McCuen couldn't be provoked. Engaging grin still in place, he lifted his glass of club soda and took a sip."I'm just jacking with you, Basile. Trying to get a smile out of you. Besides, if I went near a chick like that, my old lady would kill me. She's jealous as hell.
I've never given her reason to be. I look, sure, but I've never cheated, and we're going on three years together." His record of marital faithfulness seemed to surprise him."You ever screwed around, Basile?"
"No."
"Not ever?"
"No."
"Jeer, that's impressive. All the women you meet. And you've been married a long time, right? How long?"
"Long enough."
"Happily?"
"Are you a wanna-be marriage counselor, or what?" "Don't get pissed," Mac said, sounding wounded."I was only asking."
"Well, don't ask. We're here to work, not to ogle the dancers and not to discuss our private lives. A good way to get killed is to stop thinking about the job and " "Our guy just came in," Mac said, interrupting. He was still looking at Burke, still smiling. Maybe he was a better cop than Burke gave him credit for."He's moving this way. Ass-ugly yellow sport coat." Burke didn't turn around, but he felt the familiar adrenaline rush he experienced before every arrest. An undercover cop had been buying from this guy for months. His name was Roland Sachel. He was a nickel-bag dealer, but only quality stuff, and there appeared to be no shortage of his supply. It was believed his drug trade was more for the thrill than for the income it provided.
He owned a legitimate business, a handbag factory that produced designer knockoffs that sold to discount stores.
Sachel's turf wasn't the streets, but the trendy clubs. He liked to rub elbows with celebrities, professional jocks, and their groupies.
He enjoyed the good life and moved in a circle of acquaintances that availed themselves of it.
Narcotics was operating under the theory that if they could bring Sachel in, even on a petty charge, he might hand over Duvall. The undercover cop working the case had supplied them with information during a secret meeting that morning.
"Sachel is ambitious and greedy. He's all the time grumbling about the boss," and since he's the boss at his factory, I figure he's referring to the boss of his drug business. I think Sachel would hand the boss to us if we offered him a deal."
"Has he given you a name?" Burke had asked.
"Never. Just the boss."
" "But I'd wager my left nut it's Duvall," Mac said.
Pat asked, "You're sure Sachel would go for a deal?"
"He's got a kid who plays football," the undercover cop explained.
"Sachel's crazy about him, bragging always. He's going to LSU next year, and naturally Sachel wants to see him play. It would be hard for him to make the games if he's doing time, even for a chickenshit dealing rap."
Burke hated the whole concept of making deals with people who broke the law. It was a cop-out in the strictest meaning of the term. Sachel would come back to haunt them. As soon as he was free, he'd get right back into business.
But Burke wanted Duvall. He was willing to sacrifice a sleazoid like Sachel in exchange for Duvall.
They had concluded the meeting with the narc telling them that this club was one of Sachel's favorite haunts, which stood to reason since the dancing girls were gorgeous and the crowd upscale. And since one of Pinkie Duvall's dummy corporations owned it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Burke saw Sachel pause to light a cigarette while watching the featured dancer massage her crotch against a vertical brass pole. He seemed totally captivated by her act.
After the dancer's simulated orgasm, he applauded enthusiastically, then moved on, wending his way through the smoky room, gladhanding and calling out greetings, seemingly in search of someone, whom he ultimately found occupying a table in a dim corner.
His first customer of the evening was a well-dressed yuppie who was lean to the point of emaciation. His quick motions and darting eyes made him look long overdue for a snort of coke. Sachel signaled a cocktail waitress and ordered a round of drinks.
"Damn!" McCuen exclaimed, coming to his feet."She was something else, wasn't she? I've never seen anything like that. There's something about a shaved * that drives me crazy. I got to go to the can."
He left the table he'd been sharing with Burke and headed for the rest room at the rear of the club. Burke also came to his feet and pretended to review the tab the chesty cocktail waitress had handed him.
When McCuen reached the door that led to the rest room, he dropped a matchbook and bent down to pick it up.
Burke saw the yuppie pass Sachel what appeared to be a folded bill.
With a cardsharp's sleight of hand, Sachel slid his palm over the money, while reaching into the pocket of the yellow sport coat with the other.
Burke hurdled several tables and was across the room before the band's next drumbeat. Pistol drawn, he shouted for Sachel to freeze.
McCuen was already there, the barrel of his pistol resting on the patch of skin behind the yuppie's right ear.
Two other cops from the division posing as drunken Shriners had been waiting for a signal. They burst through the door leading to the rest room and assisted in the arrest. As he was read his rights, the anorexic yuppie was trembling and weeping and blubbering that he couldn't go to jail, man, he'd fucking freak out in jail. As Sachel was handcuffed and relieved of the small handgun he was carrying in an ankle holster, he viciously cursed the arresting officers and asked what the fuck they thought they were doing.
Obviously they didn't know who they were fucking with. Then he demanded to speak to his lawyer, Pinkie Duvall.
"Ten to one the bastard beats us uptown," McCuen said as he and Burke left the club.
"That's a safe bet, Mac."
'"Lieutenant Basile, it's good to see you again so soon."
"You wouldn't have the pleasure, Duvall, if you didn't have criminal friends coming out your ass," Burke shot back.
As Mac had guessed, the lawyer was already at the department by the time they arrived. A loyal employee of the club must have immediately notified him that Sachel had been caught red-handed in a drug transaction.
"Still carrying a chip on your shoulder over the outcome of Wayne Bardo's trial?"
Burke would have liked nothing better than to ram his fist into Duvall s handsome, smug face and rearrange his expensive smile. Although it was nearing midnight, when one would expect him to look a little rumpled and fresh from bed, the lawyer was wearing a three-piece suit and a stiff white shirt. He smelled of shaving cream. Not a single silver hair was out of place.
Sensing a potential for trouble, Doug Pat stepped between them.
"I'll take Mr. Duvall in to see his client. Burke, they're waiting for you."
He nodded toward an interrogation room where, through the glass, Burke could see the arrested yuppie puffing on a cigarette like it was the last one ever to be rolled.
"What's his name?" Burke asked.
"Raymond ..." Pat consulted the label on the file before handing it to Burke."Hahn."
"Priors?"
"Possession, misdemeanor. He was given probation."
As Burke turned and moved toward the room, Duvall said, "Instead of arresting him, why didn't you just shoot him, Basile?"
Knowing Duvall was trying to goad him into doing something he could file assault charges for, Burke kept moving and didn't stop until he was in the relative safety of the interrogation room, with the door firmly closed and serving as a barrier between him and the lawyer.
He watched Pat escort Duvall into a similar room, where Sachel was waiting. Duvall would advise Sachel to say nothing, which he wouldn't.
But there would be a time when they had Sachel to themselves.
Hopefully they could wear him down and by this time tomorrow night it would be Duvall they were locking behind bars.
Mac McCuen had already grilled Raymond Hahn. So had the cops in the Shriners fezzes. Before taking his turn, Burke poured himself a cup of tepid, rancid coffee, pulled out a chair for himself, and moved it close to the arrested man.
"Talk to me, Ray."
Raising his cuffed hands, the undercover officer took a long drag off his rapidly shrinking cigarette."It's iffy." His eyes darted about the room, briefly lighting on all the somber faces staring at him."He didn't have a lot on him. Right?" he asked, addressing one of the Shriners.." Couple of ounces. They're stripping down his car, but looks like it's going to be clean."
"So it won't be any big deal," Hahn continued."Duvall will plead him out of a long sentence. Not much threat, so there's not much for us to bargain with. Can you take these off now?"
One of the officers stepped forward to remove the hand restraints.
"Thanks." Raymond Hahn massaged circulation back into his wrists.
"Scared me shitless when you charged across that room, gun drawn," he said to Basile.
Hahn still looked edgy. Burke figured he was in reality a cokehead, and that's why he was so convincing to dealers.
"Since this morning, we've talked to several of Sachel's former customers who're doing time," Burke told him."They're willing to testify against him in exchange for early parole. Those raps, added to delays in trial dates, could keep Sachel out of commission for a long time. Say, long enough for his son to graduate LSU without his seeing a single game except maybe on TV."
"It might work," Hahn said, gnawing on a nub of a fingernail."But I don't know. He's a turkey with an ego big as Dallas, but he's no fool.
And for all his complaining about the boss, I figure he's scared of him.
Besides, he could be out on bail while all these delays are taking place."
Pat came in."Surprise, surprise. Mr. Duvall has advised his client to keep his mouth shut. Hope you've got something solid for us, Ray." Before the undercover officer could respond, Burke said, "Know what I'm thinking?" Slowly he came to his feet, rubbing the spot on his temple that was still throbbing."I'm thinking we were stupid to bust Sachel over a nickel-bag sale. We should have held out until we could raid his factory and warehouse."
"He doesn't do his drug trade out of there," Hahn said."I've tried to buy from him there. He refused. He makes a point of keeping his two businesses separate."
"A lesson he learned from Duvall," Mac remarked dryly.
"Besides, we've gone that route and got nowhere," Pat reminded Burke."We've got no probable cause to raid what appears to be a legitimate business. No judge would grant us a warrant." "All I'm saying is " "We blow another bust, we'll never nail Duvall. If it is Duvall."
"It's Duvall," Burke said tightly.
"All the more reason for us to keep our asses covered."
"I know that, Doug, but " "Littrell won't touch a case unless we've got solid evidence " "To back it up," Burke shouted."I've got it, okay?
God knows I've heard the sermon often enough."
"I just don't want another major fuckup," Pat fired back."This department can't afford one, and neither can you."
Pat's shout reverberated around a sudden and uncomfortable silence.
The other officers averted their eyes from the two who were arguing.
"Come on, y'all," Mac mumbled."Stay cool."
It was well known, especially to Burke, that Pat favored him over other officers in the division. Not only because he considered Burke a good cop, but because the two had started out friends. They'd gone through the academy in the same class. Pat had chosen administration over street work, but rank hadn't made a difference in their relationship.
Until recently. The circumstances surrounding Kev Stuart's death had placed a strain on their friendship. Burke felt it. But he also understood where it was coming from. Doug had to answer to his superiors for the conduct and performance of each of the officers under his command. Being the go-between was difficult at any time, but especially when he was trying to protect the reputation of an officer who was also a friend.
Burke realized that Doug didn't want his career sacrificed to that one dreadful mistake. Doug had gone to the mat for him when his stability and reliability came into question following the incident. Publicly and privately, he'd backed him one hundred percent through the trial.
Despite the anger of the moment, Burke understood that Doug didn't want him to lose his head and do something reckless, providing the nervous decision-makers a good reason to seize his badge.
Since the outburst, he and Doug hadn't broken eye contact. His temper now under control, he said, "Give me a shot at Sachel."
"In your present frame of mind, I don't think so," Pat replied evenly."Tomorrow maybe."
'"He'll be sprung by tomorrow."
"We'll drag our feet on the bail hearing."
Burke sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, then gave each of the other officers a sour glance."Then I'm going home." "What about me?" Hahn asked.
Pat looked at Burke."You call it. This is your show."
"Like hell it is," he grumbled. Then, to Hahn, he said, "We'll lock you up for a couple of hours."
"Oh, Jesus. I hate that stinking place."
"Sorry, Ray, but we can't let you be blown or we're really screwed." Pinkie stood up and snapped shut his briefcase.
"You're leaving?" Sachel exclaimed in disbelief."You can't leave.
What am I supposed to do?"
"You're supposed to spend the night in jail."
"Jail? Jail? When can you get me out of here?"
"I'll start working on a bail hearing first thing in the morning.
I'm afraid you're in for the night."
"Well that's just great. Fuckin' great."
"A little cell time will be good for you, Sachel. It might make you think about how stupid you've been."
Sachel stopped his grousing and looked sharply at Pinkie."What do you mean?"
"I mean you're a fool to get arrested for selling to a customer in the club." Pinkie had kept his temper under control as long as the policemen were in the room, but now that they'd granted him a moment alone with his client, he felt free to vent his rage.
"This guy is no stranger to me," Sachel said in his defense."He's a regular. I sell to him all the time. I didn't see any harm " "Shut up," Pinkie snapped."Since when did you become a user?"
"Me? I'm not. Never have been."
"But your girlfriend is."
"Girlfriend? What the hell you talking about, Pinkie? I gotta wife.
A kid. I don't have a girlfriend."
Pinkie hated for someone to lie to him. He hated it even worse when the lie was so blatantly transparent as to imply that he was too stupid to see through it."The acrobatic dancer. Frizzy red hair. Skinny ass.
Small tits, but nipples the size of saucers. Come on, Sachel, you know the one."
Sachel swallowed hard. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his skin turned a sickly shade of pale that clashed with his bright jacket.
"You've been banging her for three months," Pinkie said softly, almost sympathetically."She's swapping you sex for dope. My dope. You're supplying it to her for free. And that's stealing, Sachel.
"Furthermore, because it's free, she's doing so much of it that about half the time she's too stoned to perform. As you know, she's the club's most popular dancer. Men drink for hours while waiting for her act.
They pay well to stay and see her famous back-bend finale, but they go home early if she cancels." Pinkie stepped close enough for Sachel to smell his minty mouthwash."Your hard-ons are costing me money, Sachel."
Sweat rings had formed around the sleeves of Sachel's yellow coat.
"I wouldn't do anything against you, Pinkie. You know that." "Do I?"
He shook his silver head."I've heard rumors, Sachel.
Upsetting talk about you and your ambitions."
Sachel tried to smile, but his rubbery lips didn't quite cooperate.
"You can't believe gossip."
"Oh, I believe it. After tonight, I do."
"Wh ... whadaya mean?"
"Why would a smart narc like Burke Basile arrest you over a couple of ounces? He was careless once, but he's too damn clever to screw around with a cheap, smarmy hustler like you unless he wants something from you."
"Like what?"
"Information. Evidence."
"I'd tell them to go fuck themselves."
Ignoring Sachel's self-righteous indignation, Pinkie continued: "They'll let you spend a night or two in jail with the worst of the worst, let you see how really bad incarceration is, and then, when your defenses are down, they'll offer you a deal. My guess is it'll be a dismissal of all the charges against you in exchange for information about your operation."
"I'd never take a deal."
Pinkie smiled."No, I don't believe you would."
Sachel relaxed."Hell no. I'd never betray a friend."
"I'm confident you won't." Pinkie's voice was deceptively silky.
"Because I'm sure you'd rather do some jail time than have anything bad happen to your boy."
Sachel's bravado collapsed."My boy? Oh God, Pinkie. No. I " Pinkie laid a hand on Sachel's shoulder to calm him and to stop his sputtering."I look forward to seeing that kid play for the Tigers, and so do a lot of other people." He gently massaged Sachel's rigid deltoid.
"Wouldn't it be a shame if he was seriously injured in a freak accident, if his promising career in football was abruptly ended before it even got started?"
Sachel began to cry.
"Wouldn't you hate to see your son fall victim to a tragic accident, Sachel?"
Sobbing like a baby, Sachel nodded.
Would you like some eggs?" v Jv "No thanks, Pinkie." Bardo glanced over at Roman."But I'll take a cup of coffee."
After returning home from the police station, Pinkie realized he was ravenous. He'd awakened the butler and asked him to prepare a breakfast. Rather than being disgruntled, Roman was happy to oblige. Having been saved from death row instilled a lot of loyalty.
Roman carried a carafe of fresh coffee and another cup and saucer to the kitchen table."Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Duvall?"
"No thank you, Roman. Good night." Over the rim of his china cup, Bardo watched the old gentleman as he went down the hall toward his quarters."Not too many niggers like that left in the world."
"I wouldn't let him hear you say that," Pinkie remarked as he broke the yolk on one of his sunny-side-ups."When he caught his wife in bed with another man, Roman took an ax to both of them."
"No shit?" Bardo was obviously impressed."Hmm."
Pinkie came straight to the point of the unscheduled meeting.
"We're going to have trouble with Basile."
"Duh! " Pinkie's fork halted halfway to his mouth. He looked up at Bardo and was pleased to see that the other man correctly read the meaning behind his dangerous expression.
'"Sorry," Bardo mumbled."Didn't mean to sound like a smart ass. It's just, you know, I'd already figured we weren't finished with that Boy Scout yet."
"I thought we could take care of him in good time, but I've changed my mind. I don't think we should wait."
"Why? What's up?"
Pinkie told him about Sachel's arrest."I think it's time we sent Mr. Basile a message."
"Okay."