happy. I'd hate for us to have another situation like Galveston."
"That was a long time ago."
"But not so long ago that we've forgotten it."
"No, I haven't forgotten it."
"So you're happy?"
"Of course."
He reached for her hand and guided it to his lap."Show me." Later, just as he was drifting off to sleep, she said, "A visit to Flarra will cheer me up. I'll go see her tomorrow."
"Good idea. I'll send Errol to drive you."
"Don't bother. I can drive myself."
Pinkie thought about it a moment. His uneasiness hadn't been entirely allayed either by their conversation or their lovemaking. She'd given him a plausible explanation for her recent melancholia, but he suspected there was more to it than her dislike for Bardo.
Doubts could cripple the thinking of a reasonable man. Mistrust and jealousy were weakening and destructive. On the other hand, Pinkie preferred erring on the side of caution to being a fool. Especially when dealing with a woman.
"Errol will drive you."
"Say, you're sure you're okay with this?"
The woman formed a pouty frown and toyed with the buttons of his shirt.
"Of course I'm okay with it. Would I have invited you to my place if I weren't?"
"But we only met an hour ago."
"Doesn't matter. It didn't take me even that long to know I wanted you tonight."
He grinned."Then what are we waiting for?"
Groping each other along the way, they stumbled up two flights of stairs. The old house had been converted into six apartments, two on each of the three floors. Her unit was small, but nice. The windows in the bedroom overlooked the private courtyard in the rear.
It was in front of these windows that she did a clumsy striptease for him."See anything you like?"
"Nice," he murmured, reaching for her."Very nice."
She had absolutely no sexual inhibitions. Either that, or she was too high to care what he did to her. But after a while her appetite was satisfied, and she became tired and cantankerous.
"I'm sleepy now." "So go to sleep," he said."It won't bother me."
"I can't sleep with you doing that."
"Sure you can."
That earned a giggle from her."You're sick, you know that?" "So it's been said."
"You sure you wore a rubber?" "I said I did, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but I couldn't see. Come on now, really, stop. I'm tired.
We'll save it for another time, okay?"
"The night is young, sweetheart."
"Young, hell," she groaned."It'll soon be time to get up."
"You're just coming down off your high. What you need is a little pick-me-up."
"I can't do any more drugs tonight. I've got to be at work in a few hours. Let's give it a rest for tonight and hey! That hurt."
"It did?"
"Yes. Now cut it out. I'm not into that shit. Ow! I mean it, goddamn it! Stop that!"
"Relax, honey. The best ic vet tr) eame No pun intended."
Raymond Hahn drove himself home from city hall, one eye on the rearview mirror all the way. He was good at his job, mainly because he was scrupulously careful. His cover was a job in a three-man accounting office, but his paycheck originated at the N.O.P.D. Ostensibly calling on clients, he moved facilely through neighborhoods, meeting people and setting up networks of drug users and dealers.
It was dangerous work. He could spend months winning the confidence of a paranoid dealer, constantly putting his ass on the line, and then have all his efforts wasted. A prime example was the snafu at the warehouse where Kev Stuart had been killed.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that somebody in the division was tipping the dealers of impending raids. But that was an inner-office problem. His problem was to stay alive by seeing that his cover wasn't blown.
He'd been working undercover for three years, which may have been too long. He was tired of continually having to look over his shoulder, tired of being suspicious of everyone, tired of living a double life.
Lately, he'd been toying with the idea of relocating and going into another line of work. There was one major drawback: No other occupation
"That was a long time ago."
"But not so long ago that we've forgotten it."
"No, I haven't forgotten it."
"So you're happy?"
"Of course."
He reached for her hand and guided it to his lap."Show me." Later, just as he was drifting off to sleep, she said, "A visit to Flarra will cheer me up. I'll go see her tomorrow."
"Good idea. I'll send Errol to drive you."
"Don't bother. I can drive myself."
Pinkie thought about it a moment. His uneasiness hadn't been entirely allayed either by their conversation or their lovemaking. She'd given him a plausible explanation for her recent melancholia, but he suspected there was more to it than her dislike for Bardo.
Doubts could cripple the thinking of a reasonable man. Mistrust and jealousy were weakening and destructive. On the other hand, Pinkie preferred erring on the side of caution to being a fool. Especially when dealing with a woman.
"Errol will drive you."
"Say, you're sure you're okay with this?"
The woman formed a pouty frown and toyed with the buttons of his shirt.
"Of course I'm okay with it. Would I have invited you to my place if I weren't?"
"But we only met an hour ago."
"Doesn't matter. It didn't take me even that long to know I wanted you tonight."
He grinned."Then what are we waiting for?"
Groping each other along the way, they stumbled up two flights of stairs. The old house had been converted into six apartments, two on each of the three floors. Her unit was small, but nice. The windows in the bedroom overlooked the private courtyard in the rear.
It was in front of these windows that she did a clumsy striptease for him."See anything you like?"
"Nice," he murmured, reaching for her."Very nice."
She had absolutely no sexual inhibitions. Either that, or she was too high to care what he did to her. But after a while her appetite was satisfied, and she became tired and cantankerous.
"I'm sleepy now." "So go to sleep," he said."It won't bother me."
"I can't sleep with you doing that."
"Sure you can."
That earned a giggle from her."You're sick, you know that?" "So it's been said."
"You sure you wore a rubber?" "I said I did, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but I couldn't see. Come on now, really, stop. I'm tired.
We'll save it for another time, okay?"
"The night is young, sweetheart."
"Young, hell," she groaned."It'll soon be time to get up."
"You're just coming down off your high. What you need is a little pick-me-up."
"I can't do any more drugs tonight. I've got to be at work in a few hours. Let's give it a rest for tonight and hey! That hurt."
"It did?"
"Yes. Now cut it out. I'm not into that shit. Ow! I mean it, goddamn it! Stop that!"
"Relax, honey. The best ic vet tr) eame No pun intended."
Raymond Hahn drove himself home from city hall, one eye on the rearview mirror all the way. He was good at his job, mainly because he was scrupulously careful. His cover was a job in a three-man accounting office, but his paycheck originated at the N.O.P.D. Ostensibly calling on clients, he moved facilely through neighborhoods, meeting people and setting up networks of drug users and dealers.
It was dangerous work. He could spend months winning the confidence of a paranoid dealer, constantly putting his ass on the line, and then have all his efforts wasted. A prime example was the snafu at the warehouse where Kev Stuart had been killed.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to deduce that somebody in the division was tipping the dealers of impending raids. But that was an inner-office problem. His problem was to stay alive by seeing that his cover wasn't blown.
He'd been working undercover for three years, which may have been too long. He was tired of continually having to look over his shoulder, tired of being suspicious of everyone, tired of living a double life.
Lately, he'd been toying with the idea of relocating and going into another line of work. There was one major drawback: No other occupation
Similar Books
