First to Die

Chapter33

C1NDY AND I were already into our second margarita by the time Claire walked in. From ten feet away, her smile seemed to brighten the entire room. I stood up and gave her a big hug. "Couldn't wait for the old mom?" she said, eyeing the array of empty glasses. "It's been a long day," I explained. "Say hey to Cindy." "Pleasure," said Claire brightly, grasping Cindy's hand. Though the date had been planned for just her and me, Claire was one of those people who rolled easily with whatever came up. "Lindsay's been telling me all about you," Cindy said over the din. "Most of it's true, unless she's been saying I'm some kind of crackerjack forensic pathologist," Claire said, grinning. "Actually, all she's been saying is that you're a real good friend." Susie's was a bright, festive cafe with faux-painted walls and pretty good Caribbean food. They played a little reggae, a little jazz. It was a place where you could kick back, talk, shout, even shoot a rack of pool. Our regular waitress, Loretta, came up, and we swayed Claire into a margarita for herself and ordered another round of spicy jerked wings. "Tell me about Reggie's graduation," I said. Claire stole a wing from our bowl and wistfully shook her head. "It's nice to know after all those years of school, they can actually say a few words that aren't 'phat' or 'it's the bomb." They looked like a bunch of street-struttin' kids auditioning for the Grammys, but the principal swears they'll come out of it eventually." "If they don't, there's always the Academy." I grinned, feeling light-headed. Claire smiled. "I'm glad to see you looking up. When we spoke the other day, it sounded like Cheery was pressing those big, ugly shoes of his all over your toes." "Cheery?" asked Cindy. "My boss. We call him Cheery 'cause he inspires us with his humanistic concern for those entrusted to his command." "Oh, I thought you were talking about my city editor." Cindy snickered. "The guy's only truly happy when he can threaten someone with their benefits. He has no due how demeaning and condescending he is." "Cindy's with the Chronicle," I said to Claire, seeing her react with surprise. There was an undeclared no-fly zone between the force and the press. To cross it, as a reporter, you had to earn your place. "Writing your memoirs, child?" Claire asked me with a guarded smile. . "Maybe." The short version. But with lots to tell. Claire's margarita arrived, and we raised our glasses. "To the powers that be," I toasted. Cindy laughed. "Powers that be full of shit, powers that be pompous jerks, powers that be trying to keep you down." Claire yelped in approval, and we all clinked glasses as if we were old friends. "Y'know, when I first came to the paper," Cindy said, nibbling a wing, "one of the senior guys told me it was this particular editor's birthday. So I e-mail him this happy birthday message. I figure, him being my boss and all, it's a way to break the ice, maybe get a smile out of him. Later that day, the jerk calls me in. He's all polite and smiley. He's got bushy eyebrows as big as squirrels' tails. He nods me into the seat across from him. I'm thinking, Hey… the guy's human like everybody else." Claire smiled. Enthusiastically, I drained the last of my second drink. "So then the bastard narrows his eyes and says, Thomas, in the next hour and a half, I have sixty reporters trying to take everything that doesn't make sense in this fucking world and somehow cram it into forty pages. But it's reassuring to know that while everyone else is madly rushing against the clock, you've got the time to paste a happy little smiley face on my day." He ended up assigning me a week of picking a winner from a fifth-grade "Why I Want to Be an Editor for a Day' contest." I laughed and coughed up a little of my drink. "Goes under the heading of "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished." What did you do?" Cindy had a great smile. "E-mail it was the boss's birthday to every guy in the department. Jerks were slumping out of his office with their faces white all day." Loretta came around again, and we ordered meals: chicken in a hot sauce, fajitas, and a large salad to share. Three Dos Equis to go with them. We poured this lethal Jamaican hot sauce, Toasty Lady, on our wings and watched Cindy's eyes glaze over from the first fiery blast. "Rite of initiation." I grinned. "Now you're one of the girls." "It's either the hot sauce or a tattoo," Claire announced, straight-faced. Cindy scrunched up her eyes in an evaluating sort of way, then turned around and rolled up a sleeve of her T-shirt. She exposed two small G clefs etched on the back of her shoulder. "The downside of a classical education," she said with a crooked smile. My eyes met Claire's -and both of us hooted with approval. Then Claire yanked up her own shirt with a blush. Just below her ample brown waist, she revealed the outline of a tiny butterfly. "Lindsay dared me one day," she admitted. "After you broke up with that prosecutor from San Jose. We went down to Big Sur overnight. Just the girls. To let off some steam. Ended up coming back with these." "So where's yours?" Cindy turned to me and asked. "Can't show you." I shook my head. "C'mon," she pressed. "Let's see it." With a sigh, I rolled onto my left buttock and patted my right. "It's a one-inch gecko. With this really cute little tail. When some suspect's giving me a hard time, I push him up

V

against a wall and I tell him I'll stick it in his face so tight it's gonna look as large as Godzilla." A warm silence fell over us. For a moment, the faces of David and Melanie Brandt, even Negli's, seemed a million miles away. We were just having fun. I felt something happening, something that hadn't happened in a long time, that I desperately needed. I felt connected.