hundred small stab wounds, just like the first victim on Sunday night.
His brother, Darl Coleson, had been panicky, so nervous he was pouring
sweat. He had told Jack and Rebecca a story about a Haitian who was
trying to take over the cocaine and heroin trade. It was the weirdest
story Jack had ever heard, but it was obvious that Darl Coleson believed
every word of it.
If Shelly Parker had told a similar tale to Nevetski and Blaine, they
wouldn’t have forgotten it. They wouldn’t have needed to ask what sort
of “strange” he was talking about.
Jack hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.
It’s not really important.”
If it’s not important, why did you bring it up?
That would be Nevetski’s next question. Jack turned away from them
before Nevetski could speak, kept moving, through the door, into the
hall, where Rebecca was waiting for him.
She looked angry.
Last week, on Thursday evening, at the twice-a-month poker game he’d
been attending for more than eight years, Jack had found himself
defending Rebecca. During a pause in the game, the other players-three
detectives: all Dufresne, Witt Yardman, and Phil Abrahams -had spoken
against her.
“I don’t see how you put up with her, Jack,” Witt said.
“She’s a cold one,” all said.
“A regular ice maiden,” Phil said.
As the cards snapped and clicked and softly hissed in all’s busy hands,
the three men dealt out insults:
“She’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
“About as friendly as a Doberman with one fierce damned toothache and a
bad case of constipation.”
“Acts like she don’t ever have to breathe or take a piss like the rest
of humanity.”
“A real ball-buster,” AI Dufresne said.
Finally Jack said, “Ah, she’s not so bad once you know her.”
“A ball-buster, ” all repeated.
“Listen,” Jack said, “if she was a guy, you’d say she was just a
hard-nosed cop, and you’d even sort of admire her for it. But ’cause
she’s a hard-nosed female cop, you say she’s just a cold bitch.”
“I know a ball-buster when I see one,” all said.
“A ball-crusher,” Witt said.
“She’s got her good qualities,” Jack said.
“Yeah?” Phil Abrahams said. “Name one.”
“She’s observant.”
“So’s a vulture.”
“She’s smart. She’s efficient,” Jack said.
“So was Mussolini. He made the trains run on time.”
Jack said, “And she’d never fail to back up her partner if things got
hairy out there on the street.”
“Hell’s bells, no cop would fail to back up a partner,” all said.
“Some would,” Jack said.
“Damned few. And if they did, they wouldn’t be cops for long.”
“she’s a hard worker,” Jack said.. “Carries her weight.”
“Okay, okay,” Witt said, “so maybe she can do the job well enough. But
why can’t she be a human being, too?”
“I don’t think I ever heard her laugh,” Phil said.
all said, “Where’s her heart? Doesn’t she have a heart?”
“Sure she does,” Witt said. “A little stone heart.”
“Well,” Jack said, “I suppose I’d rather have Rebecca for a partner than
any of you brass-plated monkeys.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. She’s more sensitive than you give her credit for.”
“Oh, ho! Sensitive!”
“Now it comes out! ”
“He’s not just being chivalrous.”
“He’s sweet on her.”
“She’ll have your balls for a necklace, old buddy.”
“From the look of him, I’d say she’s already had ’em.”
“Any day now, she’ll be wearing a brooch made out of his-”
Jack said, “Listen, you guys, there’s nothing between me and Rebecca
except-”
“Does she go in for whips and chains, Jack?”
“Hey, I’ll bet she does! Boots and dog collars.”
“Take off your shirt and show us your bruises, Jack.”
“Neanderthals,” Jack said.
“Does she wear a leather bra?”
“Leather? Man, that broad must wear steel.”
“Cretins,” Jack said.
“I thought you’ve been looking poorly the last couple months,” all said.
“Now I know what it is. You’re pussy-whipped, Jack.”
“Definitely pussy-whipped,” Phil said.
Jack knew there was no point in resisting them. His protestations would
only amuse and encourage them.
He smiled and let the wave of good-natured abuse wash over him, until
they were at last tired of the game.