Johnnie was bigger than his opponent, but as she took a chair Frank saw his arm go down. He motioned for Mel to buy the victor a beer and joined the nine-three table.
"Where's the Fire Truck? And the Taco Loco?"
"Girl-red's tired and Diego's at a niece's birthday party."
"Those Mexicans are always going off to some damn party," Johnnie pointed out amiably. Bobby deftly changed the subject, asking what had happened to the guy on the 405 who was threatening to shoot himself.
"He did it, man. Blew his brains out all over the right-hand westbound. Helicopter news crew was broadcasting it live. They got the whole thing."
"Son of a bitch still has the highway closed," Ike complained, appraising the crowded room. Like Johnnie, he was divorced and always looking for an available woman, though they were as rare at the Alibi as a clear day in July.
"What was his problem?"
"Them. Us. Little green men. Who knows. He wasn't playing with anything near a whole deck."
"Where's No?"
"Said he'd catch up to us," Johnnie answered, as Nancy came up. He tried to pat her ass, but she blocked his hand with a hard forearm and resumed writing in her pad, standing safely between Gough and Nookey.
"That's right, darling, we won't hurt you. Johnnie there just doesn't have any manners," Nookey crooned.
"Don't I know it. Hey, guys," she greeted the late arrivals. "Pitcher?"
Knowing the tab was Frank's, she smiled, directing the question at her.
"Hey, Nance. Start with two and keep 'em coming."
"You got it."
Frank absently watched her whirl away while the conversation turned to jabs at Fubar. As their supervisor, Frank had made it clear a long time ago that she wouldn't tolerate ethnic or minority slurs while they were on the badge. Except for Johnnie and Gough, this prohibition was still respected after-hours, so Foubarelle and the rest of the brass became their favored focus of derision. Although Frank didn't usually contribute to the conversation, she rarely defended her higher-ups and was restrainedly amused, knowing her own back got covered with shit when she wasn't around.
Nookey was moaning about a 60D Fubar had sent back because of spelling errors. "Man, I feel like I'm in sixth grade with Mrs. Beaman again." He shuddered. "I still have nightmares about that bitch."
The word nightmare made Frank wince at the involuntary images that her own had conjured up for her: Mag's bewilderment, Frank's helplessness, and blood everywhere. Frank jerked her head up to find Nancy approaching and distracted herself by focusing on the waitress.
She'd been at the Alibi almost as long as Frank had been a cop. Watching Nancy twist agilely through the crowd, Frank noted the sprouts of gray at her temple and the lines that weren't there twelve years ago. Then she chided herself, Look who's talking.
Nancy set the pitcher down next to Frank and whispered, "I saw that look. Is this finally gonna be my lucky night?"
Frank grinned slightly into the fist against her mouth, the clouds blowing out of her eyes for a moment. Nance had been offering for years, and many times Frank had been tempted.
"Huh?" Nancy laughed, though they both knew the answer.
By the time Bobby and Johnnie got to trading gridiron stories, only Frank was left with them at the nine-three table. She was relaxed and easy, her long legs up on a chair. She'd heard all their stories before but was mildly entertained by their one-upping. It crossed her mind to lift her pant leg and show them the fat scar under her patella where Junior Kensington had tackled her.
She'd been playing football in the street with her cousins and their friends. Junior had hit her hard and laughingly clambered off her, then got white when he saw the blood staining her jeans. Afraid she was going to throw up from the pain, Frank had peeked at the tear in her pants and seen a gash exposing her bone. She'd told her cousin to help her up, but she couldn't step on the leg. The world had started getting gray and narrow, and Frank had bit down on her lip to keep from passing out. Her younger cousin had run to get his mother, who had rushed Frank to the hospital, cursing all the way. They'd stitched the tendons back together, but it was months before Frank could walk on that leg again.
A hint of a smile played across Frank's mouth as the boys moaned about being tackled on Astroturf, but her nostalgic languor vanished when Noah walked in with Kennedy. Reluctantly, she pulled her legs off the chair and sat up straight.
"Hey, Lieutenant."
The drawl was like nails on a blackboard. Frank clenched her back teeth, acknowledging Kennedy with a quick bob. Noah clapped Frank's shoulder and took the chair next to her. Within seconds, Nancy appeared.
"Hi, No. I haven't seen you in ages. Did they kick you off the squad for being too handsome?"
"Yep, that's it. How'd you know?"
"It's obvious. Bring another mug?"
"You got it."
"And you, hon?"
Nancy's smile to Kennedy was returned.
"Ma'am, a Coke, please."
"Sure you don't want a shot of rum in that?" Johnnie asked.
"I reckon straight'll do me just fine."
"Only sober cops I've ever seen have got God," Johnnie said challengingly.
"Or a wife like Leslie," Bobby muttered. She hated him drinking after work, but once or twice a month he'd go out on Friday night anyway. He and Noah had swapped plenty of sleeping-on-the-couch stories.
"You're not gonna get all preachy on us are you?" Johnnie dogged.
"Darlin', what was your name again?"
"Johnnie."
Kennedy nodded. "Tha's right. Johnnie." Then she leaned toward him and said, "Son, I don't even know you yet but you're already gettin' on my nerves."
"Wait'll you get to know him," Noah laughed, "then he'll really piss you off'."
Johnnie waved disgustedly, muttering something about uptight bitches, and moseyed off to the men's room. The young narc turned her attention back to Noah. "So, tell me more about this dickhead I'm gonna be freezin' my ass off for."
"Not a whole lot to tell. We could be barking up the wrong tree, but it's more to go on than nothing. Just keep in mind that much of what we've got is theory, and be flexible."
Kennedy nodded her understanding. Noah explained their logic while Frank watched the young woman. The hick act was good, but twice now Frank had seen daggers winking under the guise.
"We've got some physical evidence on this guy. Size, weight, hair—not much else. Most of this is from the description the girls gave us, and we had a witness who saw someone matching this description where the third girl was raped. The wit estimated his age as somewhere between late twenties to early thirties. Frank likes the younger end of the range."
"How come?" she asked Frank, who shrugged and addressed her beer mug.
"He's smart but he's not confident. That usually comes with experience and/or age. He's eluding us but he's not mocking us. That says he fears us to some degree, respects us. You see that more in younger perps. The level of anger in these attacks would be hard to sustain for years on end. He's probably been holding this in for a long time and can't anymore. This guy's canny, though. I think he'd do it more often if he thought he could get away with it.
"As it is, he's committing these perps on a fairly regular basis. For the most part his assaults are premeditated and inherently risky, suggesting his caution is overruled somewhat by his compulsion. Again, we can look at the escalation of his attacks—as his confidence increases he spends more time with each victim and becomes more brutal. An older man might have already plateaued out, not exhibit such a steep learning curve. He'd probably be more aggressive from the git-go, take much larger risks. And I'd expect his vies to be more carefully considered. Our guy seems to settle for whoever comes his way, also characteristic of a younger personality."