Stalker

As Beaudry came in, he waved to a few of his friends. Cindy waved just to feel like one of the gang. Ron Brown was sitting on one of the bar stools, but Tropper wasn’t with him. In an eye blink, Cindy caught sight of someone’s back as he left the place. It could have been Sarge, but she wasn’t sure. There were several others that she knew by name. Andy Lopez was an academy acquaintance. There was also Slick Rick Bederman and his partner, Sean Amory. Bederman was solidly built with dark eyes and thick, curly hair, his face, as always, stamped with arrogance. She had met him once at a party … hadn’t liked the way he had looked at her. Amory was lighter in his coloring, but also projected ’tude. Beaudry must have caught her ambivalence. He said, “Feel like being social?”

“Maybe later.”

They ordered their beers, then took a booth, sipping for a few moments without talking. Beaudry was beating time to the music, fingertips drumming the table. It was soft jazz, the sax singing in a breathy voice which teased like foreplay.

Finally, Beaudry said, “So you did all right today.”

“Thanks.”

“Chalk one up for the good guys.”

Cindy said, “Are we the good guys? You wouldn’t know it by reading the papers.”

Beaudry waved her off. “This ain’t the first scandal and it won’t be the last.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Beaudry picked up his mug. “Still, I’m not losing sleep over it. So you’re sure you’re okay with today?”

“I’m okay with it.” Cindy managed a smile. “I doubt if Tropper’s okay with it. So he’s pissed at me. He’s not the first, he won’t be the last.”

Beaudry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“What?” Cindy asked. “You’re gonna give me some advice?”

“If you’re okay with it, I’ve got nothing to offer.”

“So why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve got herpes—”

“You’re being touchy, Decker. I’m not looking at you at all. And if I was looking at you, I wouldn’t be thinking about herpes. I’d be thinking that you look good in that black pantsuit outfit you’re wearing. That it goes good with your hair, which looks pretty when it’s loose.” He sipped beer. “That wasn’t a come-on. I’ve got a marriage, and I want to make it last. That’s just an old-fashioned, blue-collar compliment, so don’t go filing any sexual harassment complaints.”

“I look good tonight?”

“You look good tonight.”

“Thanks.” Cindy took another sip of suds, then licked the foam off her lips. “So you think I fucked up?”

“Nah, you didn’t fuck up as far as the incident goes. You handled the situation pretty good.” He looked around at nothing. “Nah, you didn’t fuck up with the situation.”

“But I fucked up with Tropper!” Cindy tapped her toe. “Do you think I fucked up with Tropper?”

“Not exactly—”

“What does that—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Beaudry held out his palms in a stop sign. “Give me a sec, okay. You didn’t fuck up with him, meaning that he isn’t gonna make a federal case out of it. But you might think of doing something nice for him.”

“Like what?” She sneered. “Getting him coffee? One lump or two—”

“Don’t be a brat. Just … think about it.”

She laughed. “I haven’t been called a brat in a while.”

“But you’ve been called one before.”

“Oh yeah.”

“It’s written all over your face, Decker. ‘I am a brat. Not only a brat, but a snotty, educated brat.’”

Cindy maintained the smile, but the eyes dimmed. “That’s how you see me?”

“No, that’s not how I see you.” Beaudry sighed. “It’s just that you’re out there, Decker. Like today. You put yourself … out there. Right in the firing line. And when you’re out there, people notice you. Like Tropper.”

“It worked.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Silly me, I thought it was.”

Beaudry wiped suds off his mouth with his sleeve. “Listen, we don’t have to be talking about this. We can talk about other stuff. You tell me your gossip, I’ll tell you mine. I’m just trying to … you know. Tell you like it is.”

She averted her stare. “Look, Graham, no offense, but I’m not in the mood to be dissected.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“On the other hand, no sense being on the outs with Tropper.” She stared at her beer. “What should I do for him?”

Beaudry looked around, then called her closer. She leaned in, elbows on the table.

He said, “Tropper isn’t a stupid man—”

“I didn’t say he—”

“Just shut up and listen, okay?” He lowered his voice. “He isn’t stupid, Cin. He’s got great street smarts. He knows how people operate.”

He waited. Cindy said, “I’m listening.”

“If you ask him to recount an incident, he’s crystal. He can recap from A to Z in perfect detail. The problem comes when he tries to write it down in a report. He’s a fish out of water. It takes him centuries to finish his forms. Writing confuses him. He gets things out of order—”

“He can’t sequence?”

“Something like that. He’s constantly rewriting his reports because the old ones are always messy-looking.”

“Why doesn’t he just use Word?” she asked. “You know … cut and paste?”

“He has trouble with computers. The keyboard confuses him.” Beaudry finished his first brew, held up a finger, signaling the waitress for a second. “Computers probably aren’t your problem, right?”

“Not word processing.”

“And I don’t imagine you have trouble with report writing, either.”

“I find it mind-numbing, but it’s not difficult. I did lots of papers in college. I usually outlined them before I wrote. You know, occasionally, I’ll still outline a report if the incident was complicated—lots of people coming and going. You might suggest he try that.”

“I don’t suggest anything to Tropper, and you shouldn’t either. I think the Sarge got into the academy with a GED. So now you know why he sneers at you.”

Beaudry locked eyes with her.

“It’s something you should be aware of, Cindy. The guys and gals you’re working with are the salt of America. Lots of us are ex-military. We’re G-workers who hate the nine-to-five, but still want a good pension. You’re from another planet—a college brat who somehow wandered into law enforcement. Not only college, but a private college—”

“Let’s not forget an Ivy Leaguer.”

“See, that’s what I mean!” Beaudry pounded the table for emphasis.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to stop smiling. “It was just too tempting—”

“Forget it.”

“Graham, I hear you.” She poked her finger into the suds and licked it. “You know, if the guys think I grew up rich, then they’re stupid. My father climbed through the ranks the hard way.”

“Which brings us to another point, Decker. You gotta stop talking about your father—”

“Ah, c’mon! Now you’re getting personal!”

“I’m just telling you for your own good.”

“Do I do anything right?”

“Not much.”

Cindy looked away, biting her lip to control her rising temper.

Beaudry said, “Every time we start shooting the bull, talking about the day, you say things like, ‘Yeah, my father once had a case like that.’”

“I’m trying to relate.”

“It pisses people off. It makes them think that their experiences are nothin’ special. Everyone wants to feel special. You already feel special because you’ve got all this college. You gotta remember that the average Joe on the force is a high school graduate, maybe a couple of years at a junior college like me. If you’re real smart, okay, you do a four-year state, then enter the academy with the idea of doing the gold.”

“Like my dad—”

“Stop mentioning your dad. He isn’t a legend, Decker, he’s a pencil pusher.”

For the first time, Cindy was genuinely offended. “That’s crap, Beaudry! He was down in the trenches when the Order blew up.”

“Yeah, and a lot of people have said he could have handled that better.”

Her face grew red with anger. “What a truckload of bullshit!” She whispered fiercely. “He saved dozens of kids—”

“But lots of adults were pulverized—”

“He wasn’t in charge, Graham. He wasn’t calling the shots!” She winced. “Ah, screw it! I’ve had enough.”

Beaudry caught her arm before she got up. “I’m not criticizing your dad, Cindy. Just repeating what I’ve heard. You gotta know these things.” He let go of her. “Otherwise, you’re working blind.”

She didn’t answer, staring at the bottom of her empty glass. Beaudry said, “Take a refill.”

“No, thanks,” she said stiffly.

Within moments, a waitress appeared. She wore a low-cut red tank top, a petticoat-red miniskirt topped by a white, ruffled apron, and red heels. Her hair was short, blond, and sprayed stiff. She placed a glass of beer in front of Beaudry.

“How about another for my partner, Jasmine,” he said.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cindy said.

Under the table, Beaudry kicked her.

“On the other hand, another would go down real smooth.” Cindy gave the waitress her empty glass and a ten spot.

Jasmine smiled. “Boss says that tonight it’s on the house. Just as long as you don’t get greedy.”

“What did I do to rate?”

“He’s been watching you. You came three times this week. He wants to reward your loyalty.”

“Tell him thanks.” Cindy forced herself to smile. “Really. And keep the bread.”

Jasmine’s smile turned into a grin. “A cop with class. Be back in a minute.”

When she was gone, Beaudry said, “Ten’s a big tip.”

“Easy come, easy go.”

He slid his glass across the table. “Here, take mine.”

“No, that’s okay.” She slid it back.

He took a long swig. “You’re pissed, Decker. You look like my wife did when I fucked up with her anniversary gift.”

“I’m fine.”

Beaudry waved her off. “The gossip about your dad is sour grapes, Cin. The little guys getting back at the one who’s made it. Any of us would love to be in Big Decker’s shoes. But that’s not the point. You keeping talking about Daddy, it looks like you’re hanging on to his coattails. It also reminds the rank and file that they haven’t gotten as far. Not that your dad doesn’t deserve it. His rep is a good one. But you gotta stop being so concerned about him and start being more concerned about yourself. Start thinking about what you’ve done lately.”

Again, Cindy averted her glance. She reached across the table and took Beaudry’s brew. “So getting back to Tropper … what do I do?”

“Tell him you have some free time and it makes you antsy. Ask him if he needs any favors.”

“He’ll say no.”

“Course, he’ll say no. Then you say something about the pile of crap lying inside his ‘in’ box. You say something like, ‘Hey, Sarge. Lemme clear some of your paperwork. I’m doing some of my own reports. Lemme type up a couple of your handwritten ones.’”

“He’ll see right through it.”

“Yeah, he will. He’ll know you’re trying to kiss ass. But I bet he’ll take you up on it. He’ll act like it’s no big deal. Real casual. But he’ll remember it.”

“And that’ll be that?”

“That’ll be that.” Beaudry looked around the place. It was filling up by the minute. “I’ve got to get home to Sherri and the kids. What’s today?”

“Today’s the twenty-first.”

“What day of the week?”

“Thursday.”

“Ah … that’s our chili night. That’s a good one. You drink up my beer. I want to save some room for the brewskis with my dinner. Chili and beer. Now there’s a perfect marriage for you. If only men and women were chili and beer.”

At that point, she probably should have cut her losses and gone home. Instead, Cindy surveyed the room for civil faces if not friendly ones. Beaudry’s comments had left her disconcerted. She didn’t want to play the role of the stand-alone, crusading against the world. The maverick made for fine fiction, but was a bitch in reality.

What she wanted was to blend in. What the hell was wrong with her?

Ah well, she sighed. She couldn’t change the past, so she concentrated on the present. Andy Lopez and his partner, Tim Waters, were still at the bar. Andy seemed like a straight-up guy. Tim didn’t impress her much. Conversation with them would be strictly lightweight.

Gotta do better than that.

At one of the tables were Hayley Marx and Rhonda Nordich. About thirty, Hayley was a seven-year vet. She was tall—at least five ten—and had short blond hair and sharp brown eyes. Rhonda was a civilian who worked the front desk at the detectives’ squadroom. She was older … in her forties, maybe even fifties. She had deep, smoky skin and short kinky hair that was more salt than pepper. Cindy had exchanged pleasantries with Hayley, but had never spoken to Rhonda. But they seemed preferable to Lopez and Waters.

Beer in hand, she stood and ambled over. Hayley looked up, then went back to her white wine. “Get a load off.”

“Thanks.” Since the two women were across from each other, she was forced to sit beside one. She turned to Rhonda and held out her hand. “Cindy Decker.”

“Rhonda Nordich.” She shook Cindy’s hand. “I worked with your father way back when.”

“In Foothills?”

“Yeah, in Foothills. He’s at Devonshire now, isn’t he?”

She nodded.

“He was a nice guy.” Rhonda chuckled and swirled her club soda. “Probably still is. Why do you do that? Talk about a person you knew in the past like they was dead?”

Cindy smiled. “I don’t know.”

“Well, say hi for me.”

“I will.”

No one spoke. Everyone drank.

Hayley said, “I see they got you partnered with Beaudry.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do you think?”

Cindy was taken aback by the frankness of Marx’s question. “He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Why? Is there something I should know?”

Hayley sipped her Chardonnay. “Well, put it this way. He ain’t gonna qualify for the marathon.”

“Oh … that. Yeah, I already know about that.”

“About what?” Rhonda asked.

Cindy said, “He’s a little slow with his footwork.”

Hayley said, “You know, rumor has it that Slick Rick Bederman requested a transfer because of that. He was wrestling with a perp who had a knife. By the time Beaudry got there, the perp almost sliced an ear off. I’m not saying Beaudry’s not a good guy. Just telling you the pitfalls. So don’t go thinking I’m talking against him.”

“Not at all.” Still, Cindy felt uncomfortable. “I appreciate it. But I’m okay with him.”

“Suit yourself.” Hayley finished her glass of wine. “Are you just drinking tonight or what?”

“I’ve got nothing special on my roster.”

“We’re going to have some grub. You’re welcome to join us.”

Cindy smiled. “Well, there is that two-day-old bowl of pasta in my fridge.”

Hayley finally smiled. “That’s pathetic.”

Rhonda said, “You young ones just don’t cook anymore.”

Cindy said, “I can cook.” A pause. “I just choose not to—”

“Uh-huh,” Rhonda said.

“It’s a volitional thing,” Cindy said.

Hayley said, “Now, Rhonda, if you’re dying to cook for us—”

“After four kids, I’ve had enough with feeding mouths. Only mouth I want to feed right now is my own.”

Cindy said, “What’s good here?”

“How hungry are you?” Hayley asked. “Sandwich hungry? Or steak or chop hungry?”

“More sandwich than chop.”

“Try the beef dip,” Hayley said.

“Maybe I’ll have the beef dip,” Rhonda said. “Although I should have the turkey dip. I’m watching the fat.”

“Turkey dip’s not as good as the beef dip.” Hayley turned to Cindy. “It’s very dry.”

Cindy said, “You know, Rhonda, I’ll have the beef dip, and we can split, if you want.”

“If you’re having the beef dip, then maybe I’ll have the tuna,” Hayley said. “You don’t mind if I steal a little from you … although tuna and beef dip don’t exactly go together.”

“Well, it’s not steak and lobster,” Cindy said.

“Maybe I’ll have the pastrami on rye,” Hayley said. “Do you like pastrami, Cindy?”

“I love pastrami.”

“Now I’m not touching that!” Rhonda said. “Talk about fat.”

“That’s no good,” Hayley said. “If you want to split, Ro, I’ll take something else. How about ham and cheese?” She turned to Cindy. “You like ham and cheese?”

“Not really. I don’t eat ham. I’m Jewish.”

“Oh …” Hayley thought for a moment. “So you’re kosher?”

“No, I’m not kosher, I just don’t eat ham. We never had it growing up. Although sometimes we did have bacon.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” She shrugged.

Hayley said, “So if I had a club, you’d split that?”

“Yeah, I’d split that.”

“And that’s okay with you, Ro?”

“What’s in a club?”

“Turkey, bacon, and avocado.”

“Skip the avocado. It’s not that I don’t like avocado.” She patted her sizable middle. “It doesn’t like me.”

Hayley pouted. “But that’s the best part.”

“All right, so keep the avocado.”

Cindy said, “What are we ordering? I’m confused.”

“I’ll handle it.” Hayley motioned Jasmine over. She said, “A beef dip with extra onions and lots of gravy, French fries and slaw, a turkey dip with extra cranberries, mashed potatoes instead of stuffing, and slaw, and a club on toasted rye, half with avocado, half plain.”

“You want fries with that, Marx?”

“Yeah, you can give me fries.”

“Refill on the wine?”

“Yeah.”

“Another Miller Lite for you, hon?”

Cindy thought a moment. “Better make it a Diet Coke.”

“Why?” Hayley asked. “How many beers have you had?”

“I just finished number three. I’m okay, but let’s not tempt the booze fairy.”

“I’m also on number three.” Hayley made a face. “Make mine a Diet Coke, too.”

“Got it.” Jasmine looked over the order, then at Cindy. “Which order is yours?”

“Why?” Hayley asked.

“Because hers is on the house.”

Rhonda and Hayley started hooting.

“Why?” Cindy smiled. “What’s so funny?”

Hayley said, “Doogle is at it again.”

“Who is Doogle?”

“The horny leprechaun who owns the place.”

Jasmine said, “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re just jealous. Now what’s your order?”

“What is my order?” Cindy asked the others. “The beef dip?”

“What’s the most expensive item we have?” Rhonda asked.

“The club.”

“Hers is the club.”

Jasmine laughed. “You guys!” She turned and walked away.

Cindy said, “Who is this Doogle?”

“A very little man.” Hayley marked about two feet off the ground with her hand. “Hits on all the women.”

“On cops?”

“On anything with a moo-moo,” Rhonda said.

“A moo-moo?”

Hayley said, “He could suck my pussy standing up if I’d let him.”

“How tall is he?”

“’Bout five three. Maybe fifty years old—”

“He sounds perfect,” Cindy said. “Actually, he sounds like my last blind date.”

“He’s got money,” Rhonda said.

“Well, that part isn’t bad.”

“Those types are always stingy,” Hayley said. “You know, I make it, I spend it. You lick my balls, and maybe I’ll give you meter money.”

Cindy laughed. “Been there, done that.”

Hayley laughed, too. “Are we sounding drunk yet?”

“No, just plain bitter,” Cindy said.

“Uh-oh!” Hayley said. “Look who just walked in. Ole sleaze in a bottle.” She gave him a little wave. “Look out, he’s coming our way.”

Cindy turned around, then felt her skin go hot. She hoped they hadn’t noticed, but knew they had. She was saddled with a near white complexion and that was a dead giveaway. She blushed whenever she became angry, embarrassed, or extremely aroused.

Or so she had been told.

5

He was dressed ninja-style—black T-shirt and black cords under a black leather jacket, a blazer as opposed to a bomber. His dark hair was combed straight back, and silvered at the temples. His eyes gave off that wary cop look that Cindy had seen umpteen times on her father’s face. But his body was loose, and at ease. He didn’t walk over to them; he ambled, as if being a detective afforded him rights to which low-life uniforms weren’t privy. He took the empty seat across from Cindy, but he regarded Hayley straight-on. It seemed to unnerve her.

“So what brings you out here?” Hayley managed eye contact while wolfing down the last of her Chardonnay. “Slumming?”

“Some of us actually work after hours, Marx.”

“And what are you working on?” Hayley asked. “The new scouts don’t come in until September.”

He grinned a mouth full of white teeth, while signaling the waitress for a drink. “How you talk to your superiors.”

“You aren’t my superior,” Hayley retorted.

“Not right now, but never say never.”

Hayley looked to her left, at Cindy. “Cindy Decker, Scott Oliver.”

“We know each other.” Oliver’s tone was breezy. “I work with her daddy. Or rather I work for her daddy now. Big Decker is my loo.”

“You work Devonshire?” Rhonda asked.

“Yeah,” Oliver answered. “I was there in Homicide a full two years before Deck came on board—the slimy interloper.”

“Uh-oh,” Cindy said. “Do I want to hear this?”

“Nothing to hear.” Oliver flashed her a mouthful of teeth. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

But the look in his eyes said that was debatable. Cindy said, “How is he as a boss?”

“Depends what day you catch him on.” Oliver turned his eyes to her. “How is he as a father?”

“Depends what day you—”

“Uh-huh.”

Cindy chuckled. “You probably see him more than I do.”

“Probably.” Oliver returned his attention to Marx. “You’re looking well.”

“No thanks to the scuzzballs out there.”

“Was that a dig at the present company?”

Hayley smiled. “I’m taking the fifth.”

Jasmine came over with their food and drink. “Hey, Oliver. I haven’t seen you in a long time. Revisiting old haunts?”

“Wish it were the social thing,” Oliver said. “I’m meeting Osmondson.”

“So you’re doing beeswax. Should I reserve the corner booth?”

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

The table fell silent as Jasmine doled out the sandwich plates—the club for Cindy, the turkey dip for Rhonda, and the beef dip for Hayley. She plunked a beer in front of Oliver. “You know what Rolf is drinking these days?”

“Last time I saw him it was straight Stoly,” Oliver said.

“I think he’s off the booze. I’ll bring over a club soda. If he wants something stronger, he can ask for it.”

Oliver looked at his beer. “You know what, Jasmine? I’ve actually got to concentrate tonight. I’ll take a club soda.”

“I’ll switch you,” Cindy said. “One Diet Coke for a beer.”

Hayley chuckled. “She’s going for the buzz.”

“Nah, I’m fine—”

“Famous last words.”

Oliver gave Cindy his beer. “It’s on me. And you can even keep your Diet Coke.”

Hayley was looking at the bar stools. Andy Lopez and Tim Waters were giving them eyes. “You’re attracting the gnats.”

Oliver laughed. “Nah, Marx, it’s your pheromones—”

“No, it’s you,” Hayley interrupted. “Since you’re here, your species thinks it’s okay to approach.”

“My species?” Oliver said. “Last time I took science, we’re the same species.”

“Not according to anyone I’ve ever talked to.”

“Now that is a very good point.” Oliver’s eyes went to the door. He stood up. “I see my date.”

Cindy turned around. Rolf Osmondson was big, bald, with a sizable belly. He wore a handlebar mustache. He looked as if he’d been exploring the fiords. She said, “He doesn’t seem like your type, Scott.”