night.”
“Yeah, well, we had to take some time out from all that passion, Charlie . . . Garibaldi’s, seven thirty reservation. I had clams oreganata . . . now get the hell out of here.”
Crawford walked over next to Jaynes and blocked his sun.
“Don’t worry, we’re on our way,” Crawford said, reaching into a pocket and handing Jaynes a card. “But just in case you happen to remember anything . . .”
Jaynes took the card from him, sat up and put a hand over his eyes.
“Matter of fact, Charlie, I do remember something,” he said, eyeing Crawford’s card. “An excessive force complaint brought against you up in New York.”
Jaynes reached down on the pool deck and picked up the girl’s lighter. His thumb flicked the lighter wheel, the flame shot up and he held the card above it. The card caught fire. Jaynes let it burn for a second, then flipped it onto the lawn.
“Nice to meet you, boys, it’s been a real pleasure.”
TWELVE
“W e really kicked ass, huh Mort?” Crawford said, as they drove down Jaynes’s long driveway back out onto South Ocean Drive.
“Yeah, poor fucker was really squirming.”
“Guy is one very slick act,” Crawford said.
Ott looked over at Crawford. “Charlie, that thing he said—”
“It was bullshit, that excessive force thing was this low-life dealer who said I kicked him in the nuts for no reason. What happened was he was going for his piece and I took him out at the knees.”
Ott shook his head.
“No, not that, the thing about Lil Fonseca.”
Crawford held up his hands.
“Hey, Mort, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the case, okay?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“End of story, Mort.”
Crawford’s cell phone rang.
“H ELLO .”
“Hi, it’s Misty.” Her voice was dead flat. “Got anybody yet?”
“Sorry, Misty . . . not yet.”
There was a pause.
“I was watching that TV show,” she said, “ The First 48 . If they get the killers, it’s usually in the first forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah, well . . . it doesn’t always work like that. I’ll be in touch . . . I promise.”
Ott dropped Crawford off in front of his car behind the station.
C RAWFORD PARKED in a spot just down from the Fonseca Gallery. He walked in, heard the tinkle of the little bell and didn’t see anyone there besides Lil.
“I should be really pissed, Charlie,” she said, getting up from a little desk and coming over to him, “for blowing me off.”
He had canceled their dinner date at the Pine Island Grille.
“Sorry, but like I told you—”
“I’m over it . . . along with the affair you had with that actress. Oh, sorry, I forgot . . . she was just a ‘friend,’ right?”
“That was seven years ago.” He was in no mood for banter.
She was wearing a low-cut silk top and a silver lamé skirt cut eight inches above her knee.
“Come here,” she said, beckoning with her finger. “All’s forgiven if you take me up on my offer again.”
A month ago she’d made him an offer which . . . he couldn’t refuse.
“Y OU EVER get bored on the job, Charlie,” she had said one rainy afternoon back in September, “just stop by . . . I’ll take you back to the back room.”
He laughed it off when she said it, then two days later he was walking by and decided to stick his head in. She was all alone. She gave him her beguiling smile and before he knew it, he was in the back room, getting his clothes ripped off. He decided, what the hell . . . might as well just go with it. He didn’t have any pressing business at the time.
She had reached behind him and locked the door, then put her arms around him and kissed him with absolutely no holdback. All of a sudden, he was into it. He pulled her blouse up over her head. She yanked off his shirt and tie, then grabbed his belt and deftly opened the buckle, like she’d had lots of practice. They kissed again as he undid one of the hooks of her bra.
She reached back and unhooked the other in one quick
“Yeah, well, we had to take some time out from all that passion, Charlie . . . Garibaldi’s, seven thirty reservation. I had clams oreganata . . . now get the hell out of here.”
Crawford walked over next to Jaynes and blocked his sun.
“Don’t worry, we’re on our way,” Crawford said, reaching into a pocket and handing Jaynes a card. “But just in case you happen to remember anything . . .”
Jaynes took the card from him, sat up and put a hand over his eyes.
“Matter of fact, Charlie, I do remember something,” he said, eyeing Crawford’s card. “An excessive force complaint brought against you up in New York.”
Jaynes reached down on the pool deck and picked up the girl’s lighter. His thumb flicked the lighter wheel, the flame shot up and he held the card above it. The card caught fire. Jaynes let it burn for a second, then flipped it onto the lawn.
“Nice to meet you, boys, it’s been a real pleasure.”
TWELVE
“W e really kicked ass, huh Mort?” Crawford said, as they drove down Jaynes’s long driveway back out onto South Ocean Drive.
“Yeah, poor fucker was really squirming.”
“Guy is one very slick act,” Crawford said.
Ott looked over at Crawford. “Charlie, that thing he said—”
“It was bullshit, that excessive force thing was this low-life dealer who said I kicked him in the nuts for no reason. What happened was he was going for his piece and I took him out at the knees.”
Ott shook his head.
“No, not that, the thing about Lil Fonseca.”
Crawford held up his hands.
“Hey, Mort, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the case, okay?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“End of story, Mort.”
Crawford’s cell phone rang.
“H ELLO .”
“Hi, it’s Misty.” Her voice was dead flat. “Got anybody yet?”
“Sorry, Misty . . . not yet.”
There was a pause.
“I was watching that TV show,” she said, “ The First 48 . If they get the killers, it’s usually in the first forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah, well . . . it doesn’t always work like that. I’ll be in touch . . . I promise.”
Ott dropped Crawford off in front of his car behind the station.
C RAWFORD PARKED in a spot just down from the Fonseca Gallery. He walked in, heard the tinkle of the little bell and didn’t see anyone there besides Lil.
“I should be really pissed, Charlie,” she said, getting up from a little desk and coming over to him, “for blowing me off.”
He had canceled their dinner date at the Pine Island Grille.
“Sorry, but like I told you—”
“I’m over it . . . along with the affair you had with that actress. Oh, sorry, I forgot . . . she was just a ‘friend,’ right?”
“That was seven years ago.” He was in no mood for banter.
She was wearing a low-cut silk top and a silver lamé skirt cut eight inches above her knee.
“Come here,” she said, beckoning with her finger. “All’s forgiven if you take me up on my offer again.”
A month ago she’d made him an offer which . . . he couldn’t refuse.
“Y OU EVER get bored on the job, Charlie,” she had said one rainy afternoon back in September, “just stop by . . . I’ll take you back to the back room.”
He laughed it off when she said it, then two days later he was walking by and decided to stick his head in. She was all alone. She gave him her beguiling smile and before he knew it, he was in the back room, getting his clothes ripped off. He decided, what the hell . . . might as well just go with it. He didn’t have any pressing business at the time.
She had reached behind him and locked the door, then put her arms around him and kissed him with absolutely no holdback. All of a sudden, he was into it. He pulled her blouse up over her head. She yanked off his shirt and tie, then grabbed his belt and deftly opened the buckle, like she’d had lots of practice. They kissed again as he undid one of the hooks of her bra.
She reached back and unhooked the other in one quick
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