Dirty Martini

CHAPTER 14

I SPENT ALL DAY in the hospital, by Latham’s side. I held his hand, cried, and listened to the doctors tell me there was nothing else they could do but hope the toxin’s progression was stopped in time.

Latham didn’t regain consciousness.

Since I wasn’t a relative I wasn’t allowed to stay overnight, even though I flashed my badge and made threats. They kicked me out when visiting hours ended.

Not having any other options, I went home.

Sleep wasn’t going to happen. When all went well in Jack’s world, getting to sleep was difficult. With everything currently going on, sleep would be impossible.

Instead, I worked out my frustration the way my mother always did. I cleaned the house.

I began by just tidying up, but that progressed to knee pads and rubber gloves and Lysol and Pine-Sol and ammonia. Everywhere I looked I saw germs, poisons, toxins. I individually bagged all the food Latham had bought at the deli and set it outside on the porch, and then threw away every other piece of food in the refrigerator and scrubbed it out with bleach.

Then I scoured the sink, disinfected the garbage can, mopped the floors, hosed down the bathroom, washed the bedsheets and pillowcases, and then the pillows themselves and the comforter. And, dressed in my Kevlar vest, safety goggles, and two oven mitts, I gave Mr. Friskers a bath.

He didn’t like it.

After applying hydrogen peroxide to the gashes on my arm and cheek, I broke out the vacuum and wondered if I had time to do a room or two before I needed to get ready for work. My mother’s bedroom was the smallest, so I figured I could at least get that one done.

I plugged the vacuum cleaner in, pushed Mom’s twin bed over to the far wall, and bent down to pick up a shoe box she had under the bed.

Mr. Friskers, apparently still angry about the bath, launched a surprise attack, bounding into the room and leaping onto my back. I twirled around, feeling one of his claws dig into my shoulder, and the shoe box opened up and spewed paper everywhere like a snowblower.

The cat howled. So did I. Luckily, within reach was something he hated even more than the squirt gun-the vacuum.

I pressed the on pedal with my toe, and the sound alone was enough to make him disengage and haul ass out of the room.

All of those people who crow about how pets enrich our lives are full of shit.

I kicked off the vacuum, looked at the mess of paper around the room, and sighed as I began to pick stuff up.

It was mail, mostly. Some letters from one of my mother’s old boyfriends. I inadvertently saw the phrase nibble your luscious wet and had to turn away before I saw any more.

One envelope, however, stood out because it was still sealed. Written on the front was the word Jacqueline in my mother’s florid script.

I stared at it for a moment. On one hand, it was sealed and hidden in a box under my mother’s bed. On another hand, it had my name on it.

On any other day, I would have put it back unopened. But I was exhausted, emotionally frazzled, and I didn’t need anything else hanging over my head at the moment.

I opened the envelope and read the letter:

My Darling Daughter,

If you’re reading this, it is because you’ve been going through my things after I’ve died. I hope my passing hasn’t caused you too much distress.

I take that back. I hope you’re completely devastated. I loved you more than life itself, and know you felt the same way about me. You’re the one good thing I did with my life.

There’s something you should know, something I’ve never had the courage to tell you when I was alive. You see, I can’t forgive the man, and I knew if you learned the truth I’d have to deal with my buried feelings all over again. It was wrong, and you have every right to be mad at me, but now that I’m dead, I don’t have to hear you condemn me for my decision.

I’ve lied to you, Jacqueline. When you were small, you were told your father died of a heart attack. In truth, he didn’t die. He left us. One day, after supper, he calmly told me that he hated being a husband, hated being a father, and didn’t want to have anything to do with us ever again. Then he walked out of our lives forever.

I told you he died because, essentially, he was dead to us. It was easier to tell a child that her father wasn’t coming back because he was no longer with us, rather than he no longer wanted to be a father. I meant to tell you the truth, when you got older, but I feared you’d track him down and confront him.

It took a very long time for me to move on, after he left. You were a wonderful girl to raise, but you know how difficult we had it. I cannot ever forgive him for what he did to us, and never want to see him again.

I urge you to just let this go, but I know you won’t. It isn’t in your nature. You’ll track him down, and ask him why he did what he did.

When that moment comes, dearest Jacqueline, give the bastard a swift kick in the family jewels from me.

Love, Mom

It took me a few seconds to process what I’d just read. Then it took me a few more seconds to get on the phone with Mom.

“Good morning, Jacqueline. How’s my kitty cat? Is he eating?”

“Mr. Friskers is fine. I-”

“And how’s Latham? I really like that man. If I were a few years younger-”

I didn’t think this was the time to hit her with that news, so I held it back.

“Mom, I was cleaning up in your room, and I found the letter.”

“Oh, don’t be upset. So I exchanged a few dirty letters with a few men. I find the written word much more erotic than pornographic movies. Though I did date this one gentleman who took me to a peep show once-”

“Not that letter, Mom. The other one, with my name written on it.”

My mother paused. “Oh. That letter. Did you read it? Of course you did, or you wouldn’t be calling. Unless you’re asking my permission to read the letter, to which I’ll politely answer no.”

“Dad is alive?”

Mom sighed, as if I was such a disappointment she couldn’t bear it. “I honestly don’t know. He might be. I really don’t care, one way or the other. Did you read the part when I wrote that you were the one good thing I did in my life? Did that make you cry? I cried when I wrote it. But, truth told, I’d been hitting the schnapps.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Mom, don’t you think this is something we should have discussed before you died?”

“Well, I’m not dead, and we’re discussing it right now.”

“Who is it?” A male voice said in the background.

“My daughter, Charlie. Go back to sleep.”

“Mom, are you in bed with someone?”

“Don’t be shocked, Jacqueline. We were just sleeping.” I heard her peck him on the cheek. “The sex won’t happen until later, in the shower.”

“Look, Mom, I’m upset right now.”

“Well, don’t be upset with me. I’m not the one who left us.”

I set my jaw. “He’s my father, and I should have known he was still alive.”

“Why? So he could hurt you again? You don’t know what it’s like to have the man you married, the father of your child, look at you and tell you he wants no part of you. Believing he was dead was a much easier way to deal with the loss.”

It was like wrestling with an octopus.

“That should have been my decision to make, Mom.”

“Well, now it is. But if you find him, I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to know if he’s dead or alive. I don’t want to discuss it. Ever.”

“Fine.”

“Also, since you’re obviously being very meticulous in your cleaning of my personal space, I suggest you stay out of my bedside cabinet, lest you find more things that upset you. Good-bye, Jacqueline.”

She hung up. I marched into her bedroom, tugged open the drawer next to her bed, saw a variety of battery-controlled devices in different sizes and shapes, then closed the drawer and tried to get the images out of my head. Especially of the really long red one.

Mom knew I’d open the drawer. She did that on purpose to rattle me. I became even more annoyed.

Mr. Friskers appeared in the doorway and hissed in my direction.

“Not now,” I warned him.

He seemed to consider it, then trotted away. I glanced at the clock, saw I was running late, and hopped in the shower. I didn’t have time to condition, did a quick towel dry, dressed in a gray Tahari Mandarin collar jacket that I bought in a set with a beige cami and black slacks. God bless the Home Shopping Network. I eyed a pair of Emilio Pucci heels, which had so many different colors in their crazy design they looked like they were made of Care Bear skins, but ultimately went with some Taryn Rose “Stevie” flats, figuring I’d be running around all day.

The long drive to work gave me time to apply my makeup in the car and for my hair to air dry, providing it wasn’t humid enough to give me the frizzies.

An hour later I was pulling into my District parking lot. The day turned out to be rain-forest humid, and the only thing I could do with my brown curls was tie them in a ponytail.

I took the stairs up to my office, hoping Herb had gotten there before me and was waiting with a big cup of coffee, because I needed caffeine.

There was a person in my office, but it wasn’t Herb. And she didn’t have coffee.

“That’s my desk,” I said, pointed to where she was sitting.

The girl smiled. “I know. It’s your office.”

She was in her early twenties. Blond hair with pink highlights, in a short bob. Enough makeup to shame a gypsy fortune-teller. Multiple earrings. And a multicolored blouse that clung so tight, it looked painted on.

“I’m Roxanne.” She stood. Roughly my height, but slightly thinner in the waist and hips, and a cup size bigger. “Roxanne Waclawski. Call me Roxy.”

She offered a hand, a zillion sterling silver wire bracelets jingling at me.

I kept my hand at my side.

“Why are you in my office.” I added, “Roxy.”

She smiled big. “We’re partners!”

“I have a partner.”

“Captain Bains told me that I’m your new partner. Your old one died or retired or something.”

I spun on my Stevies and walked across the hall to Herb’s office. He was packing stuff into boxes.

“Herb? What’s going on?”

My partner looked at me with an expression halfway between pain and remorse.

“My transfer came through. I’m going to Burglary/Robbery/ Theft. No more Homicide.”

I felt like I’d been hit, like all the important people in my life were deserting me.

“Why?” I heard myself say.

“The stress. I can’t take it. Too many years of people trying to kill me. Or you. I think it’s worse seeing you in danger.”

“If it’s about yesterday-”

Herb set down the box, hard. The noise made me flinch.

“Yesterday was just an example. It’s been like this for a long time. I can’t take it anymore, Jack. I’ve seen too many dead bodies. Talked to too many crying relatives. I’m done.”

He pulled out his desk drawer and dumped all of the contents into the box. Most of the contents were empty food wrappers.

“Weren’t you going to tell me?” I asked.

“Bernice told me not to. She said you’d talk me out of it.”

“Of course I’d talk you out of it. You’re a Homicide cop. A damn good one. It’s in your blood. You can’t walk away from this.”

“I got less than ten years left in the Job. I’m spending them in Robbery. No crazed maniacs. No psycho killers. No lunatics poisoning the whole goddamn city. The next decade will be like a paid vacation.”

I walked around his desk and put my hand on his arm. Herb was practically family. I’d had partners before, but never one that I felt such a bond with.

“You saved my life yesterday, pulling me out of that house. If you go to Robbery, who’s going to save my ass next time?”

I said it half-joking, but his reply was so serious it stung.

“You’ll have to find someone else to save you next time, Jack.”

He gave me his back, pulling stuff off of shelves.

“I put all the task force stuff on your desk, which team is doing what. I’m sure Bains will assign you a new partner, if he hasn’t already.”

“He has. The paint on her isn’t even dry yet.”

Herb turned and managed a weak grin. “A younger partner, huh? I’d never put up with that shit.”

Maybe I was the one who reached for him. Maybe he was the one who reached for me. But the very next moment, two tough macho cops were hugging like relatives at a funeral.

“You’re going to make a great Robbery cop,” I said to his chubby neck.

“You can come with me. Think it over. No shooting. No dead kids. No serial creepos. And if the bad guy gets away, he won’t wipe out a preschool. The worst he’ll do is steal a BMW.”

“Sounds tempting. I’ll think about it.” But we both knew I was lying.

Herb broke the embrace, cleared his throat, and returned to the shelf. He came back with a cellophane package of Twinkies.

“Look at this.” He squinted at the package. “Date says 1998. They look good as new.”

“The best things in life never change,” I told him.

“Actually, Jack, sometimes they do.”

He tossed the package into his box. I didn’t think I had any tears left in me, but I felt them coming. I considered telling him about Latham, or about my father. Anything to make him stay.

Instead I said, “Call me when you get settled in.”

Then I turned around and walked out the door.