Stalker (3 page)

Estella was crying. “They take de kids away, Luis! You no let them—”

“They no take de kids!”

“You can petition to get them back, sir,” Cindy said. “Or course, if your wife’s in jail, you’ll be responsible for them. That means you stay home at night baby-sitting while your buddies are out having fun—”

“Decker…” growled Tropper.

“Not that I’m trying to influence your decision to press charges, of course.”

“They’re not going to give them back the kids, anyway,” Brown said. “You need to be a
responsible
adult to raise kids.”

“Maybe there are other relatives,” Beaudry said.

“Her mother.” Luis brightened.

“You really think her mother’s gonna watch
your
kids after you’ve slammed her daughter’s butt in jail?”

“Decker, you’ve said enough!”

Cindy slammed her mouth shut. She couldn’t understand why Tropper was taking it so personally when she’d seen her colleagues talk other domestic cases out of pressing charges time and time again. Maybe it had something to do with a gun aimed at a pair of nuts.

Estella was sobbing. “They take de kids, Luis! They take de kids!”

Luis’s sassy petulance had been replaced by panic. “No, they no take de kids, Estella.” He looked at Tropper. “I no charge my wife! She no do nothin’. You let her go! Then, we come down and get de kids.”

Tropper was swearing to himself. “I don’t believe this!”

Estella said, “He say I no do nothin’. You let me go!”

“It’s not that simple,” Cindy said. “Even if Luis doesn’t press charges, Estella, we’ve still got to take you down to the station and book you for the illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm.”

“Then wha’?” Luis asked.

Cindy said, “She’ll wait in jail until her arraignment, which will be in maybe three, four hours. Then a judge will probably let her off on her own recognizance. Which means you won’t have to pay any bail—”

“De judge don’ put her in jail?”

Cindy shrugged. “I don’t know what he’ll do. But we’ll have to put her in jail until a judge sees her.” Tropper was giving her the evil eye. She pretended not to see him. “Usually illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm if it’s a first-time offense doesn’t warrant jail time. But
I don’t know
what a judge will decide. It’s not up to me.”

“If he says I go home, do we get de kids?” Estella said, anxiously.

“No,” Cindy said. “That’s up to another judge—”

“But es better if there is a mother, yes?” Luis asked.

“Probably.”

“So I no put charges,” Luis said. “You let her go.”

Brown chuckled with amazement. “She held a gun to his balls, and you’re letting her off.”

“He es hokay,” Estella said.

“I hokay!” Luis confirmed.

Tropper said, “Bring them down. Charge both of them with felony possession.”

“Charge me?” Luis said. “I no do
nothin
’.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Tropper turned Luis around and cuffed him. “If you’re telling me that you were both fooling around with the gun, the charges are possession and negligence against the both of you. That means you and your wife get slammed.” Tropper paused. “Unless you change your mind about charging your wife.”

“No, I no change my mind!”

“Then you’re both under arrest,” Tropper stated. “You made your bed, buddy. Now you lie in it.”

“That’s hokay,” Estella said, nodding. “He eslie in de bed, but only with me.”

Tropper rolled his eyes and propelled Luis forward. “Let’s go!”

As they stepped outside and onto the front porch, cheers and hoots from the neighborhood crowd greeted them. Estella had lowered her head as they walked to the cruisers, but Cindy noticed that Luis was smiling broadly. Probably would have waved if his hands hadn’t been cuffed.

His thirty seconds of fame. That’s Hollywood for you. Everyone’s a friggin’ star.

Though Bellini’s hadn’t
become Cindy’s second living room, at least it was comfortable. More than just a hard-core cop bar, it offered chops and sandwiches as well as salads and soups for the lighter fare. Cozy in size, the place had dim lighting, jazz music, and a big-screen TV, which, at the moment, was airing baseball—Giants—Padres. The floors were pine-planked and worn, and the ceilings held acoustical tiles. A half-dozen tables sat in the center area while red-Naugahyde booths lined the left wall. The right side was dedicated to the bar, its mirrored wall reflecting a black counter, which spanned the length of the restaurant. Technically, the law mandated the eatery to be smoke-free. But the patrons skirted the issue by opening up the back door, claiming the area to be an extension of a nonexistent patio. A moot point because who was going to cite the owner when the law was puffing away?

As Beaudry came in, he waved to a few of his friends. Cindy waved just to feel like one of the gang. Ron Brown was sitting on one of the bar stools, but Tropper wasn’t with him. In an eye blink, Cindy caught sight of someone’s back as he left the place. It could have been Sarge, but she wasn’t sure. There were several others that she knew by name. Andy Lopez was an academy acquaintance. There was also Slick Rick Bederman and his partner, Sean Amory. Bederman was solidly built with dark eyes and thick, curly hair, his face, as always, stamped
with arrogance. She had met him once at a party…hadn’t liked the way he had looked at her. Amory was lighter in his coloring, but also projected ’tude. Beaudry must have caught her ambivalence. He said, “Feel like being social?”

“Maybe later.”

They ordered their beers, then took a booth, sipping for a few moments without talking. Beaudry was beating time to the music, fingertips drumming the table. It was soft jazz, the sax singing in a breathy voice which teased like foreplay.

Finally, Beaudry said, “So you did all right today.”

“Thanks.”

“Chalk one up for the good guys.”

Cindy said, “Are we the good guys? You wouldn’t know it by reading the papers.”

Beaudry waved her off. “This ain’t the first scandal and it won’t be the last.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Beaudry picked up his mug. “Still, I’m not losing sleep over it. So you’re sure you’re okay with today?”

“I’m okay with it.” Cindy managed a smile. “I doubt if Tropper’s okay with it. So he’s pissed at me.
He’s
not the first, he won’t be the last.”

Beaudry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“What?” Cindy asked. “You’re gonna give me some advice?”

“If you’re okay with it, I’ve got nothing to offer.”

“So why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve got herpes—”

“You’re being touchy, Decker. I’m not looking at you at all. And if I was looking at you, I wouldn’t be thinking about herpes. I’d be thinking that you look good in that black pantsuit outfit you’re wearing. That it goes good with your hair, which looks pretty when it’s loose.” He sipped beer. “That wasn’t a come-on. I’ve got a marriage, and I want to make it last. That’s just an old-fashioned, blue-
collar compliment, so don’t go filing any sexual harassment complaints.”

“I look good tonight?”

“You look good tonight.”

“Thanks.” Cindy took another sip of suds, then licked the foam off her lips. “So you think I fucked up?”

“Nah, you didn’t fuck up as far as the incident goes. You handled the situation pretty good.” He looked around at nothing. “Nah, you didn’t fuck up with the situation.”

“But I fucked up with Tropper!” Cindy tapped her toe. “Do
you
think I fucked up with Tropper?”

“Not exactly—”

“What does that—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Beaudry held out his palms in a stop sign. “Give me a sec, okay. You didn’t fuck up with him, meaning that he isn’t gonna make a federal case out of it. But you might think of doing something nice for him.”

“Like what?” She sneered. “Getting him coffee? One lump or two—”

“Don’t be a brat. Just…think about it.”

She laughed. “I haven’t been called a brat in a while.”

“But you’ve been called one before.”

“Oh yeah.”

“It’s written all over your face, Decker. ‘I am a brat. Not only a brat, but a snotty, educated brat.’”

Cindy maintained the smile, but the eyes dimmed. “That’s how you see me?”

“No, that’s not how
I
see you.” Beaudry sighed. “It’s just that you’re out there, Decker. Like today. You put yourself…
out
there. Right in the firing line. And when you’re out there, people notice you. Like Tropper.”

“It
worked
.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Silly me, I thought it was.”

Beaudry wiped suds off his mouth with his sleeve. “Listen, we don’t have to be talking about this. We can talk about other stuff. You tell me your gossip, I’ll tell you mine. I’m just trying to…you know. Tell you like it is.”

She averted her stare. “Look, Graham, no offense, but I’m not in the mood to be dissected.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“On the other hand, no sense being on the outs with Tropper.” She stared at her beer. “What should I do for him?”

Beaudry looked around, then called her closer. She leaned in, elbows on the table.

He said, “Tropper isn’t a stupid man—”

“I didn’t say he—”

“Just shut up and listen, okay?” He lowered his voice. “He isn’t stupid, Cin. He’s got great street smarts. He knows how people operate.”

He waited. Cindy said, “I’m listening.”

“If you ask him to recount an incident, he’s crystal. He can recap from A to Z in perfect detail. The problem comes when he tries to write it down in a report. He’s a fish out of water. It takes him centuries to finish his forms. Writing confuses him. He gets things out of order—”

“He can’t sequence?”

“Something like that. He’s constantly rewriting his reports because the old ones are always messy-looking.”

“Why doesn’t he just use Word?” she asked. “You know…cut and paste?”

“He has trouble with computers. The keyboard confuses him.” Beaudry finished his first brew, held up a finger, signaling the waitress for a second. “Computers probably aren’t your problem, right?”

“Not word processing.”

“And I don’t imagine you have trouble with report writing, either.”

“I find it mind-numbing, but it’s not difficult. I did lots of papers in college. I usually outlined them before I wrote. You know, occasionally, I’ll still outline a report if the incident was complicated—lots of people coming and going. You might suggest he try that.”

“I don’t suggest anything to Tropper, and you shouldn’t either. I think the Sarge got into the academy with a GED. So now you know why he sneers at you.”

Beaudry locked eyes with her.

“It’s something you should be aware of, Cindy. The guys and gals you’re working with are the salt of America. Lots of us are ex-military. We’re G-workers who hate the nine-to-five, but still want a good pension. You’re from another planet—a college brat who somehow wandered into law enforcement. Not only college, but a
private
college—”

“Let’s not forget an Ivy Leaguer.”

“See,
that’s
what I mean!” Beaudry pounded the table for emphasis.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to stop smiling. “It was just too tempting—”

“Forget it.”

“Graham, I hear you.” She poked her finger into the suds and licked it. “You know, if the guys think I grew up rich, then they’re stupid. My father climbed through the ranks the hard way.”

“Which brings us to another point, Decker. You gotta stop talking about your father—”

“Ah, c’mon! Now you’re getting personal!”

“I’m just telling you for your own good.”

“Do I do
anything
right?”

“Not much.”

Cindy looked away, biting her lip to control her rising temper.

Beaudry said, “Every time we start shooting the bull, talking about the day, you say things like, ‘Yeah, my father once had a case like that.’”

“I’m trying to
relate
.”

“It pisses people off. It makes them think that their experiences are nothin’ special. Everyone wants to feel special. You already feel special because you’ve got all this college. You gotta remember that the average Joe on the force is a high school graduate, maybe a couple of years at a junior college like me. If you’re real smart, okay, you do a four-year state, then enter the academy with the idea of doing the gold.”

“Like my dad—”

“
Stop
mentioning your dad. He isn’t a legend, Decker, he’s a pencil pusher.”

For the first time, Cindy was genuinely offended. “That’s crap, Beaudry! He was down in the trenches when the Order blew up.”

“Yeah, and a lot of people have said he could have handled that better.”

Her face grew red with anger. “What a truckload of bullshit!” She whispered fiercely. “He saved dozens of kids—”

“But lots of adults were pulverized—”

“He wasn’t in
charge
, Graham. He wasn’t calling the shots!” She winced. “Ah, screw it! I’ve had enough.”

Beaudry caught her arm before she got up. “I’m not criticizing your dad, Cindy. Just repeating what I’ve heard. You gotta know these things.” He let go of her. “Otherwise, you’re working blind.”

She didn’t answer, staring at the bottom of her empty glass. Beaudry said, “Take a refill.”

“No, thanks,” she said stiffly.

Within moments, a waitress appeared. She wore a low-cut red tank top, a petticoat-red miniskirt topped by a white, ruffled apron, and red heels. Her hair was short, blond, and sprayed stiff. She placed a glass of beer in front of Beaudry.

“How about another for my partner, Jasmine,” he said.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cindy said.

Under the table, Beaudry kicked her.

“On the other hand, another would go down real smooth.” Cindy gave the waitress her empty glass and a ten spot.

Jasmine smiled. “Boss says that tonight it’s on the house. Just as long as you don’t get greedy.”

“What did I do to rate?”

“He’s been watching you. You came three times this week. He wants to reward your loyalty.”

“Tell him thanks.” Cindy forced herself to smile. “Really. And keep the bread.”

Jasmine’s smile turned into a grin. “A cop with class. Be back in a minute.”

When she was gone, Beaudry said, “Ten’s a big tip.”

“Easy come, easy go.”

He slid his glass across the table. “Here, take mine.”

“No, that’s okay.” She slid it back.

He took a long swig. “You’re pissed, Decker. You look like my wife did when I fucked up with her anniversary gift.”

“I’m fine.”

Beaudry waved her off. “The gossip about your dad is sour grapes, Cin. The little guys getting back at the one who’s made it. Any of us would love to be in Big Decker’s shoes. But that’s not the point. You keeping talking about Daddy, it looks like you’re hanging on to his coattails. It also reminds the rank and file that they haven’t gotten as far. Not that your dad doesn’t deserve it. His rep is a good one. But you gotta stop being so concerned about him and start being more concerned about yourself. Start thinking about what
you’ve
done lately.”

Again, Cindy averted her glance. She reached across the table and took Beaudry’s brew. “So getting back to Tropper…what do I do?”

“Tell him you have some free time and it makes you antsy. Ask him if he needs any favors.”

“He’ll say no.”

“Course, he’ll say no. Then you say something about the pile of crap lying inside his ‘in’ box. You say something like, ‘Hey, Sarge. Lemme clear some of your paperwork. I’m doing some of my own reports. Lemme type up a couple of your handwritten ones.’”

“He’ll see right through it.”

“Yeah, he will. He’ll know you’re trying to kiss ass. But I bet he’ll take you up on it. He’ll act like it’s no big deal. Real casual. But he’ll remember it.”

“And that’ll be that?”

“That’ll be that.” Beaudry looked around the place. It was filling up by the minute. “I’ve got to get home to Sherri and the kids. What’s today?”

“Today’s the twenty-first.”

“What day of the week?”

“Thursday.”

“Ah…that’s our chili night. That’s a good one. You drink up my beer. I want to save some room for the brewskis with my dinner. Chili and beer. Now there’s a perfect marriage for you. If only men and women were chili and beer.”

At that point, she probably should have cut her losses and gone home. Instead, Cindy surveyed the room for civil faces if not friendly ones. Beaudry’s comments had left her disconcerted. She didn’t want to play the role of the stand-alone, crusading against the world. The maverick made for fine fiction, but was a bitch in reality.

What she wanted was to
blend
in. What the hell was wrong with her?

Ah well, she sighed. She couldn’t change the past, so she concentrated on the present. Andy Lopez and his partner, Tim Waters, were still at the bar. Andy seemed like a straight-up guy. Tim didn’t impress her much. Conversation with them would be strictly lightweight.

Gotta do better than that
.

At one of the tables were Hayley Marx and Rhonda Nordich. About thirty, Hayley was a seven-year vet. She was tall—at least five ten—and had short blond hair and sharp brown eyes. Rhonda was a civilian who worked the front desk at the detectives’ squadroom. She was older…in her forties, maybe even fifties. She had deep, smoky skin and short kinky hair that was more salt than pepper. Cindy had exchanged pleasantries with Hayley, but had never spoken to Rhonda. But they seemed preferable to Lopez and Waters.

Beer in hand, she stood and ambled over. Hayley looked up, then went back to her white wine. “Get a load off.”

“Thanks.” Since the two women were across from each other, she was forced to sit beside one. She turned to Rhonda and held out her hand. “Cindy Decker.”

“Rhonda Nordich.” She shook Cindy’s hand. “I worked with your father way back when.”