Lawrence Sanders - Sullivan's sting

"You okay?" she asked anxiously.

"I will be. Let me mix you something. A brandy stinger?"

"Just right," she said.

They took their drinks into the living room and sat on the couch.

"I don't suppose you feel like eating that veal casserole."

"Jesus, no!" he said. "I never want to eat again. But you go ahead."

"I can wait. Maybe you'll feel like it later."

He stared at her, then picked up her hand, kissed her knuckles. "Know why I love you?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Because not once, at the Palace, on the ride back, or since we've been home, have you hollered at me or asked why I made such a fool of myself."

"I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. I don't pry; you know that."

"It was that business meeting I had."

"It didn't go well?"

"It went fine."

"I don't understand."

"Forget it. I'm going to. Oh God, what would I do without you? You're my salvation."

"Don't make a federal case out of it, baby. You got drunk and I brought you home. No big deal."

"You were there when I needed you; that's what counts. Rita, I swear to you I'll never do that again."

"Even Ernie said it wasn't like you." "Did you pay my bar tab?"

"He said he'd catch you another night."

"He's a good man. He called you?"

"Yep."

"And Florence Nightingale came running. Thank God. Listen, hon, I've been thinking; maybe we should take off sooner than I planned. Say in about six months."

"Whatever you say; you're the boss."

"On that drive home tonight, I got the feeling that things were closing in. Waiting around for just one more big deal is a sucker's game. Let's take the money and run."

"Where to?"

He grinned. "A secret. But believe me, you'll love it. Plenty of hot sun."

"A beach?"

"Not too far away. But a big pool."

"A private pool?"

"Of course."

"That's for me," she said.

"Will you have a lot of preparations to make?"

"Nope. Just pack my bikinis. I'll write my mother and tell her I'll be traveling awhile and not to worry."

He kissed her hand again. "You think of everything. You're not only beautiful, you're brainy." He raised his glass. "Happy New Year, darling."

She called Tony Harker a little before noon and told him that Rathbone had driven up to Lakeland and wouldn't be back until late that night. Tony locked up his office and ran. He was at his motel with a cold six-pack of Bud by the time Rita arrived. Ten minutes later they were in bed, blinds drawn, air conditioner set at its coldest.

She had never been more impassioned, but now he had the confidence of experience and her ardor didn't daunt him. They coupled like young animals eager to test their strength, and if there was no surrender by either, there was triumph for both.

When finally they separated, they lay looking at each other wildly. It had been a curious union, so glowing that it frightened both for what it might promise. It exceeded the physical, gave a glimpse of a different relationship that, if nurtured, might remake their lives.

"What happened?" he asked wonderingly, but Rita could only shake her head, as confused and fearful as he.

The real world intruded, and they laughed and pretended it had merely been a dynamite roll in the hay and sexual pleasure was all that mattered.

But having experienced that epiphany, they desired to know it again, despite their dread, if only to prove such rapture did exist. So after a time they made love again, slowly and deliberately, and waited for that un-equaled ecstasy to reappear. But it did not, leaving them satiated but conscious of a loss.

"Have you been taking lessons?" Rita asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "From you. My God, your tan is deeper than ever." His forefinger stroked the fold between her thigh and groin. "You're not worried about skin cancer?"

"Ahh," she said, "life's too short. And I drink too much, smoke too much, and pig out on fatty foods. It's stupid to give up all the pleasures of life just to squeeze out a few extra years. That's for cowards."

"Dying young doesn't scare you?"

"Sure it does. But what scares me more is living a dull, boring life." She sat up. "Let's talk business for a while," she said. "Have your guys come up with anything on David and the Palace gang?"

"Lots of things. I really think we're going to rack up the whole crew. Rita, why did Rathbone go to Lakeland?"

"He didn't say, and I didn't want to push."

"Has he mentioned anything about taking off permanently? Leaving the country?"

"Not really. A couple of times he's complained about how hard he works and how he'd like to retire. But it all sounds like bullshit to me. He's making a nice buck; he'd be a fool to cash in. And David's no fool."

"Don't be so sure of that. He's making a lot of mistakes."

"Like what?"

"Oh, this and that," Harker said vaguely. "Has he ever mentioned the names Herman Weisrotte or Thomas Keeffringer?"

"Nope. Never heard of them."

"How about Mitchell Korne?"

She shook her head. "No again. Who are all these guys?"

"Their names came up in our investigation. I'd like to tie them to Rathbone."

She drained her beer, got out of bed, began to dress.

"Hey," he said, "where you going?"

"You're itching to get back to the office," she said. "I can tell."

"Well, yeah, I've got a lot to do. Things are beginning to move."

"You're really after his balls, aren't you, Tony?"

"Rathbone? You betcha! I want him stuck out of sight for ten years at least. Maybe more."

"What'd he ever do to you?" she said in a low voice.

He stared at her. "What the hell kind of a question is that? I'm in the crook-exterminating business. Rathbone is a crook. So I'm going to exterminate him. Logical enough for you?"

"All right, all right," she said hastily. "Don't get steamed. It's just that you seem to have a personal feud with the guy, even if you've never met him."

"I know what he's done. Is doing."

"But it's more than just a cop doing his job. It's like a crusade. You're never going to let up until you nail him."

"You've got it. But screw Rathbone. What about

us?"

She stood in front of the dresser mirror, combing her long black hair. "What about us?"

"You promised to think over what I said. Marriage. Have you?"

She whirled suddenly, hair flying. "Yes, I've thought about it. I think about it all the time. Don't lean on me, Tony, please don't. I told you it's a heavy decision, and it is. Right now I don't know what I want to do."

He came over to her and held her in his arms.

"Don't be angry with me, darling," he said. "I don't want to pressure you, but you mean so much to me that I get anxious. I don't even want to think about losing you."

She reached up to stroke his cheek. "I'm not angry with you, baby. It's just that I'm trying to figure things out, and it's going to take time."

"How much time?"

She pulled away. "Six months. Tops. How does that sound?"

He blinked once. "All right," he said. "Six months."

Roger Fortescue went home for Christmas Day and New Year's Eve. The rest of his time was spent in Lakeland, keeping a loose stakeout on Herman Weisrotte's printing shop and occasionally tailing Thomas J. Keeffringer just for the fun of it.

He hadn't uncovered a great deal. The German slept in a little room behind his shop, and Termite Tommy kipped in a motel even more squalid than Fortescue's. The two men spent a lot of time together, and the fact that Weisrotte rarely had a half-dozen customers a day convinced Roger that these two villains were engaged in some nefarious scheme that enabled them to get plotched almost every night at the Mermaid's Tail, a gin mill only a block away from the printshop.