Desperate Souls (5 page)

Jake focused his attention on Dawn. “It’s a good thing he’s a cop, because he’d make a lousy criminal.”

Dawn clasped Edgar’s hand. “That’s what I love about him.”

Uh-oh,
Jake thought.
This is for real.

“Girls like bad boys, but a smart woman needs a good man.”

“I hear that,” said another woman, in a higher pitched voice than Dawn’s.

Looking up, Jake saw Detective Maria Vasquez, his replacement as Edgar’s partner in Special Homicide. Since Sheryl’s funeral, Jake had seen her a few times in Edgar’s company when they were working. She always managed to appear fashionable, even when standing knee deep in a case, but nothing could have prepared Jake for the image she presented now. Her tight green dress, which accentuated her compact figure, matched her eyes, and her curly brown hair spilled over her shoulders. Rising once more, Jake tried to wipe the surprise from his face.

“Hi,” Maria said, looking into his eyes. “Good to see you again.”

“Same here, Vas—Maria.” He held out the unoccupied chair beside him.

“Thank you. It’s nice to be around a man with manners for a change.” Winking at Dawn, she said, “I’m stuck driving around with this one all day.”

“You’re tougher than me,” Edgar said.

“You got that right.” Maria turned to Jake. “So what do you think?”

Jake looked around the table. “I just met her, and I already think she’s too good for him.”

“I can see this is going to be a long night,” Edgar said, and laughter circled the table.

A waiter with gray hair came over to the table and smiled at Maria, then Jake. “May I get you something to drink?”

“What are you all having?” Maria said.

“A Manhattan,” Dawn said, gesturing to her half-full glass.

“Martini,” Edgar said.

Maria turned to her right. “Jake?”

“Uh, I’ll just have a lemon-lime soda.”

“I’ll have the same.” Maria smiled at the waiter.

“No, don’t hold back on my account,” Jake said.

“It’s okay—”

“No, I insist. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Okay, in that case I’ll have a Scotch on the rocks.”

“Very good,” the waiter said and left the table.

“I’ve never met a private eye before,” Dawn said to Jake. “It sounds awfully exciting and romantic.”

“It’s neither. No femme fatale has ever walked into my office, and I have yet to stumble over a murder or a conspiracy while shadowing an unfaithful spouse. My job involves a lot of boring surveillance, nothing like what you see on TV or in the movies.”

“He’s just being honest,” Edgar said in a deadpan voice.

“Do you have a card?” Dawn said.

Jake fished for his wallet and took out a business card, which he handed to Dawn.

“’Helman Investigations and Security,’“ she read. “May I?”

“By all means. Would anyone else like a card? I need all the business I can get.”

“Sure,” Maria said, and Jake handed one to her.

“I’ll pass,” Edgar said with a dismissive smile.

The waiter returned with their drinks.

“To Edgar and Dawn,” Jake said, raising his glass.

“To two beautiful women,” Edgar said.

The four of them touched their glasses.

“Mm, I love soul food,” Maria said to Jake. “Don’t you?” “Absolutely.”

“This is delicious,” Dawn said. “But I grew up in Louisiana. I love Creole cooking.”

“There’s a great Cajun place next to my office on Twenty-third Street,” Jake said. “You should try it sometime.”

“How about next week?” Edgar said. “We could make it a foursome again.”

An embarrassed silence hung in the air.

“Subtle,” Maria said, staring at her plate.

Beneath the table, Edgar swung his knee against Jake’s.

“Why not?” Jake said. “The three of you coordinate your schedules and let me know what night works best. If we can’t manage it, we’ll do it for sure the following week.”

“Then it’s settled,” Edgar said before turning to Jake. “Hey, Maria and I are working with a couple of your other ex-partners.”

Jake cocked his right eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Here we go,” Dawn said to Maria.

Edgar swallowed his food. “Yeah, Brown and Beck from Narcotics. The bosses think our Machete Massacres are related to Black Magic, so they’ve combined our investigations, sort of an unofficial task force because they don’t have the manpower to spread around. I’m in charge.”

Jake felt his gut tighten. He had worked with Gary Brown and Frank Beck for three years in SNAP—the Street Narcotics Apprehension Program—based in Alphabet City. Because of his time in the HERCULES Counterterrorism Unit after 9/11, he had found a path into Homicide, whereas Brown and Beck never made it out of Narcotics. The two men had become detectives just like Jake, but after so many years in Narcotics, they would never escape that unit.

“Congratulations,” Jake said. “But I’d watch your step around Gary and Frank.”

“You saying they’re bad apples?” Maria said.

“No, I’m not saying that,” Jake said. “I never had any problems with them. Just watch your backs is all.”

“Narcotics is a bad place to be,” Edgar said, as if explaining anything Brown and Beck might have done in the past.

“True that,” Jake said.

Dawn set down her fork. “I’m done. I want to save room for dessert.”

“I hear you,” Maria said. “Something with chocolate and nuts.”

A cell phone chimed at the table, and Edgar took out his phone. Frowning, he answered the call. “Hopkins.” As he listened, his expression turned grim. “Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.” Hanging up, he turned to Maria. “No dessert for us. We got a bad one across 110th Street.” He lowered his voice. “Another Machete Massacre.”

Maria smacked her lips. “I’m on a diet anyway.”

Edgar turned to Jake. “Hey, do you mind driving Dawn home?”

Dawn said, “Oh, that isn’t necessary …”

“I don’t mind,” Jake said. “Order your dessert.”

“I’m driving,” Edgar said to Maria.

“Good,” she said, gulping her drink before rising.

“You want to stop at your place first, so you can change?”

Maria looked at her dress. “After I went through all the trouble of fixing myself up? Not on your life.” She and Jake traded smiles. “See you around, right?”

Jake stood. “Count on it.”

“Good night, Dawn.”

“See you, Maria.”

Leaning across the table, Edgar kissed Dawn on the lips. “See you later?” “I’ll wait up,” she said.

Edgar squeezed Jake’s shoulders. “Dinner’s on me next time.”

“Suuuuuuuure …”

Edgar and Maria headed out of the restaurant together.

“There go two of the best dressed cops in Homicide,” Jake said, and Dawn laughed.

“Nice car,” Dawn said as Jake drove his Chevy Malibu down Second Avenue. The sun had set, and young people loitered outside the bars.

“I think you’re being sarcastic,” Jake said. “I wanted a hybrid, but I couldn’t afford it.”

“It gets you where you need to go, right?”

“It does more than that. I spend a lot of time in this car on stakeout. It’s like a second office.”

“And your office is your home,” Dawn said, running the middle finger of her right hand over the Malibu’s armrest.

“Edgar told you about that, huh?”

Dawn nodded. “Don’t be mad at him. I think it’s sweet that you didn’t want to live in your old apartment without your wife.”

Jake did not feel like discussing Sheryl with Dawn. “I’ll get a new apartment eventually, but the rent on that office is high, even with deductions. For now, while I get my life back together, the office suits my needs fine. When you own your own business and have to put in long hours, it makes sense.”

“I know,” Dawn said in an agreeable voice.

“What sort of publicity do you do?”

She shrugged. “Where’s Old Nick?”

Jake’s blood chilled. Even after almost a year, the phrase elicited fear in him.

Dawn grinned, oblivious to his sudden discomfort. “You name it: authors, athletes, musicians. Anyone who can afford to hire someone to help make them famous. I divide my time between here and L.A., but I have a few clients in Chicago as well.”

“Edgar told me you got box seats for the Knicks at the Garden.”

“Say the word and I can get them for you, too.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll let you know. You said you were raised in Louisiana. What led you into publicity?”

“Getting out of Louisiana,” she said, laughing. “I was born here in the city, so I guess I’ve always been a city girl at heart. I’m damned good at what I do.”

“Edgar thinks you can do no wrong.”

“That’s my man.”

Jake slowed down as they passed 105th Street.

“On the right,” Dawn said.

Jake pulled over to a six-story apartment building next to a construction site. “Nice location.”

“It’s an up-and-coming neighborhood, as they say.”

“Doorman?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

“What I really want is to live on the top floor of that building when it’s finished.”

Jake looked beyond the plywood fence surrounding the construction site at the skeletal frame of the high-rise in the making. “Looks like twenty floors.”

“They’re already taking applications. I submitted mine.”

Jake offered her a supportive smile. “Steep.”

“I’m working hard for it.” She grinned. “Listen to me, broadcasting my ambitions.”

“That’s okay. It’s refreshing when someone knows what they want and goes after it. So many people just talk about what they want out of life.”

“How about you? Do you know what
you
want?”

He thought about it. “Not anymore. My life’s changed, and it can never go back to what it was. I’m just trying to find my way.”

“Well, it was very nice meeting you.” She offered her hand. “I know you’ll figure things out.”

He shook her hand. “Thanks, Dawn.” He watched her get out and enter her building, walking with confidence. Edgar had done all right for himself.

Time for work,
he thought, gazing at the night sky.

“You seem happy,” Maria said, watching Edgar from the corner of her eye.

“Life is good,” Edgar said as they rolled down Broadway in the unmarked Dodge Charger he had signed out from the motor pool for the night, one of the perks of being on call for task force business.

“Speak for yourself. You aren’t a woman pushing thirty. Dawn got her hands on you just in time.”

“You’re only twenty-eight.”

“My clock is ticking, partner. You know what it is to be a Puerto Rican woman with no kids at my age?”

“Hey, you made certain choices and sacrifices. You’ve got a lot to show for your hard work: you’re the youngest detective in Special Homicide and the only female.”

“Still…”

“You’re right where you want to be, so stop pretending to feel sorry for yourself.”

“You think your boy likes me?”

“Martin? Sure.”

She clucked her tongue. “Don’t play yourself. Jake.”

“Oh, Jake. Jake is complicated. He likes you, but…”

“But what?”

“He’s still in mourning.”

“It’s been a year …”

“Eleven months. He’s still hurting inside, and he isn’t ready.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“You don’t want to be his rebound tail anyway.”

“Like I ever
would
be. Now you’re being stupid.” She looked out the window at the emaciated bodies walking the sidewalks. “Look at all these scarecrows. It’s like one of those old newsreels of the concentration camp survivors.”

“It’s night. Time for them to score.”

“Is this what the crack epidemic was like in the eighties?”

“How old do you think I am? I wasn’t a cop in the eighties.”

“You were
alive,
weren’t you? Because I was like five years old.”

“Yeah, I was alive. It wasn’t exactly a prosperous time in the black community during the Reagan years. I don’t know what did more damage, the Man or the drug.”

“Yo, Edgar, you’re my rabbi, right? I mean, you taught me damn near everything I know about being a murder police.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m your Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you’re my Grasshopper.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you took the sergeant’s exam?”