Shimmer (14 page)

Not doing enough for this guy or his family, that was for sure.

38

It was the first time since the homicide that Sam had made it home for dinner at a decent time.

Claudia, Grace told him, was upstairs lying down, had said she had a headache and no appetite. Joshua was sound asleep.

He had his wife all to himself.

‘I've missed you, Gracie.' He leaned against the wall close to where she was working, watched as she tossed a spinach salad, then reached quickly for her left hand, brought it up to his lips and kissed her fingers.

‘Me too,' she said.

‘So how's our son doing with all this atmosphere?' He kept his voice low.

‘He's great,' Grace said. ‘He loves his auntie, and she's very good around him, takes care not to let things show too much.'

‘Claudia's a good mom,' Sam said.

‘Two thousand miles from her own sons,' Grace said.

‘Is that a reproach, or sympathy?'

‘A little of both, maybe.'

The table was already laid, so Sam grabbed a corkscrew and opened the waiting bottle of Sangiovese, sniffed the cork and set the bottle down again to breathe. Being married to a fine cook with an Italian heritage had zero disadvantages, he'd long since decided, except that these days he found he needed to work out for longer to keep himself in halfway decent shape. Grace liked to keep their food healthy on the whole, but treats like the pumpkin ravioli, and spinach and cheese
agnolotti
that she brought in now and again from Laurenzo's on West Dixie were indecently fattening, and the workouts just got harder and harder as time went on.

No complaints.
Lord
, no.

Sam sliced ciabatta, brought the bread and salad to the table, poured some wine, and Grace brought over the rest of the dinner and sat down with him, smiled as she saw his obvious pleasure, saw him starting to really relax, then served herself and began to eat. Her hair was still butter-gold, still felt like pure silk when Sam ran his fingers through it, which he never stopped wanting to do. It was cut a little shorter than it used to be these days, but was still long enough for her to tie back or pin up, and every hairstyle seemed to make a different statement, brought out a different aspect of her.

Sam loved them all.

Pinned up casually this evening, a few stray hairs escaping in wisps, stroking her neck. Sexy as hell.

‘This is wonderful,' he said.

‘Good.' She'd made
polpettone
, a Tuscan-style meatloaf she tended to prepare as comfort food. ‘Though I made it partly for Claudia.'

Sam's mind went back to the unpleasantness, took a sip of wine. ‘Are you still sure you don't want me to go after Cooper?'

‘That's the problem, though, isn't it?' Grace said. ‘His name may be Cooper, but he's also a Lucca.'

‘Which means what?' Sam said. ‘You can't want to protect that slime.'

‘Certainly not,' Grace said. ‘I just don't want anything to do with Frank. Neither of us does.'

‘I know how you both feel,' Sam said. ‘But if this does go on, if Cooper does come back, we may not have much choice.'

Grace picked up a forkful of meatloaf. ‘Do you think he believes what he said about us owing him?' She put the fork back down, the food untouched. ‘Does he honestly think it might have been easier for him and Roxanne if Claudia and I had stayed in Melrose Park?'

‘I don't give a damn what he thinks,' Sam said, ‘so long as we never have to hear from him again.' He ate for a moment, then wiped sauce off his plate with a piece of ciabatta. ‘I have to say I'm not happy about leaving him out there.'

‘Because he's a creep, or because you think you made him mad?'

Sam eyed Grace. ‘You think I shouldn't have kicked his ass.'

‘I think – I know – his ass needed kicking.' She paused. ‘But a lot of creeps carry knives or guns.'

‘I shouldn't have humiliated him,' Sam said.

She looked at him, her brow furrowed. ‘Do you think he really might be dangerous?'

‘I doubt it,' Sam said. ‘But I think I'm going to be watching all our backs until we're sure he's left town.'

‘I think,' Grace said, ‘I'm not sorry to hear that.'

39

At ten past midnight on Wednesday morning, Cal was in the dump behind Collins, almost ready to go back out.

All silver again. Looking
good
.

He'd brought his stuff back from
Baby
, because he'd realized he just couldn't wait any longer to get out there. Brought his face paint and silver eye make-up and special clothes and shoes. And, of course, Daisy, which had maybe drawn a little more attention to himself than was wise as he'd turned into the alley and opened the door to his godforsaken pit.

Not nearly so much attention as he planned to attract a little later.

They didn't all care for bike-riding, but the fun ones did, the worthwhile ones.

So no more rotting away in this hole, waiting.

Cal the joy-giver was aching to walk his walk again.

First find the
one
.

Then ride away to
Baby
.

Share the joy.

He'd decided to go straight back to Menagerie on Washington, partly because it was one place that opened every night except Monday and was always jammed, but mostly because of the luck it had brought him the last time.

That thought jarred him, made him stop to wonder just what it said about him that he considered that chain of events
lucky
. And then he chose to stop wondering about it.

Life was all about choices, and whatever worked for you.

He'd never had as many opportunities to choose before.

Different now. He was different.

Growing more so every day.

Every night.

40

Sam couldn't get to sleep, which often happened in the early stages of a new case, and especially when progress was as frustratingly slow as on this one. Part of the problem being that cases stayed
new
for such a brief time – and they were already way past those critical first seventy-two hours after the discovery of the crime, which was bad news in itself.

They owed Sanjiv Adani more than this.

Grace was sound asleep, for which Sam was grateful, and Lord knew he was fond of Claudia, but he was worried that this whole thing was going to bring Grace down again just when she'd been getting back on track, and so he couldn't help but hope it might not be too long before her sister felt ready to go home.

He got up as silently as he could, pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, and headed for the nursery for a swift fix of Joshua Jude Becket.

Except his aunt had gotten there before him, was standing over his crib.

Sam stopped outside, not wanting to intrude, but Claudia had already seen him.

‘Please,' she whispered. ‘Don't mind me.'

He came inside, and for a few moments they both watched the small boy, deep in the sleep of perfect innocence, his soft baby mouth slightly open, both arms out to the sides, little hands palms up.

No fears yet in this sweet, trusting human. Even when strangers came to call or stopped to take a closer look at him out of doors, for the most part Joshua either just smiled or looked back at them with interest or, sometimes, open curiosity.

Watch over him
, Sam prayed silently, as he did each night.

Claudia smiled at him, and he saw that her eyes were wet.

He felt guilty for wanting her gone.

‘Cup of tea?' he asked softly.

Claudia shook her head. ‘I'm going to try and sleep now.'

‘You OK?' Sam asked.

‘Getting there,' she answered.

But looking at her, even in the dim light, Sam didn't really believe her.

41

Menagerie was heaving.

Bodies everywhere, thrashing to the pounding music, ninety per cent male, young, middle-aged and older, black, white and all shades in between. Good times.

Cal had been here for a while, and there was no shortage of meat around, that was for sure, but no one yet to light his fuse. He'd been drinking Taaka Dry, which was supposed to taste of juniper berries, though if he could, he'd be sipping a really great Tanqueray, but with the costs of keeping
Baby
safe, not to mention renting the scuzzy pit,
plus
no tricks, he guessed he was lucky he could still afford to buy any gin at all.

Besides, his luck was about to change, because there was a guy looking at him.

Really
looking.

Not Cal's type at all, no
way
.

But there was something buzzing between them, something going
down
.

And if this dude had a wad to match the bulge in his pants . . .

Cal downed the rest of his Taaka, took a long, steamy look right into the guy's dark eyes, and then he turned and walked his
slow
walk, kept on going until he was out of the bar and in the lobby and through the door out into the night heat on the sidewalk.

And if that guy was not following him right now, being tugged along in the joy-giver's wake, then Cal would most certainly eat his proverbial hat.

Wouldn't be
hat
he'd be eating.

42

Mildred Bleeker could not sleep.

It was one of those nights when she just couldn't seem to settle, and usually the mix of ocean and the constant thump of SoBe partying back on the Drive lulled her to rest, but once in a while she got what she could best describe as
spiky
. Not unrelated to what her mother used to call ‘ants in her pants', but not exactly the same either.

Edgier than that.

And the only thing she could do when she got this way was to walk.

When she'd been younger, more vigorous and less unsightly, she'd swum in daylight hours, but as she'd grown older and more wrinkled she'd taken to swimming late at night, which might be against the law but was kinder on the eyes. These days, though, having become less spry, she walked instead, during the day and at night too.

Anyway, as content as Mildred was with her lot, she figured everyone needed a little change of scene now and again. So she window-shopped like other people and, towards the end of opening hours, she picked up little snacks from her regulars, most of them spread out along Washington Avenue all the way from 7th to 11th Streets. Lord knew those leftover tacos and sandwiches were better off inside her than in a garbage can, and on occasions Mildred liked running errands for those good people who trusted her to mail their letters or even make deliveries for them, and there was nothing like a little mutual respect to make the world go round. Though some people's faces when they saw her coming in, say, to the dry cleaners with one of her regular's dresses or suits, could be a picture, but that didn't offend Mildred, no, sir, it just tickled her.

She didn't do trash cans, ever.

‘Never ever,' she'd promised Donny a long time ago, one night on the street when she'd imagined he was watching and distraught and maybe even mad at her for sinking so low.

She had done soup kitchens when she'd had no choice; same with hurricane shelters, but she'd only slept in a homeless shelter once, and as kind as those people had been, it had just about killed her foolish pride, and that was one of the reasons she stayed around Miami Beach, because at least, she reasoned, it wouldn't be the cold that finally got her.

Lord, she hated the cold, always had.

Planting her feet one after the other on the stony sidewalk this night, she hoped she wouldn't have to walk too far before she got tired enough to go back to her bench and sleep, because her calluses were extra painful and her knees weren't what they had been either.

Then again, nothing much was.

43

‘
Call me Tabby,' the guy had said, out on the sidewalk.

A weird beginning, Cal thought, though maybe there was a little something
kitty
about the way the man moved, all dark brown in his silk-looking shirt and slinky-tight pants and pricey looking leather belt, and he remembered seeing a cat one time with chocolate-coloured fur kind of like this guy's.

Good Lord, Jewel would spit poison if she could see him now.

‘I'm Cal,' he'd said, then elaborated: ‘Short for Caligula.'

The other man's smile had been amused. ‘I like that,' he'd said. ‘But just so you know, I'm not interested in paying.'

They were still outside Menagerie, customers walking in and out.

Cal had been silent for a moment, disappointed, and a little pissed off too, because this guy could
afford
to pay.

‘No offence,' Tabby had added, ‘but I don't need to pay for what you can give me.'

‘You'd be surprised,' Cal had said, ‘what I can give you.'

‘Works both ways,' said the other man. ‘Believe me.'

The glint in his black eyes had hit Cal's groin hard, and suddenly he'd known he didn't give a damn about the money.

‘Take my arm?' he'd invited.

‘Don't mind if I do,' Tabby had said.

They were strolling now, sauntering along Washington, first past Mansion (closed tonight, which was fine by Cal, because he hated the types who stood in line and put up with bouncers picking and choosing who got through the doors and then paid through their stupid spoiled noses to drink with a zillion tourists) and then passing across from the great white cop shop on the corner of 11th, and they weren't all that far now from his pit – not that they were going
there
, no sirree – and it gave Cal something of a buzz knowing his hideout was practically under the cops' noses. Still, that was one of the reasons he'd chained up the tandem three whole blocks from Menagerie: too close to the club might have maybe been like leaving some kind of calling card, in case someone had noticed it the other night, and too near the police station was just
asking
for trouble.