"You do."
"Think so?"
"I know so."
That wasn't the answer Frank expected.
"So when can we get this shopping over with?"
Tracey took Frank's arm again, pulling her deeper into the stylish racks of clothing.
"Like I said, you're a piece of work. But I love you. If she hurts you, I'll kill her."
"I don't think that'll be necessary," Frank assured, letting herself be towed along.
When the sun had purpled the skyline and the city lights winkled like so many diamonds and rubies and emeralds, Frank met Gail at the door.
The doc sucked in her breath.
"Ohmigod."
"Too much?" Frank grinned.
The doc shook her bob.
"You look stunning."
After some not very serious attempts to get Frank into gowns and lace, Tracey had judiciously selected a pair of black silk trousers and a matching silk shell held up with rhinestone spaghetti straps. Frank had wagged her head in disbelief, but the salesgirls had oohed and aahed, dashing off for rhinestone earrings and shoe clips. She'd accepted a black clutch with a rhinestone clasp, but drew the line at a pair of frighteningly high stilettos and a make-over.
She'd let Tracey drag her into the salon for a French twist and laughed when Tracey put her arms around her, purring, "If she doesn't want you after this, you just come runnin' back to mama, you hear, girlfriend?"
Frank thanked Gail, telling her, "You're lookin' pretty fly, yourself, Doc."
The ME wore a simple creme-colored turtleneck tank, but it clung seductively over Gail's ample hips and ended above her knees, leaving plenty of great leg showing. A few large pieces of gold jewelry dramatized the effect, as did some artfully applied make-up.
When Gail chuckled, "Am I dope?" something shook loose in Frank's gut and went flying up to her heart. Right where Tracey said it'd be.
"The dopest," she said sincerely. "You look wonderful."
"Do I look okay, really? You know . . . symmetrical?"
Frank took Gail by the waist, inspecting the soft rounds under her dress. The right breast was real, the left, a perfectly matched prosthesis.
"Can't tell which is which. They look the same. Both fine."
"Okay. I'm just checking. There's only so much I can tell from a mirror."
Frank reassured, "You look perfect. Every inch of you."
Stopping and starting their way downtown, Gail asked, "Did you send anyone to Camp Lockdown this week?"
"Camp Lockup," she corrected, then answered, "One," recalling Jill's bizarrely cleared shooting. "And Lewis got her first case. Guy with his throat slit. Sitting in his Caddy with a chicken in his lap."
"A chicken?"
"Yeah. Headless. Turns out the vic's aunt is Crystal Love-Jones. Ever heard of her?"
"Sounds like someone who advertises in the personal section."
"She's a crack dealer. Pushes tons a year. Keeps an assembly of lawyers on retainer. Narco's never been able to touch her. Anyway, it looks like the Colonel was bled dry. I'm wondering if he was dead or alive when it happened."
Gail frowned, "He was a Colonel?"
"That's what No's calling him. You know, the chicken? Colonel Sanders?"
"Ah, gotcha, that ineffable, indefatigable police humor. How'd Lewis do on her first solo?"
"All right. Made a couple mistakes but mostly 'cause No prodded her into them."
"Why are you all so hard on her?"
"Boot camp," Frank shrugged. "Everybody goes through it."
"Sounds like a frat house hazing," Gail argued. "Inane and senseless."
"Naw, there's a reason. If she can't take a little shit in the squad room she won't be able to take it on the street. I'd rather know now than when my back's against a wall. It's not a big deal."
"It's just so juvenile."
"We like to call it that ineffable, indefatigable po-leece humor. When do you think you'll get to the Colonel's post?"
"Oh, God, we're so backed up right now. Handley's sick. Jacob and I've been in court all week. And I should be at work tonight instead of going to the opera. A slit throat, obvious cause of death, we'll be lucky to get to it by Monday. I don't think I put your boy high on the rotation."
"No big," Frank said. "I was just wondering."
Trailing her fingers under Gail's dress, she added, "I don't think you can tell us much more than we already know."
"Better stop that or we'll miss the opening act," Gail murmured.
"That wouldn't be so bad."
"At these prices, yes it would."
During the opera, Frank studied Gail's rapt profile. She had to admit she was having a hell of a lot of fun with the doc. But she hadn't lied to Tracey; it was complicated. The doc was bright and generous and sexy, but living alone all her life had spoiled her. She held Frank up to standards she wasn't sure she could meet.
Still, Frank was game. Having loved and lost, she was willing to make concessions. She had to admit it was scary as hell, but it felt good to care about someone again. And be cared for.
She slipped her hand into Gail's, rewarded by a bright, quick smile. Tracey's tapping finger echoed against her heart.
12
Monday afternoon Frank slouched into Ike's old chair and draped a long leg over the arm.
"What's the good news?" she asked.
Jill shook her head, so Johnnie answered for her.
"People are scared, man. They don't want to talk about Danny or any one connected with Mother Lo-ove-Jo-ones," he drew out. "Like the ground's gonna open up and swallow 'em or somethin'. They're all spooked, huh?"
He looked to Jill for corroboration but she only made a disgusted sound. She made a lot of those lately.
"What?" Frank encouraged.
"I don't like this," she blurted. "I don't like this case."
"Yeah, she's spooked, too," her partner teased. "Thinks she's gonna get a spell put on her or somethin'."
"Johnnie, shut up," Jill snapped.
"True?" Frank asked.
"I just don't like talking with any of these people. I don't like their vibes."
"What vibes?"
"Just creepy. Weird."
"Come on, you gettin' soft on me?"
"I'm not soft," the detective defended, "They just creep me out."
"That's how those cults operate," Noah chimed in. "They pull a rabbit out of their hat and make everyone think it's magic when all it is is tricks and illusions. They make you think they're powerful, and then once you believe that, you're afraid of them. And then they've got you. That's their power, the ability to make you afraid."
Waving his hand, he advised, "It's all superstition and mumbo-jumbo. Don't worry about it."
"Easy for you to say," Jill muttered.
Frank looked at Diego.
"What do you say, Taquito? Horseshit or real?"
Diego shrugged.
"I don't know," he shrugged, surly. "Maybe it's true. Maybe it's not. My grandpa used to tell stories about brujos, witches and stuff. How they could turn into coyotes or snakes, make people do things. I don't know."
"Lewis, I know you believe it," Frank mocked.
"Nuh-uh! I don't believe they can change into animals or make anybody do something they don't want to do. It's like Noah says, I think they can make you believe certain things. And then once you believe that, they make you believe other things."
"It's just a form of brainwashing," Noah interjected.
"Yeah, like that. It's all that mind over matter, power of suggestion foolishness. That's all that voodoo stuff is—but mind you, it can work. I'm not saying it's magic or nothin', but that doesn't make it any less effective. Like Noah says, they make you believe their nonsense. You think it works so therefore it does. It's a placebo religion, that's all."