Fat Tuesday (15 page)

"I can't discuss it with you until we strike a deal."

"That's not fair."

"Hell, no, it's not fair. But that's the gig, take it or leave it."

"Would I be working with Mac McCuen?"

"Why?" Burke winked at him."Got a crush on Mac?"

"Fuck you, Basile."

"Not in this lifetime, pal. I've noticed you ogling Mac, but if your heart is set on him, you just as well forget it. He's got a hot-to-trot wife who thinks his cock is a magic wand. Now, do we have a deal. Or not, because the offer is only good for another thirty seconds."

"If I say yes ..."

"You get off the hook this time. Otherwise we go uptown right now, and I book you."

"On what charge?"

"Soliciting me for sex in the men's room in the park. Twenty seconds."

"I didn't!"

"Because I didn't give you a chance."

"So you can't charge me."

"Of course I can. Who're they gonna believe, you or me?"

"Shit."

"Ten seconds."

Gregory dug into his wavy black hair with his fingers."You give me no choice."

"Not true. You can choose to say no. Maybe jail won't be so bad this time."

Gregory raised his head and looked at Burke with poignancy."Do you know what they do to guys like me in there?"

Burke did know, and at that moment he hated himself for manipulating the pitiful young man. And in Burke's human eyes, Gregory was pitiful.

But he had to view him through a cop's eyes, too. One of his offenses had taken place on a playground. It was hard to drum up compassion for a guy who'd exposed himself to a class of preschoolers.

"Time's up. What's it going to be?"

"What do you think?" Gregory mumbled dejectedly.

"Good." Burke stood up and moved to the coffeemaker to refill his cup, then patted Gregory's shoulder as he returned to his bar stool.

"Don't look so glum. This will be a challenging acting job. It could make your career."

I'll bet." Gregory glanced over at him."Tell me something, Basile.

How in hell did you know about the guy last night?"

It was an honest question that deserved an honest answer. Looking Gregory square in the eye, Burke replied, "I didn't. Lucky guess."

The following morning, Burke locked the door of his apartment on his way out, turned toward the stairs, and ran into Wayne Bardo's He landed ignominiously on his backside. Standing over him, Bardo laughed.

"Everybody says you're an asshole, Basile. I'm beginning to believe it."

His jaw throbbing, Burke came slowly to his feet. He wanted nothing better than to duck his head and ram it into the son of a bitch's gut He might get in a few good punches, but he was more curious than anvrv For the time being. Burke elected to spar verbally.

"Well at least I don't dress like a faggot. I bet the person who sold you that purple shirt is still laughing about it."

Although Bardo kept his smirk in place, Burke could tell the insult had hit home. He retaliated by saying sarcastically, "Nice digs, Basile."

"Thanks."

Burke didn't bother to ask how Bardo had located him. Duvall had a more sophisticated tracking system than that of the N.O.P.D, the FBI, the DEA, or any other law enforcement agency local, state or federal.

That's why he would never be convicted in court. There was only one way to stop Duvall and his machine, and Burke was going to do it.

It worried him that they knew where he lived. That meant that they'd been keeping tabs on him. Did they know he had tailed Mrs. Duvall yesterday? If not, why was Bardo here so bright and early?

As though reading his mind, he said, "Mr. Duvall wants to see you."

"Duvall can kiss my ass. And so can you."

Bardo stepped closer."Good. I like that. You're going to make this difficult. Please do. I'd purely love to hammer the shit out of you and leave it here on the landing to stink."

Burke wasn't intimidated by the threat, but he was curious to know how much they knew. Shrugging, he said, "Lead the way."

"No, after you." Bardo pushed him toward the stairs. Burke lost his balance and stumbled down to the first floor. When they reached the front of the building, Bardo shoved him again toward the street where a late-model Cadillac was parked at the curb.

"Hey, Wayne," Burke taunted, "when were you demoted from hit man to errand boy? Did Duvall take away your knives?"

"Shut up and keep your hands where I can see them."

"I'm not armed."

"You think I'm an idiot?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah."

When they reached the car, Bardo patted him down, then ran his hands down both inseams of Burke's trousers, finding nothing.

"Told you," Burke said.

"Get in, wiseass."

As he stepped into the car, Burke grinned."Admit it, Wayne. That purple shirt is getting to you. You just wanted to feel me up."

Pinkie Duvall's law offices were as swank as his house, but entirely different. Here, the decor was sleek and contemporary. His secretaries and paralegals were leggy and gorgeous. No office machinery was visible to visitors and clients, only clean surfaces of marble and polished wood. The telephones didn't ring, they chimed in muted bell tones.

Pinkie was behind his desk when a secretary announced that Mr. Basile had arrived, as though this wasn't a command appearance, as though he was keeping an appointment, as though he hadn't been forced to come here under threat of bodily harm.

Duvall didn't stand when he and Bardo walked in. Burke knew the slight was intentional, calculated to make him feel like axplebeian going before his ruler. Duvall said, "Hello, Mr. Basile."

"Duvall." Petty, maybe, but he got in his slight, too.

Pinkie pretended not to notice."Have a seat."

Burke took a chair facing the desk, which was slightly larger than a Ping-Pong table. On it, a picture of Remy Duvall was encased in an ornate silver frame. He pretended not to notice it.

"Would you like something to drink?" Pinkie offered.

"Such as hemlock?"

Duvall smiled."I was thinking more along the lines of coffee."

"I don't want anything."

"Thank you for coming."

"I didn't come. I was brought."

Burke propped his ankle on his opposite knee and glanced over his shoulder at Bardo, who'd taken a seat on the sofa against the wall.

Burke disliked having his back to a man he knew was a killer, but he supposed if Duvall had sent Bardo to pop him this morning, he'd be dead by now.

When he turned back at Duvall, he sensed his amusement. He was waiting for Burke to ask what the hell this interview was about. Burke would have petrified before asking. Why give Duvall the satisfaction of seeing his curiosity, or fear? This meeting was his idea. Let him commence it.

After a lengthy standoff, Duvall finally said, "I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to see you."

Burke shrugged indifferently.

"I've heard some surprising news."

"Yeah, what?"

"You've resigned from the police department."

"Your sources have always been excellent."

"Your resignation creates a large hole in the Narcotics Division."

"I doubt that."

"You're too modest."

"I'm also too busy to sit here all day and bullshit with you about something that's none of your business."

Again, Duvall refused to be provoked."Early retirement?"

"Maybe."

"Why'd you quit?"

"None of your damn business."

"What do you plan to do?"

Burke shook his head with disbelief and spread his arms wide.

"You're forcing me to repeat myself."

Duvall gave him a measured look."My guess is that you resigned because you're still upset over the verdict of Mr. Bardo's trial.

We won, you lost, and you took the defeat personally. Doesn't the term 'sore loser' apply, Mr. Basile?"

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you? It would boost your colossal ego to believe that you have that much influence over the choices I make. Well, sorry to disappoint, but you couldn't be more wrong."

Duvall smiled in a way that indicated he knew Burke was lying.

"You want to know the point of this meeting?"

"Or not. I really couldn't care less."

"Now that we're no longer on opposing sides, I'd like to offer you a job in my organization."

Burke Basile didn't have a sharp sense of humor. In the mirth and merrymaking department, he never lost control. In fact, it was common knowledge that he seldom smiled. Audible laughter was even rarer than that. It had been the unfulfilled ambition of many of his colleagues to make Burke Basile break up with hilarity.

They wouldn't have recognized the hearty laughter that burst out of him at Duvall's absurd statement."Come again?" "I believe I made myself clear," Duvall said, no longer looking amused.

"Oh, I heard you. I just can't believe what I heard. You want me to come to work for you? Doing what?"

"A man of your experience could be valuable to me. More valuable than you were to the police department." Reaching into his desk drawer, he withdrew several sheets that had been paper-clipped together.

He held them up for Burke to see."A copy of your tax return for last year. Shameful, the pittance society pays the men and women who protect it."

Duvall wouldn't have had too much trouble getting his hands on a copy of his tax return. It could have come to him through anyone from an IRS employee to Burke's postman. He didn't care that Duvall knew how much, or how little, he had earned at his former job. What bothered him was that Duvall had such easy access to him. That, he felt, was also the point Duvall was making.

"I'm no longer a cop," Burke said, "but make no mistake, Duvall.

You and I are still on opposing sides. Fact is, we're poles apart."

"Before taking that moral stance, shouldn't you at least hear the job I have in mind?"

"Doesn't matter what it is or how much it pays. For all your fancy surroundings," he said, giving the well-appointed office a glance, "you're maggot shit. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, so I sure as hell wouldn't work for you."

Burke stood up and headed for the door. Duvall ordered him to sit back down. Bardo lunged toward him and would have thrown a body tackle if Burke hadn't thrust his hand into Bardo's sternum, stopping him cold.

"You put your hands on me again and I'll break your freaking neck."

The warning carried enough impetus to make Bardo reconsider. He remained where he was, but his eyes glowed with hatred.

Burke looked across at Duvall."I'm not interested in your job."

"Really? That's odd." Unruffled, Duvall folded his hands on top of his desk. He even smiled sympathetically as he said softly, "Because I have very good reason to believe that you might be. Don't I, Basile?"

The two men stared at each other. The distance between them seemed to shrink, until Burke could almost make out his reflection in Duvall's black pupils. It was a haunted man who stared back at him.

He dropped his hand from Bardo's chest."Go fuck yourself, Duvall."

Duvall's smile widened."Tell you what, I'll keep the position open for you. Think about it and get back to me."

"Yeah. I'll do that. I'll get back to you." Just not in the way you expect, you smug son of a bitch. Burke looked over at Bardo."No need for you to see me home." Then to Duvall, he added, "I know my way."

At precisely two thirty in the afternoon, Remy Duvall entered the church. Confession was heard between three and five o'clock but because the Duvalls were generous contributors, Remy was afforded the courtesy of having her confession heard early. Pinkie had arranged it so that by three o'clock, when other parishioners began to arrive, she was already safely in the limo and on her way home.

Errol stationed himself just inside the church door, where Remy would be constantly in his sight. She moved down one of the side aisles, genuflected at the end of a row, and slipped into the pew.

Retrieving her rosary from her handbag, she pulled down the kneeling bench and got on her knees to pray.

Even after her prayers were finished, she remained with head bowed and eyes closed. This half hour spent in church each day was precious to her. Pinkie ridiculed her for being excessively devout, but aside from her Catholic faith, there was another reason why she regularly came to pray: This was the only time she was entirely alone.

Even when she went to the gazebo, there were always people around the house, full- or part-time workers doing one job or another. Since the day she married Pinkie, she had never been in her house by herself.

Before that, she had lived at Blessed Heart in a dormitory with other girls. And before that, she'd shared a single room with her mother.

There, she'd been left alone every night while Angel went to work.

But on those nights alone, Remy had been too young and too afraid of the raucous noise on the streets and in the neighboring apartments to appreciate the solitude.

Here in the cathedral, she was both safe and alone. She savored the stillness, the quiet. She loved watching the ever-changing mosaic of color that the stained-glass windows cast on the walls. The flickering of the candles and the soft organ music were calming. She loved the freedom from watchful eyes.

Today in her prayers, she asked God for wisdom and courage. She needed wisdom to devise a plan to protect Flarra, and the courage to carry out that plan. For the time being, Flarra was safely ensconced in the academy and would remain there until she graduated. Then what? She placed the problem in God's hands, although she couldn't give over worrying about it.

Finally, she asked for forgiveness, or tried to. The words wouldn't come. She couldn't acknowledge, even in her own mind, the transgression that haunted her and made her appear ill to those around her. Some sins were too great to lay before God. If she couldn't forgive herself, why should He forgive her?

Glancing toward the confessional, she saw that the light had been turned on. The priest was -waiting for her. She moved from the pew to the confessional and went in.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession."