"Why would Shango care about me? Isn't he busy enough looking out for people who actually believe in him?"
"I believe, Lieutenant. And for the time being that will have to do."
Her face clouded. She cocked her head, seemed about to say something, then stopped. Frank didn't think much about it when she said, "You have my number. Call if you need me."
"We're done?"
Marguerite nodded, opening the office door. As they walked out, Frank started to wipe the blood from her face.
"No! Leave it for at least an hour."
"Oh, sure. They'll love this over at Homicide."
Frank pulled her wallet from her pocket but Marguerite firmly pushed it away.
"Lagniappe" she said. "Where I come from that means a little something extra. This one's on the house, Lieutenant. I'm just glad you came."
Frank studied the rich brown eyes. They seemed to hold an ancient lineage of secrets, secrets Frank didn't want to know about.
"I don't get it. What's in it for you?"
Marguerite smiled. "Why are you a detective?"
"It's what I'm good at."
"What brought you to it?"
"I like catching bad guys."
"Are you one of the good guys?"
"I like to think so."
"Then it's true to say you at least believe in good and bad?"
"Yes," Frank allowed.
"You have the skills, the training, and the experience to catch bad people and protect innocent people, yes?"
"On a good day."
"I do the same thing you do, Lieutenant. Only you do it on a physical level. I do it on a metaphysical level. I have the skills and the knowledge to stop bad people and to protect innocent people." Marguerite jutted her head toward the window, asking, "Orange County's not in your jurisdiction, is it?"
"No."
"If you see a murder happening when you walk out this door will you just keep walking?"
"Big difference between this and a murder."
Marguerite frowned. "Not nearly as much as you'd like to think, Lieutenant. Good day."
31
"Hi. You're home early."
Gail was at her computer and Frank kissed her quickly, hoping she didn't stink of chicken blood.
"I had a drink with Johnnie and left. Figured the company was better here."
"Well, that's flattering."
"It is," Frank insisted, stripping her clothes off by the bathroom door. "You don't know how many times I've closed the Alibi with him."
"I don't want to know," Gail called as Frank stepped into the shower.
While the hot water sluiced away the day's strangeness, Frank debated telling Gail about her trip to Marguerite's. She decided against it, not wanting to spook the doc with stories about bad juju and blood sacrifices.
Toweling herself off, Frank was dismayed by what she saw in the mirror. Since she'd started dating Gail, she'd been eating more and working out less. She scowled at the belly forming over her blonde pubic hair. She jumped when Gail's image appeared behind her.
Gail grinned, "Do you like what you see?"
"Needs a little work," Frank admitted, wrapping the terrycloth around her waist. Gail trailed her fingers along Frank's spine, then over her toweled flank. The gesture was irksome and Frank tried to figure why she was wrapped so tight. Watching in the mirror, Gail asked, "Want to go to Kabuki's? Get an eel roll? A spider roll?"
"Why can't they give 'em better names?" Frank grinned. Belying her discomfort, she turned to hold Gail. She studied the doc's easy features, noting, "You must've taken your whole bottle of beautiful pills today. You know, you can't OD on those, but the people looking at you can. Be careful you don't make my heart stop one of these days."
Gail's response to Frank's compliments had evolved from self-deprecation to bemused silence. She smiled at her lover and Frank relaxed into their embrace.
She said into Gail's hair, "Let's go eat creepy-sounding food," but made no motion toward that end other than to glide her lips along Gail's neck. Gail tilted her head, encouraging the silky kisses. Like a candle left in the sun, Frank's tension liquefied. She felt her towel slip to the floor, unable to imagine how she could have ever found Gail's touch irritating.
When Frank staggered back from her, they were both bewildered, staring wide at each her. She heard Gail asking, "What's the matter?" but couldn't answer.
"Frank, what is it?"
Frank felt like a zombie. She could hear and feel and see but she couldn't respond. Gail stepped in front of her, looking scared. She touched Frank, and like the princess kissing the toad, she broke the spell.
"Jesus," Frank gasped. She groped for the sink and leaned over it like she was going to be sick. Gail hovered over her, asking "What's wrong? Baby, what is it?"
All Frank could do was shake her head, croaking, "Gimme a sec."
She remembered to breathe. In and out. That was enough for right now. In and out. She focused on the effort, aware of Gail's worry and the slick porcelain under her hands. Time was long for Frank, but after what was probably no more than a quarter minute, she swallowed hard and straightened. She brushed past Gail, saying, "I gotta get some clothes on."
Frank dressed quickly, ignoring Gail's silhouette in the doorway. When she tried slipping around her, Gail grabbed her arm, demanding, "Frank, what happened?"
She tried to find an answer in Gail's face, but it wasn't there. She put her hands on Gail's waist. She shook her head. "I don't know," was all she could say, and then she repeated it.
"Are you hurt?" Gail asked. "Is it your hand?"
"No," Frank insisted, folding the doc against her. "Jesus fucking Christ. I don't know what happened."
Her lips dumbly sought the comfort of Gail's neck, but Frank made a point to keep her eyes open, lest she slip back into that eerie place. The doc pulled away.
"You're starting to scare me."
"Shit," Frank choked with a half laugh-half sob, "I'm scaring myself. Come on," she added, tugging Gail to the couch, "I gotta sit."
She'd just as soon have a couple drinks and put the whole bizarre scene out of her mind, but Gail's silent expectation made Frank fumble for an explanation.
"It was like . . ." She couldn't go on because it was unlike anything Frank had ever felt before.
"It was like I left my body and walked into the bathroom and was watching us. It was so . . . vivid. I could see the towel and the loops it's made of. Then your arm shifted and in the shadow between us I could see the flatness where your breast used to be. It was so normal. It was natural, like it had always been that way, like it was supposed to be that way. It felt like the whole thing had already happened—us, standing there, making out, me in a towel. It was like I'd scripted a movie and now I was watching it being filmed."
Frank gave her head a hard shake and swore.
"I been having these little deja vus," she continued, "but this one. It was overpowering. I mean I wasn't even there. I was gone, Gail. I was watching us. From somewhere else. I wasn't me. I wasn't inside my own body."
Frank stood up and started pacing in a tight circle, Gail watching her. The doc's silence disappointed Frank. She wanted Gail to make it go away, to say something that would explain it all. Suddenly Frank demanded, "Am I losing my fucking mind or what?"
Gail's chuckle was small but comforting. She approached Frank and put her arms around her.
"While it's certainly a possibility I don't think it's the first conclusion we should jump to."
"Give me a better one."
"Well," Gail pointed out. "You've been working as hard as you always do. You swill coffee all day and never eat. You drink too much," she added gingerly. "And when was the last time you got a decent night's sleep? You're getting older, you know. You can't push yourself like you used to. At some point your body's going to rebel."