The Cop and the Chorus Girl (11 page)

“You look good,” Dixie said, eager to please him. “Really good, honey.”

“What do you care?”

“You know I care, Joey.”

“Not enough,” he retorted. “You humiliated me. Nobody does that and gets away with it.”

“You got a lot of good publicity, though,” Dixie ventured, keeping up with his brisk pace as they headed down one of the paved paths.

Joey didn't answer.

“Maybe people read the papers and figured I was a bitch for leaving you the way I did. Maybe people like you better now,” she suggested. “I think maybe it was a good thing for your image, you know?”

Joey kept walking, silent. Dixie must have given him some food for thought, because he eventually said, “I didn't think of it that way.”

“Well, it's what a few people were saying around the theater.”

Joey's pace slackened slightly. “Yeah?”

“I didn't exactly make any new friends acting the way I did.”

“So, people like me at the theater now?”

“They always liked you, Joey. You're a charismatic guy.”

Dixie buttered him up some more, filling Joey Torrano's already swelled head with an improved idea of himself. She almost managed to have him believing that she was the villain in the story for jilting him at the altar. Joey's mood improved, and she happily realized that the first part of her plan had worked.

“Let's sit down, do you mind?” Dixie asked at last. “I can't keep up with you.”

She was hardly out of breath, but she pretended to need a rest so she could watch Joey's face more closely. She had baited the hook, and now she intended to sink it deep.

Joey steered her toward a bench that overlooked the pond where a dozen or so children and adults appeared to be sailing model boats. A group of teenagers nearby played a portable CD player and swirled around it on in-line skates. A middle-aged woman on the next bench was reading a paperback book and eating a green apple.

“Okay,” Joey said, getting comfortable on the bench. “What did you want to see me about?”

Dixie hesitated. “To apologize, first of all. I'm sorry about what happened to us, Joey. It's all my fault. I know you'll never take me back after the way I've hurt you, but—I just wanted you to know that I respect the way you've handled the mess I caused.”

It was the right speech to make. It polished Joey's self-esteem while taking all the blame and also vetoing the possibility of getting back together. Joey seemed to like the words, so Dixie kept going—rephrasing things over and over until he was nodding and patting her hand.

Maybe Dixie was a better actress than she'd first thought. A few lessons and some weeks practicing the craft on a Broadway stage had certainly improved her ability to tell whopping lies. Joey seemed to believe everything she was saying.

Cautiously, she moved to the next step in her plan.

“I think I'm most sorry about ruining your investment,” she said.

“What investment?”

“In
The Flatfoot and the Floozie.
I know how much you enjoyed producing your first Broadway show, and I—well, I wish I hadn't spoiled things for you.”

“I'm still the producer.”

“Yes, but—well, your initial contract is up. Since we've only been running a couple of weeks, we haven't turned a profit yet. The show will have to close.”

“Um,” said Joey, noncommittally.

“Your investment will be down the drain, and it's all my fault.”

“Well...”

“I guess there's a chance this boxer from California will jump into the show, but he's—well, he's just not you, Joey. He doesn't understand show business the way you do. You have such a natural instinct—”

“I've always followed show business,” he murmured. “It was kind of a hobby for me.”

“Hobby!” Dixie manufactured a laugh. “I wish I had a hobby that was so profitable!”

“I haven't made a cent. Not yet.”

“Well, you could have with
Flatfoot.
If I hadn't botched things up, that is. I'm sure your next show will be a hit.”

Dixie sighed and waited. It was up to Joey to suggest the next move.

Joey thought things over. He wasn't the kind of man to make decisions quickly. The reason he had avoided getting caught by the police was his unwillingness to jump into any deal without carefully examining all the angles.

At last he said, “Maybe we ought to meet again, Dixie. Over dinner.”

“Dinner?”

He looked at her. His eyes were flat and colorless in a face that was otherwise quite handsome. Dixie had been unnerved by those eyes the first time she'd met him, and she still found herself shivering as she looked into them. Joey was not a man to take lightly. She reminded herself that many people close to Joey had disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Joey said, “Yeah, dinner. Nothing romantic. Just—we could talk a little business.”

“I'm no good at business, Joey—”

“About
The Flatfoot and the Floozie.
I'm not a man who backs out on deals, you know.”

“Well, not usually, but this time you've certainly got reason—”

“And I don't like getting muscled by some guy who thinks he's tough just because he bloodied a few noses in a boxing ring.”

Dixie saw Joey's face turn red, and she tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. “Nobody ever said—”

“So let's get together,” Joey went on. “Tonight after the show.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no problem. Can we go to your place in Brooklyn?”

He smiled coldly. “You like my new restaurant?”

“I love Mexican food. You know that.”

“Okay. Meet me there after the show. I'll send a car.”

“Thanks, Joey.” Dixie leaned over and kissed his cheek. She squeezed his hand, too. “You're a wonderful man, Joey Torrano.”

“Yeah,” he said with another smile. “I know.”

Dixie left him in the park. As she departed, she couldn't help glancing back. Joey waved.

And the woman who'd been reading a paperback on the opposite bench looked up, too. She was wearing sunglasses and had a shoulder bag at her side. For some reason, Dixie noticed an extra strap.

As she turned to go, Dixie realized the extra strap belonged to a pistol harness.

The woman reading the book was a cop.

Dixie hurried up the path and caught a cab on the street. She gave the address of the theater and sat back in the seat, wondering if everything was going to fall apart before she finished the job of snowing Joey Torrano into financing
The Flatfoot and the Floozie.

“God, I hope not,” she murmured out loud.

* * *

At the weekly meeting of Sergeant Kello's Organized Crime Unit that afternoon, Flynn couldn't believe his ears.

“She did
what?
”

Detective Lucy Belsano glanced up from her notes. “I observed them in the park for twenty minutes, Flynn. Whatever the Davis woman is up to, it definitely includes our man Torrano.”

“That's impossible.” Flynn controlled the urge to say more. Already his colleagues were looking at him curiously. They didn't need to know he'd developed quite an unprofessional relationship with the woman they were currently discussing.

“Evidently, it's not completely impossible,” Kello remarked, glancing at Flynn over the tops of his glasses.

“If you don't mind me saying so,” Detective Belsano went on, “I think we should look into this Davis babe more carefully. I mean, she's from Texas, right? That's the state right beside Mexico, y'know. Maybe she's more involved than we first thought.”

Flynn fought down the protests that rose instinctively in him and managed to say quite calmly, “Sergeant, did you talk to your friend at Immigration?”

“She's been busy,” Kello reported. “Something big is happening over there, so she said she'd get back to me in a day or two. Until then, we've got to go with what we've got. Can we arrest Torrano on the racketeering charge?'

“The D.A.'s office says it's not a clean-cut case, but it's as good as anything else at the moment.”

Kello frowned for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Let's do it.”

“Arrest him?” Flynn questioned, suddenly worried. “Are you sure that's smart? I mean, if we wait a couple more days—”

“What's the matter, Flynn? I thought you wanted to bust the guy as much as the rest of us.”

“Of course I do, but—”

Kello waved off further discussion. “Pick up Torrano.”

Belsano stood eagerly. “Now?”

“Tonight. That way the D.A. will have an extra day to get their ducks in order.”

Belsano nodded. “Sounds good. Who's coming along on the bust?”

“Hell,” said Kello with a grin. “We've been breaking our buns on this one. Why not take the whole damn department?”

Everyone cheered as the meeting broke up. Except for Flynn.

It's too soon,
he thought.
I need to know how Dixie fits into all this. And how I'm going to get her out of it.

F
lynn arrived at the theater later than he'd intended. He entered Dixie's dressing room and found it empty.

Kiki Barnes flew in after him, wide-eyed and frightened. She struggled with the zipper on her costume. “Flynn! Thank heaven! Where's Dixie?”

“Isn't she here?” Flynn automatically zipped the dress she was wearing.

Kiki shook her head wildly. “Dixie never showed up. Where is she?”

“I haven't seen her since this morning.”

“Then where—” Kiki covered her mouth with both hands as if to stifle a scream. “Oh, Flynn, the curtain goes up in fifteen minutes! Where could she be?”

Flynn cursed. He felt the blood leave his face, and a dizzying wave of fear overtook him.

“Oh, God,” Kiki breathed, staring at him. “Something terrible's happened, hasn't it? Joey did something, didn't he?”

Flynn grabbed Kiki by her arms. “Don't panic,” he ordered, forcing her to pull herself together. “Maybe Dixie just got stranded somewhere. You know her. Maybe she got an urge to see the Statue of Liberty.”

Even he didn't believe that story.

“But what about the...the show?”

“You'll have to figure something out.” Flynn let her go. “In the meantime, I'll find Dixie.”

“Flynn, please be careful. Joey is—he's not a nice man.”

“Tell me about it,” Flynn growled.

* * *

Dixie should have known something was wrong as soon as Jerry, her cabdriver, took a wrong turn just a block from the Plaza. But it wasn't until he had taken her miles in the wrong direction that she figured out there was something definitely bad happening. The biggest tip-off was that Jerry wasn't his usual talkative self.

“Jerry, what's going on?” She sat forward on the cab's bouncing seat.

Jerry was sweating, but he kept both hands firmly on the wheel of the car and his eyes fixed on the road. “I'm sorry, Miss Davis. I'm really sorry.”

“It's Joey, isn't it?”

Jerry dashed perspiration from his forehead. “He's my boss, Miss Davis. I have to do what he tells me.”

“I've got a show to do tonight, Jerry. The theater is sold-out—”

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

“Can you at least tell me where we're going?”

“Mr. Torrano said to bring you. He didn't say anything about talking to you.”

Dixie sat back in her seat, annoyed and just a little scared. She should have guessed Joey had something up his sleeve. He had been too agreeable in the park. Of course he wasn't going to give her what she wanted—not without punishing her first.

Dixie swallowed hard. What did Joey have in mind?

* * *

Flynn called Belsano from a pay phone outside the theater. “You're in charge of tonight's detail, right?”

“Right,” she said, a tough cop who was always suspicious. “What's it to you?”

“I need to know—is there a tail on Torrano right now?”

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“In a car headed across the Brooklyn Bridge, last time I heard. Why?”

“Thanks, Belsano.”

“Flynn, hold it. What are you—”

But Flynn had hung up. He climbed on the Harley and headed for Brooklyn as fast as the bike could go. His insides were tight with fear. Traffic was heavy, so he wove dangerously around the cars and trucks that blocked his way, and sped through traffic lights when he could. For once, he didn't care about his bike.

Dixie was in trouble. That's all that mattered.

Flynn parked his Harley on the street opposite a restaurant called Hacienda. He noticed a police sedan farther down the block and strode in that direction. Two of his buddies from Organized Crime were sitting in the car, both drinking diet 7Up from cans.

Flynn leaned in the driver's window. “Hey, Julio. What's going on?”

Julio Martinez nodded toward the restaurant. “We're keeping an eye on Joey Torrano until Belsano gets here to arrest him.”

“Anybody in there with him?”

“The usual slime.”

Flynn held on to his self-control. “A woman, by any chance?”

Julio and his partner laughed. “Why, Flynn? You looking for a date for once?”

“Just looking for someone. Dixie Davis.”

“What—you lost her?” The two cops laughed some more. “Tough luck, Flynn.”

“She didn't show up at the theater tonight.”

Julio's expression changed. “You think Torrano snatched her?”

Flynn was afraid to answer. He glanced up and down the block, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dixie and taking a second to control the panic he felt rising inside.

Julio leaned out the window. “Hey, Flynn, take it easy, man. You need some help?”

“Yeah. I think we'd better not wait for Belsano.”

“You mean, we go arrest Torrano now? Just us?” Julio blinked, startled. “Without a warrant?”

“Call Belsano on the radio. She must be on her way pretty soon. We can stall until she gets here. Come on, Julio. Dixie might be in trouble.”

* * *

Dixie was dropped off at the back of Joey's restaurant. Her driver, Jerry, apologized again. Then George escorted Dixie inside the kitchen of the restaurant.

Dixie had a bad feeling about the whole operation. She felt her knees shaking as she remembered the tales she'd heard about some of Joey's dealings with employees who had served out their usefulness.

She checked her watch. Almost curtain time at the theater.

None of the kitchen workers looked up from their job as Dixie entered. In fact, they barely looked at each other. The kitchen was eerily quiet except for the salsa music playing on the radio over near the dishwasher.

George hustled Dixie through a swinging door, and she found herself in the dim dining room of Joey's Mexican restaurant. The room was very dark, but she could make out a few tacky fiesta-type decorations on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Perhaps twenty patrons were eating. A single waiter hurried worriedly from table to table. He didn't look too happy to be the only one on duty—or about wearing a gigantic sombrero.

Steam rose in clouds from the buffet table, but the food didn't smell too authentic to Dixie, who knew her way around Tex-Mex food very well indeed.

Joey sat alone at a round table in one corner. He had a drink in front of him, along with several plates of spicy Mexican food he'd chosen from the buffet. He appeared to be taking some tablets for an upset stomach.

Dixie made an effort to look cheerful as she approached the table. “Hiya, Joey, honey. What a surprise! I thought we were having dinner after the show.”

“Sit down,” Joey said, wiping his lips with a napkin and putting his bottle of tablets back into a coat pocket. He jerked his head at George, indicating the bodyguard should leave them alone. George disappeared.

Dixie eased into the chair beside Joey's. “Honey, the food smells delicious.”

But Joey cut across her words, saying, “It smells like garbage and tastes a lot worse. Whose idea was it to open a Mexican restaurant in a Jewish neighborhood in Brooklyn, anyway?”

Dixie didn't point out that it was his idea. Instead she said, “Listen, Joey, if we could just—”

“Just shut up and listen.”

“But—”

He silenced her with a deadly look. Then he said slowly, “I hate to do this to you, Dix.”

* * *

“Absolutely not,” Belsano screamed into the radio. “Don't arrest Torrano until I get there, Flynn! Don't do it! I haven't got the warrant yet! The judge won't listen to me. Don't you dare—”

Flynn terminated the call. “Let's go,” he said to Julio. “I feel hungry.”

The three cops crossed the street together. Then Julio cut around the back of the restaurant with the intention of entering through the kitchen door. Flynn and the other cop waited two minutes, then pushed through the front door. It took a few moments for their eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Julio came out of the kitchen a second later.

Then Flynn saw Dixie and his heart almost stopped.

She sat, white faced, in front of Joey Torrano, who didn't look happy.

Flynn took a breath and approached the table, flanked by the other two cops.

Joey looked up and glared. Dixie looked up and blanched with fear. Her blue eyes were saucer-size.

“Joey Torrano,” Flynn said firmly. “You're under arrest.”

“Go to hell,” said Torrano. “You ain't got nothing on me. I talked to the judge myself.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Flynn continued, Torrano's words not registering in his brain.

“Where's your warrant? What's the charge?”

“Anything you say can be held against you in a court of law—”

“What's the charge?”

“Oh, God,” said Dixie. “This can't be happening. Flynn—what in the world are you
doing?
”

Julio circled the table and took out his handcuffs.

Flynn gave up trying to remember the rights speech. He said, “Dixie, I'm sorry. I should have told you before. I'm a cop.”

“A
cop?
” She leapt to her feet so suddenly that her chair fell over.

“I kept it a secret because I knew—”

“You're a
cop?
” she shrieked, slamming both hands down onto the table so hard the silverware jumped. Her glare began to throw sparks. “I can't believe you'd do this!”

Flynn's heart sank and he tried to reach for her hand. “I know this is bad, but—”

She jerked her hand away. “Of all the colossal nerve!”

Joey Torrano began to shout, too. Then Julio raised his voice to continue reciting, “You have the right to remain silent.” Suddenly everyone was yelling.

“Of all the low-down tricks!”

“I should have told you, but I never found the right time!”

“You can't arrest me without a warrant!”

“An attorney will be provided for you—”

The noise was incredible. Suddenly Dixie grabbed one of the plates of food in front of Torrano. She picked it up and hurled it directly at Flynn. A flurry of stale taco chips hit Flynn directly in the chest, silencing everyone.

As every person in the room froze, Dixie roared, “I demand that you tell me
everything
this minute!”

“Dixie—”

He had no intention of stalling, but his momentary hesitation fueled a fury like no other Flynn had ever seen. Enraged, Dixie grabbed another plate—this one full of diced tomatoes and guacamole. She heaved it, but Flynn had the wits to duck in time.

The plate sailed over his head and hit George instead as the bodyguard was coming across the restaurant floor like a bull headed for a red flag. The guacamole splattered all over the front of George's shirt, looking as if he'd been brutally shot and was leaking green blood.

A woman dining at a nearby table screamed.

Julio gave up trying to arrest Torrano and made a futile grab for Dixie's throwing arm.

But Dixie faked him out and grabbed another plate with her left hand, then succeeded in splatting it directly into Julio's immaculate white shirt.

“Why, you little—” Julio grabbed a smeary handful of the Mexican food on his chest and threw it at Dixie's face.

She reacted by hurling the last plate, which missed Julio by a mile and smacked Joey Torrano in the chin. Joey roared and threw it back at her, hitting Julio instead.

Then the fight was on. Julio backed up and took a defensive position beside the buffet table, where he could grab bowls of soupy sauces and heave them at anyone who moved. His partner slipped in the mess on the carpet and fell heavily, cursing. He grabbed a tablecloth on the way down and yanked an entire tableful of food down upon himself. The patrons at the table screamed and fled.

Except for the teenage son, who yelled, “Food fight!” And he joined the battle.

George fought his way to his knees and began scraping food off the floor and throwing it at Flynn. He hit Dixie squarely in the face with a handful of guacamole instead. He laughed. She reacted at once, fury on her brow, by grabbing an entire tray of dirty dishes from a nearby table and heaving it with all her strength. The crash was incredible. George bolted for cover.

Flynn stood helplessly in the middle of the fray. “What the hell did I do wrong?” he asked rhetorically.

“What did you do wrong?” Dixie cried, staggering drunkenly under an onslaught of flying food. “What did you do
wrong?
”

Flynn tried to defend himself. “Dixie, I never meant things to go this far, but—”

He was cut off by a sailing glob of cold enchilada that struck him flat on the cheek.

Dixie burst out laughing. “Serves you right!”

Flynn felt his temper blow like a tire on the freeway. He fell back like a quarterback evading tough linemen and found himself standing by the dessert bar. He grabbed a bowl of whipped cream and threw it at Dixie.

“Serves
me
right?” he shouted as the white cream exploded on her chest. “Just what the hell are you doing here and why couldn't you have the decency to tell me what's going on? And what
is
going on, by the way?”

Dixie didn't have a chance to answer. She ducked a flying plate of assorted salad items thrown by the teenager and lost her footing in the whipped cream on the floor. She fell down within the melee.

Flynn dived to rescue her. Too late. She was already sitting up and managed to throw whipped cream into his face as he arrived beside her. She burst out laughing again.

Grimly, Flynn dragged her under a table for safety.

“Now,” he said, pinning her to the floor. “What's going on?”

She was still laughing. “Did I ever tell you how great you look in whipped cream?”

Even covered with food, she looked gorgeous. Flynn's chest expanded at the sight of her, and the relief that swelled inside him was enormous. She was safe. She was in his arms. And she was laughing.