city.
As she passed, she checked the puddle. Tucked up against the curb in a spot where the asphalt had peeled off and a number of the original paving bricks were missing, the puddle collected local runoff as well as assorted organic flotsam. As the temperature rose, foul smelling bubbles occasionally broke through the scummy surface, adding their own bit of joy to the bouquet. Vicki had no idea how deep the puddle was. In five years, she'd never seen it dry.
She had a theory that someday, something was going to crawl out of this little leftover bowl of primordial soup and terrorize the neighborhood, so she kept an eye on it. She wanted to be there when it happened.
By the time she reached her apartment, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and all she wanted was a cold shower and a colder drink. She suspected it'd be some time before she got either when she could smell the coffee brewing inside as she put her key in the lock.
"It's a hundred and twelve degrees in the shade," she muttered, swinging open the door, "how the hell can you drink hot coffee?"
It was a good thing she didn't expect an answer, because she didn't get one. Snapping the lock back on, she threw her bag down in the hall and went into the tiny living room.
"Nice of you to drop by, Celluci." She frowned. "You look like shit."
"Thank you, Mother Theresa." He raised his mug and drank deeply, barely lifting his head off the back of the recliner. When he finished swallowing, he met her eyes. "We got the son of a bitch."
"Margot?"
Celluci nodded. "Got him cold. We picked the little bastard up at noon."
At noon. While I was proving I was more macho than Billy Harris. For an instant Vicki was so blindly jealous she couldn't speak. That was what she should be doing with her life, making a difference, not making a fool of herself in the parking lot of a coffee factory. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she managed to wrestle the monster back into its pit although she couldn't quite manage the smile.
"Good work." When she'd allowed Mike Celluci back into her life, she'd allowed police work back in. She'd just have to learn to deal with it.
He nodded, his expression showing exhaustion and not much more. Vicki felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. Either he understood or he was too tired to make a scene.
Either way, she could cope. She reached over and took the empty mug from his hand.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Tuesday."
"Ate?"
"Uh. ..." He frowned and rubbed his free hand across his eyes.
"Real food," Vicki prodded. "Not something out of a box, covered in powdered sugar."
"I don't remember."
She shook her head and moved into the kitchen. "Sandwich first, then sleep. You'd better not mind cold roast beef, 'cause that's all I've got." As she piled the meat onto bread, she grinned.
It was almost like old times. They'd made a pact, she and Celluci, years ago when they'd first gotten involved; if they couldn't take care of themselves, they'd let the other one do it for them.
"This job has enough ways of eating at your soul," she'd told him as he worked the knots out of her back. "It makes sense to build up a support structure."
"You sure you just don't want someone to brag to when the job is done?" he snorted.
Her elbow caught him in the solar plexus. She smiled sweetly as he gasped for breath. "That, too."
And as important as someone who'd understood when it went right, was someone who understood when it went wrong. Who didn't ask a lot of stupid questions there were no answers to or give sympathy that poured salt on the wound failure had left.
Someone who'd just make a sandwich and turn down the bed and then go away while the last set of clean sheets got wrinkled and sweaty.
Six hours later, Celluci stumbled out into the living room and stared blearily at the television.
"What inning?"
"Top of the fourth."
He collapsed into the only other chair in the room, Vicki being firmly entrenched in
As she passed, she checked the puddle. Tucked up against the curb in a spot where the asphalt had peeled off and a number of the original paving bricks were missing, the puddle collected local runoff as well as assorted organic flotsam. As the temperature rose, foul smelling bubbles occasionally broke through the scummy surface, adding their own bit of joy to the bouquet. Vicki had no idea how deep the puddle was. In five years, she'd never seen it dry.
She had a theory that someday, something was going to crawl out of this little leftover bowl of primordial soup and terrorize the neighborhood, so she kept an eye on it. She wanted to be there when it happened.
By the time she reached her apartment, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and all she wanted was a cold shower and a colder drink. She suspected it'd be some time before she got either when she could smell the coffee brewing inside as she put her key in the lock.
"It's a hundred and twelve degrees in the shade," she muttered, swinging open the door, "how the hell can you drink hot coffee?"
It was a good thing she didn't expect an answer, because she didn't get one. Snapping the lock back on, she threw her bag down in the hall and went into the tiny living room.
"Nice of you to drop by, Celluci." She frowned. "You look like shit."
"Thank you, Mother Theresa." He raised his mug and drank deeply, barely lifting his head off the back of the recliner. When he finished swallowing, he met her eyes. "We got the son of a bitch."
"Margot?"
Celluci nodded. "Got him cold. We picked the little bastard up at noon."
At noon. While I was proving I was more macho than Billy Harris. For an instant Vicki was so blindly jealous she couldn't speak. That was what she should be doing with her life, making a difference, not making a fool of herself in the parking lot of a coffee factory. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she managed to wrestle the monster back into its pit although she couldn't quite manage the smile.
"Good work." When she'd allowed Mike Celluci back into her life, she'd allowed police work back in. She'd just have to learn to deal with it.
He nodded, his expression showing exhaustion and not much more. Vicki felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. Either he understood or he was too tired to make a scene.
Either way, she could cope. She reached over and took the empty mug from his hand.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Tuesday."
"Ate?"
"Uh. ..." He frowned and rubbed his free hand across his eyes.
"Real food," Vicki prodded. "Not something out of a box, covered in powdered sugar."
"I don't remember."
She shook her head and moved into the kitchen. "Sandwich first, then sleep. You'd better not mind cold roast beef, 'cause that's all I've got." As she piled the meat onto bread, she grinned.
It was almost like old times. They'd made a pact, she and Celluci, years ago when they'd first gotten involved; if they couldn't take care of themselves, they'd let the other one do it for them.
"This job has enough ways of eating at your soul," she'd told him as he worked the knots out of her back. "It makes sense to build up a support structure."
"You sure you just don't want someone to brag to when the job is done?" he snorted.
Her elbow caught him in the solar plexus. She smiled sweetly as he gasped for breath. "That, too."
And as important as someone who'd understood when it went right, was someone who understood when it went wrong. Who didn't ask a lot of stupid questions there were no answers to or give sympathy that poured salt on the wound failure had left.
Someone who'd just make a sandwich and turn down the bed and then go away while the last set of clean sheets got wrinkled and sweaty.
Six hours later, Celluci stumbled out into the living room and stared blearily at the television.
"What inning?"
"Top of the fourth."
He collapsed into the only other chair in the room, Vicki being firmly entrenched in
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