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runs on sex. There’s
no life without sex. Make sure you have fun at it.
    Liddy had
taught her everything she ever learned about sex, the good parts anyway.
    Until Randy
came along.
    She listened
for Randy’s steady breathing, felt his dense body weighing down the mattress
beside her, and thought, What the hell
have I gotten into here?

Chapter Six

    Twelve
extremely irritating hours later, while she was at BB wrestling with a copy
machine the size of her car, Ed phoned her.
    “Heiss, get
your ass up to the Kraft, right now. And call your partner.”
    “I’m in the
middle of copying these damned proposals. Eighty pages, double sided, two
hundred copies, collated and stapled. Oh shit, another misfeed!”
    Just then
Maida Sacker walked past, holding a coffeecup as if it were the Sunday offering
basket. As Jewel’s cussword rang out, her head swivelled. She leaned into the
copy room and shook a finger. “Language, Ms. Heiss.”
    “Myeh myeh
myeh,” Jewel muttered after her.
    “I’m not
kidding. This is an emergency.” Ed sounded upset.
    “Okay, okay.
Let me get this d-arned thing piled up so I can figure out where I left it when
I come back.”
    “Now. I need
you here an hour ago. I need you yesterday.”
    “Okay!”
    “Bring your
driver.” Ed ended the call.
    Jewel frowned
at the dead phone. In the three months Randy had been around, this was the
first time Ed had expressed a desire for his company. “Why do I think this is
not gonna be good?”
    o0o
    Clay and Randy
met Jewel and Ed in the basement of the Kraft Building.
    “What is this
place?” Randy said.
    Jewel never
came down here. The basement was used as a lair by the kind of departmental
retirees who had no life to retire to.
    Clay wrinkled
his nose. “Funky smelling.”
    “It’s the
locker room of the old cop shop,” Ed said. “Ain’t been PD property since before
the Kraft was demolished. We kind of took it over.”
    “Not me,”
Jewel said, looking around fastidiously. The walls were painted that
turkey-turd tan you always saw in cop shops, and the ranks of tall, battered
lockers were bilious green. Flyspecks dotted the flickering fluorescent lights
overhead. “Do you suppose this grime is from, like, all eighty years before the
Kraft came down?”
    “Gross,” Clay
said.
    “Never mind.
Take a look at this.” Ed led them to a corner in front of a mangled locker
door. He paused dramatically, looking over his shoulder at them, his black
caterpillar eyebrows working. Then he opened the locker and leapt back as if it
were full of rabid weasels.
    Jewel came to
stand next to him. “What—?”
    On the floor
of the locker was a pile of magazines.
    The top shelf
was packed full of crumpled white paper bags.
    And in
between, gyrating slowly like some kind of X-rated ballerina in a music box, a
small, glistening, naked female figure danced, wiggled, simpered, beckoned, and
silently giggled, like a burlesque movie with the sound turned off. She stuck
her forefinger in her mouth and pulled it out slowly, sucking on it with pouty
red lips. She raised one knee and stroked herself against her other thigh,
arching her back, lolling her head, swinging her wheat-blonde, old-fashioned
curly mane so that it played peek-a-boo with her heavy breasts. She had
Marilyn’s lush figure, and apparently a complete lack of shame. She was
eighteen inches high.
    Jewel was
shocked, but it was actually kind of sweet. There was something hilariously
wholesome and innocent about her sexual gyrating, as if the girl next door had
just found out what sex was for and couldn’t wait to show her boyfriend.
    Clay whistled
behind Jewel. “What is it? Three-D projection?”
    The girl in
the locker seemed to hear him. She cocked her head, looked straight at Clay,
and laughed, shaking her mane at him, dipping and wiggling her breasts as if to
say, You silly boy, come over here and
stick a twenty in my—
    “Holy. Shit.”
Ed sounded flabbergasted.
    Jewel said, “It’s
a poppet.