale?”

“Why do I always get the wise guys?”

“You did okay. Handled that fine. You've got good reflexes, and you kept it chilled when he tried to pop you.”

“If he'd connected, it might've been a different story.” But satisfied with a job well done, she eased back. “You buy the doughnuts.”

T
he apartment was empty when she got home after her shift. A note in Gina's large, flowery hand was stuck to the fridge, along with the snapshot of her extra-large aunt Opal. Gina's deterrent to snacking.

Out with Steve. We're at Club Dread if you want to hook up. Hugh may swing by, too.

 

XXXOOO

G

She thought about it, actually stood in the kitchen running through her head what she could wear. Then she shook her head. She wasn't in the mood for a noisy club.

She wanted to get out of uniform, stretch out and do some studying. John passed her old case files, let her go through them and try to determine accident or incendiary, and the hows and whys.

When she moved to the arson unit, those hours of reconstruction would come in handy.

Instead, she wandered into the bedroom. The reflection in the mirror caught her eye, made her stop, study herself.

Maybe she didn't look particularly female in the uniform, but she liked the image she projected. Authority and confidence. Though there'd been a moment on the street today when she'd gotten a jolt, actively realized how easy it could be to be hurt. Even just a fist to the face.

But she'd handled herself. Having Smithy say so meant a great deal.

Even if she considered herself more at home with books and files and study, she could handle herself on the street. She was learning to, anyway.

She took off her cap, put it on the dresser. Unclipped her weapon and laid it down. Unbuttoning her uniform shirt she frowned at the serviceable white cotton bra.

She was going on another shopping trip, she decided on the spot. For sexy underwear. Nothing in the regulations about a female officer's underwear. And knowing she had something pretty and female underneath would be good for her morale.

With that idea in mind, she ran herself a bubble bath, lit candles, poured a glass of wine.

And read about fire while lounging in the tub.

When the phone rang, she let the machine pick it up.

She listened with half an ear to Gina's bubbly voice inviting the caller to leave a message, then pushed up, sloshing water, as the next voice came on.

“Hello, bitch. All alone? Maybe I'll come see you. Been a while, bet you missed me.”

She was up, water guttering out candles. Dripping and naked, she dashed for her weapon, pulled it out of the holster. Gripping it, she yanked on a robe as she hurried toward the door to check the locks.

“Probably a prank,” she said aloud to soothe herself with her own voice. “Probably just some asshole.”

But she checked the windows, the street below.

Then she played the message back twice. The voice wasn't familiar to her. And the phone didn't ring again.

T
hey didn't make a ball game, or the Friday movie. Her schedule or Hugh's threw them off. But they managed a quick burger at a place near the fire station.

“Gina's packed and unpacked three times,” Reena told him. “It's like she's going on safari instead of taking a couple days at the beach.”

“Never knew a woman who didn't pack twice what she needs.”

“You're looking at one.”

He grinned at her, bit into his burger. “Yeah, we'll see about that when you get there. You sure you got the directions okay? I can put off leaving until tomorrow night if you're worried about getting lost.”

“I think we can manage it. Sorry I can't leave sooner, but Gina's stuck until tomorrow afternoon anyway. The three of us will cruise on down. We should be there by midnight.”

“I'll keep the light on. This works out. Gives me a chance to open the place up. Hasn't been used much this season. And I can stock in some food. I hear you can cook.”

“I was born with a saucepan in one hand and a bulb of garlic in the other.” Plus she liked cooking, the act and the art. “Why don't you pick up some shrimp? I'll make us some scampi.”

“Sounds great. You should make good time. Middle of the week, that late at night. You won't hit much traffic once you're into North Carolina.” He glanced at his watch. “I figure I'll hit Hatteras by two in the morning. If I get going.”

He hitched up his hip, took out his wallet and tossed bills on the table. “There's no phone at the cottage, but you can call the market in Frisco and they'll get word to me.”

“You already explained, Daddy. Don't worry about us.”

“Okay.” He rose, came over to bend down and kiss her. “Drive safe.”

“You, too. See you tomorrow night.”

So easy. Pathetically easy. Nobody up and around in bumfuck.

Take me home, country roads.

Great night, lots of stars but no moon. Just dark enough, just deserted enough. Passed him five miles back, so he'll come right along. Pick your spot, get started.

Pull off the side of the road, open the hood. Could set up a flare, for good measure, but some other stupid son of a bitch might stop.

Only time for one tonight.

Just one.

And he'll stop. Oh, that's a given. Do-gooders always stop, the Good Samaritans. Wouldn't be the first you've taken out this way. Probably won't be the last.

Got the old rattletrap. Redneck asshole you stole it from will just have to cry in his beer. Got the flashlight. Got the .38.

Lean against the hood, whistle a tune. Might as well have a smoke, pass the time. He'll be coming along in a minute.

Lights coming, best look helpless. Step out just a little, hold up a hand. If it's not him, just wave them on by. No thanks, I got it, you say. Just got her going again, thanks for stopping!

But it's him, all right. Big man in his big blue Bronco. And, predictable as sunrise, pulling over to stop, lend a poor guy a hand.

Walk right on up to the door. It's better if he doesn't get out.

“Hey!”
Big relieved smile, shine the light in his eyes.
“Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Hugh shielded his eyes against the glare of the flashlight. “You got trouble?”

“Not anymore.”
And raise the gun, shoot him twice in the face.

Body jerks like a puppet. A mother wouldn't recognize that face now. Time for the gloves now so you can unbuckle the cocksucker, give him a shove. Now all you have to do is drive this handy four-wheeler into the woods a ways. Not too far. Want him found easy, after all.

Flatten one of the tires. Looks like he ran into trouble, and somebody came along and gave him more.

Hike on back, get the gas can.

Let's see now, we want the wallet, want the watch.

Oh no! Poor bastard was robbed and murdered on his way to play at the beach! What an awful tragedy!

Gotta laugh. Make it look sloppy, slosh that gas, gouge that upholstery! Pop the hood, light the engine. Get those tires soaked good and proper. Now step back—safety first!

And set that bastard on fire.

Look at him burn. Just look at him go. The human torch, blazing like a son of a bitch. The first minute's the best, the whoosh and the flash. Amateurs are the ones who have to hang around and watch. It's only the first minute that flashes in, flashes out.

Now we just walk away, and drive this rattletrap back toward Maryland. Maybe get us some bacon and eggs for breakfast.