Night kills

62

She'd been down there too long. It was a worry.

Officer Nancy Weaver, seated at the bar in Billy G's, glanced at her watch. The new Madeline had been downstairs in the restroom for almost fifteen minutes. It wasn't the kind of place where anyone stayed a second longer than was necessary.

Weaver had made a trip to the restrooms herself and knew there was no way out of the building other than to come back upstairs. But no one had done that except for the somewhat alarmed-looking man who'd apparently gone downstairs and then immediately turned around and come back up.

Weaver knew there were a lot of things that could instantly repel someone from a restroom in a place like this. Still, the expression on the man's face stayed with her. Probably it had nothing to do with the new Madeline. Probably.

It was the long time Madeline was spending down there that bothered Weaver. She-

A commotion at the other end of the bar drew her attention. She heard the word police several times. She strained forward over her drink to see into the back bar mirror.

Great! Just what I need.

It looked like undercovers from the narcotics squad were making a collar. They had the guys in black leather lined up braced against the bar while they frisked them. One of the undercovers, a skinny guy with wildly spiked hair-who'd made an earlier buy Weaver had witnessed-had his 9mm stuck in one of the leather creeps' ear.

Movement caught her eye to the left. The new Madeline had just come back upstairs. She saw what was happening down the bar and froze at the top of the steps, looking terrified.

She had good reason. The expression on her face was already drawing attention. The way she was dressed was holding it.

Weaver had to make a decision. She knew it was one that could make or break a career.

It took her only a few seconds to decide that becoming identifiable to Madeline was preferable to Madeline being scooped up in a drug raid.

This had to be fast and smooth. One of the cops was already walking over to shut down the music. Everybody in the place would be subject to at least a cursory questioning or body search.

She slid down off her stool, noticing that Madeline's eyes were already exploring, looking for a way out. She'd never make it. At the least she'd be suspected of prostitution, possibly taken in. Weaver herself was dressed kind of sexy, taking advantage of her plainclothes role, and might be accosted and have to show her shield.

She approached Madeline and clutched her elbow. "I'm your friend. Follow me."

Madeline stared at her with surprisingly calm, appraising eyes.

"Like I've got a choice," she said.

Weaver led her diagonally across the dance floor toward the front exit, where a couple of uniforms were now standing. She kept her left hand on Madeline's elbow. Cupped in her right was her shield. She'd need a little luck, but she might be able to get clear of Billy G's without Madeline discovering she was a cop.

They made it past the leather types being braced. The two big uniforms at the door were both staring at them. Why wouldn't they? A couple of ladies dressed for heavy action about to walk out on a drug raid. If nothing else, they'd be fun to search. Weaver thought she knew one of the uniforms slightly and hoped he wouldn't recognize her right away.

He smiled, but not at her. "Couple of working girls trying to slip away," he said.

The other cop, who looked like a kid still, with his baby fat and trying to grow a mustache, stepped toward them.

Weaver shifted her body, holding her palm down near her hip and turning it out so the uniform could see the badge. He stopped, gave a hard look at the shield, then at Weaver. She gave him a hard look back and winked. No dummy, the child cop. He glanced at his partner, then moved toward him.

He was whispering to his partner as Weaver led Madeline out the door. The other cop, the one Weaver knew, was staring at her. She could see he recognized her now, but he said nothing.

She and Madeline were clear, out in the warm night, which felt cool after the body-packed Billy G's. Weaver held on to Madeline's elbow as they walked fast, Weaver leading. She could feel that she was stronger than the taller woman, and in better condition. Or maybe the difference was the wobbly high heels. Madeline was beginning to huff and puff.

A block down, Madeline suddenly yanked her elbow away and stopped.

"That was close," Weaver said, thinking Madeline would figure her for a hooker who thought she, Madeline, was a sister prostitute who'd been working the bar at Billy G's.

"Sure was," Madeline said. "Thanks for the help. We walked right past those dumb cops at the door."

"Took them by surprise," Weaver said, faking a giggle. "Stunned them with our beauty."

She thought maybe they'd share a good laugh together, two losers temporarily on top. Bond a bit. Now that Madeline had seen her and would recognize her, maybe it would be a good idea to gain her confidence. Quinn would understand why Weaver had to act fast and get Madeline out of the club; maybe he'd want to take advantage of what had happened in some way, though at the moment Weaver couldn't figure how. What she wanted was to turn a piece of bad luck into something good.

Madeline wasn't having any. Without cracking a smile, still breathing hard, she unzipped the little black purse she was clutching and reached into it. "Let me give you something."

Weaver thought she might be getting out money, offering her something for helping her out of Billy G's. "Listen, you don't have to do that, honey. Really."

"I insist. You saved my ass in there."

"Sisters gotta stick together."

Madeline drew from her purse a small cylinder and extended it toward Weaver's face. Her thumb was on top pressing down.

An instant after Weaver recognized it as a mace container the fine spray hit her in the eyes and blinded her. Jesus! She desperately swatted out with her right hand to knock the mace bomb away, but it was too late. Her fingertips barely brushed Madeline's stiffened arm and didn't move it. Weaver tried to breathe but couldn't. As she started to choke and swipe at her eyes, Madeline shoved her to the sidewalk.

Ouch! The back of her head bumped hard on concrete. Pain flared behind her eyes and she heard herself gasp.

The sudden involuntary intake of air at least cleared her nasal passages, but only temporarily. Her eyes were on fire.

I'll kill her! Kill the rotten bitch!

Not that she was in a position to kill anyone.

She experimented and found that she could breathe out without choking. In was harder.

Weaver started to get up but fell back. A pulsing ache began in her right knee. She must have landed on it before flipping onto her back.

Kill her…

Lying blinded and in pain on the damp concrete, coughing and wheezing, she distinctly heard the brittle clack, clack, clack of Madeline's ridiculous high-heeled shoes moving away.

Mace. Some goddamned gratitude!

She was still trying to breathe and knuckle the chemical from her burning eyes when she felt rather than heard someone step over her and hurry on.