End of Watch (14 page)

Thursday—13 Jan 05, Tribeca

I still got it.

Made a spectacular dinner. Pork loin roasted in black currant and apple glaze, surrounded by roasted butternut squash and potatoes, accompanied by autumn fruit chutney and sautéed chard with pignoli and red currants. Washed it all down with sparkling pear juice
—
okay, so pear juice doesn’t have the panache of a Fume or a Chard, but still and all it was damn good. Especially for a woman who didn’t think she’d ever cook again.

Bought everything at Dean & Deluca’s. I’ve wanted to shop there since I was a kid. Insanely expensive but worth it to see Annie’s face when I served her dinner. She’s fun to cook for, grateful, and it makes me feel useful. And I’m
hungry.
Really hungry. Maybe it’s the weather, but I actually enjoyed cooking for the first time since I quit drinking. Maybe because I was in a different kitchen. No memories or empty liquor cabinets to haunt me.

Maybe I should move. Rent the house out and get an apartment closer to work. There’s too many memories at home. Leaving that house would really be leaving Maggie. Maybe it’s time. Leave Maggie, the booze, all the old hurts. Make a fresh start. I feel like Tm starting a whole new life
—
someone said in a meeting that the only thing that changes when you quit drinking is everything. And Tm starting to see that. How old habits and ideas have to go. Like holding onto my pain. It’s all got to go. It’s stuff I have to look square in the eye and say good-bye to, no matter how difficult or painful.

Cried at the cemetery today. Embarrassing as hell but it felt good. Like lancing an abscess and letting all the pus drain out. Felt clean when I was done. Raw, but clean.

This sobriety is a trip. Got to admit it’s kind of interesting to see where it’s going to take me next. Hell of a lot more interesting than sitting on my couch with one hand wrapped around a liter and the other around a 9-millimeter. Hey, Tm a fucking poet! Christ, what a life that was. Fucking sad. And crazy. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Mildly cirrhotic like dear old Da, and mildly mental like dear old Ma. Yeah, okay so maybe I fell close to the tree, but I landed on a hill, baby, and Tm
rolling.
Watch me
—

Frank put the pen down when her phone rang. The number on the screen was Gail’s.

“Hey,” Frank answered.

“Hey yourself. How’s it going?”

“It’s going. No match to the prints but we talked to the groundskeepers at the cemetery and they say the flowers are changed about every two weeks, so I’m staking the place out.”

“Did they know who was leaving the flowers?”

“Nah. Whoever it is apparently comes during the weekend when they’re off, so I still don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman. To show you how unobjective I am about this, Annie suggested maybe it was an old flame and I about came undone. In a normal case that probably would have occurred to me in five minutes, but here? No way. Still don’t like the idea but I’ve braced myself for it. Promised Annie that if and when I see whoever it is, I won’t talk to her. Or him. Just tail our mystery guest and let Annie do the interviewing. Least I can do, right? It’s her case.”

“Well, maybe you’ll find him or her this weekend. Then you can come home.”

“Maybe. With any luck.”

“Would you like me to pick you up when you come in?”

“That’d be wonderful, if you have time.”

“Let me know when and I’ll see if I can swing it.”

“You got it. Thanks. How you doing?”

“I’m okay. Tired. Wish I was still on vacation. Did you hear about Rodney Bentley?”

“The old anchor for KABC?”

“Yeah. During the last storm he called nine-one-one claiming his wife and two kids were trapped in a car that had gone off the road into the LA River. He said she’d called on her cell phone crying that they were being carried off by the current. Two hours later CHP retrieved the car with everyone dead inside. We did a routine autopsy but there wasn’t any fluid in the wife’s lungs, plus she has markings around her neck and petechial hemorrhage inconsistent with drowning. So it looks more like triple homicide than accidental death and the media’s in a feeding frenzy. I even had a reporter waiting outside my apartment when I got home last night.”

“Who caught the case?”

“The Sheriff’s Department. Did Bobby tell you about the domestic you had?”

“Yeah. Said it was a slam dunk.”

“How are they getting along without you?”

“Surprisingly well. Seems I’m completely expendable.”

“Not completely.”

“How so?”

After a long pause, Gail said, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I miss you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Only a little?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Yeah, I’m bad at that, huh?”

“You certainly are. But I had a good time with you. You were fun and easy to be with. Like the old Frank, but better.”

“I had a good time, too. I almost called you a couple times but stopped myself. Don’t want to push.”

“A phone call’s not pushing.”

“No?”

“Um-um.”

Gail sounded soft and willing. Frank wanted to reach through the line and hang on to her. To touch her, smell her, kiss her, make love to her…

“Are you there?”

“Yeah.” Frank opened her eyes. “I’m here. How was the
Phantom of the Opera}”

“Oh, my God, it was fantastic! It was so worth waiting for.”

Frank couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did your friend from the frigid north enjoy it?”

“Yes, she did. Then we both went back to our respective hotels. Speaking of which, where are you staying?”

“Uh, I’m at Annie’s. She’s letting me stay in her guest room.”

“My. That’s convenient.”

“Yeah, it is. Beats a hotel.”

“I’ll bet. Talk about chummy.”

Gail didn’t sound sweet anymore and Frank was happy that she cared enough to be worried about another woman.

“Is she a lesbian?”

“No. Not at all.”

“What does she look like?”

“Annie? She’s Italian. Thick salt-and-pepper hair. Conservative cut. Dark eyes. Great features. A little thick around the waist but fairly trim.” Gail didn’t say anything so Frank added, “She’s handsome, but not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Gail remained silent.

Frank looked at her phone, saw she was still connected. “You there?”

“I’m here,” was the cool reply.

Frank couldn’t resist teasing Gail. “So, this jealousy of yours. That a particular trait of sobriety?”

“Oh, please. Why would I be jealous? You’re not even my girlfriend anymore.”

“We could change that.”

“I wouldn’t want to interfere with you and
Annie.”

“There’s nothing to interfere with. You gotta know my heart belongs to one gal.”

“Hmph.”

Frank chuckled, thrilled Gail cared so much. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“If you’re not busy. With Annie.”

“I won’t be. Try and get some sleep, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

” ‘Kay. Good night.”

“Night.”

Frank hung up, trading phone for journal, smiling as she wrote.

Gail just called. She misses me. Tadow! And she’s jealous of Annie. Excellent. Means I’m still in the game. Like Robert DeNiro said in
The Deerhunter,
“One shot, Nicky. Just one shot.”

That’s what I’ve got. One shot to make this work. But if I’m patient and aim carefully, one shot is all I’ll need. Maybe I ought to kneel down and talk to Annie’s statue. Get a little extra mojo going on. Call Marguerite James and get a juju bag. Went to a meeting tonight and someone said getting sober’s like listening to a country-western song in reverse
—
you get your car back, you get your job back, you get your lady back. No shit. You get your life back. The one you’re supposed to be living if you aren’t busy horking your guts up over a toilet or sucking on a barrel.

Go figure. Anyway. Shouldn’t get too excited yet. But missing me is good. Very good. Big step. Christ, I hope Tm not wrong about this. I want her back in the worst way. I want a second chance. May not deserve one but that won’t keep me from wanting it. That’s an interesting thing, wanting. I’ll never let myself do much of that. Too disappointing when I don’t get what I want. But here I am, wanting Gail, wanting my dad’s killer. Even weirder, if I don’t get either one, I’ll still be okay. It’s like nothing can ever be as bad as the Beretta in my mouth. Or picking up a drink. Nothing can ever hurt me as badly as that. Weird. I love her and I want her but if she says no, this isn’t gonna work, than I’ll be sad but I’ll be okay. I’m not going to flip out. Still, I hope it’s yes. Christ, I hope it’s yes.

Friday evening, as Frank opened the apartment door Annie was slipping her key into the lock.

“Oh! You scared me,” Annie said, hand over her heart.

“Sorry. I was just heading out to dinner. Care to join me?”

“Where you goin’?”

“I don’t know. Thought I’d wander around until I saw something that looked good.”

“There’s a great chop house couple blocks from here. It’s expensive but good, and what the hell, it’s Friday, right?”

“Sure. Your call.”

“Terrific. Just give me a minute to change, huh?”

“Take your time.”

Annie put her purse down and knelt for a quick, mumbled prayer. Frank discretely waited at the window. She watched the street while Annie changed clothes.

“Ready,” Annie called behind her, fussing with her purse. She was wearing a tunic sweater over slacks with pearl studs and a necklace. She’d touched up her makeup, too. She reminded Frank of someone but before she could put her finger on who, Annie told her, “Oh, hey. I got the report back on your prints. No match for ‘em, I’m afraid.”

“Damn.” Frank sighed. “Oh, well. Guess I keep waiting.”

“I guess so. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. At least the company’s good.”

They walked in the cold night and Annie asked, “Quiet out there today?”

“Couple funerals, handful of visitors, but nobody at the grave.”

Annie puzzled, “What are you gonna do if this person don’t show? You can’t stay forever, right?”

“I was thinkin’ of hiring a P.I. Know any good ones?”

“Sure. Charlie Mercer. He does private work. He’d probably do it for you.”

“You’re not just being biased?”

“Cookie, what you and I know together don’t match what Charlie knows. Don’t underestimate him just ‘cause he’s old.”

“Just asking.”

“I’ll give you his number. You can talk to him. Cross here.”

Annie cut through a knot of double-parked cars. Frank followed. As she squeezed between two sedans, a huge pit bull lunged from a front seat. The beast gnashed at a half-open window, growling in a frenzy of slobber and teeth. Frank spun, searching for her gun. It took a second to realize she didn’t have it and another second to realize she didn’t need it. The dog slavered at the air outside the window, but it was safely behind the glass.

Annie laughed, “Holy cannoli! He scared the
crap
outta me!”

Frank stared at the salivating brute.

“Hey.” Annie tugged her sleeve.

Frank didn’t move.

“Frank? Hey. Whatsa matter?”

Tearing her gaze from the dog long enough to glance at Annie, Frank answered, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re white as a ghost. What’s the matter with you? You afraid of dogs?”

“I’m okay.”

“Come on.” Annie pulled at Frank’s arm again. “Look at you. You’re shaking.”

Frank crossed the street, wondering if her legs were going to hold her up. She felt queasy and stopped to lean against a building. She rubbed her right forearm.

“Did it bite you?” Annie asked.

Frank shook her head. “Long story.” She took a couple deep breaths, willing the nausea away.

“You want I should get a cab?”

“No. I’m okay. Just… give me a sec. Catch my breath.”

Frank tested her legs. Annie walked close beside her.

“I’m okay,” Frank assured. “Not gonna keel over on you.”

“You sure about that?” Annie was still peering at her. “For a minute there I thought I was gonna have to do CPR on you.”

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“Well, at least your color’s back. You just drained, my friend. Looked like Dracula’d got hold of you.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I been scared worse.”

The restaurant was at the end of the block. Annie opened the door for her and the first thing Frank saw was the bar. Under the aroma of seared meat the scent of liquor set her cells aquiver. She concentrated on the other patrons, eyeing them as if she’d have to write them up in a report. The hostess asked if they had a reservation.

Annie said, “No, hon, but we’re just two. And my friend here needs to eat or she’s gonna faint dead away.”

After glancing at Frank, the hostess must have believed Annie. Grabbing two menus, she announced with a worried smile, “This way, ladies.”

They settled at a table and Frank studied the menu. She couldn’t help but pair each entree with the perfect wine and contemplated ordering dessert for dinner. But she’d been running on doughnuts and cookies all day so decided on sensible food, telling the waitress, “I’ll have a dozen oysters on the half shell, the beet salad and onion rings.”

“Very good,” the waitress said. “As dinner or as appetizers?”

“Dinner.”

“And to drink?”

A bottle of Chardonnay, Frank thought. Better yet two. “Water,” she answered.

Annie ordered and after the waitress had brought her a glass of wine Annie asked, “So what’s the story with the dog?”

Frank tore her eyes from the glass. “Weird case. We had this Santerfa priestess who we knew was offing people. First time I interviewed her she warned me about a red dog. I just laughed and forgot all about it. Couple weeks later this pit bull got loose near the station and latched onto my arm.” She pushed up her sleeve to show Annie the scars. “Ripped into an artery and did some nerve damage. My thumb’s still numb.”