Ed Mcbain - Cop Hater

Chapter ELEVEN

bush was limp when he reached the apartment.

He hated difficult cases, but only because he felt curiously inadequate to cope with them. He had not been joking when he told Carella he felt detectives weren't particularly brilliant men. He thoroughly believed this, and whenever a difficult case popped up, his faith in his own theory was reaffirmed.

Legwork and stubbornness, that was all it amounted to.

So far, the legwork they'd done had brought them no closer to the killer than they originally were. The stubbornness? Well, that was another thing again. They would keep at it, of course. Until the break came. When would the break come? Today? Tomorrow? Never?

The hell with the case, he thought. I'm home. A man is entitled to the luxury of leaving his goddamn job at the office. A man is entitled to a few peaceful hours with his wife.

He pushed his key into the lock, twisted it, and then threw the door open.

"Hank?" Alice called.

"Yes." Her voice sounded cool. Alice always sounded cool. Alice was a remarkable woman.

"Do you want a drink?"

"Yes. Where are you?"

"In the bedroom. Come on in, there's a nice breeze here."

"A breeze? You're kidding."

"No, seriously."

He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair. He was pulling off his shirt as he went into the bedroom. Bush never wore undershirts. He did not believe in the theory of sweat absorption. An undershirt, he held, was simply an additional piece of wearing apparel, and hi this weather the idea was to get as close to the nude as possible. He ripped off his shirt with almost savage intensity. He had a broad chest matted with curling red hair that matched the thatch on his head. The knife scar ran its crooked path down his right arm.

Alice lay in a chaise near the open window. She wore a white blouse and a straight black skirt. She was barefoot, and her legs were propped up on the window sill, and the black skirt rustled mildly with the faint breeze that came through the window. She had drawn her blond hair back into a pony tail. He went to her, and she lifted her face for his kiss, and he noticed the thin film of perspiration on her upper lip.

"Where's that drink?" he asked.

"I'll mix it," she said. She swung her feet off the window sill, and the skirt pulled back for an instant, her thigh winking at him. He watched her silently, wondering what it was about this woman that was so exciting, wondering if all married men felt this way about their wives even after ten years of marriage.

"Get that gleam out of your eyes," she said, reading his face.

"Why?"

"It's too damn hot."

"I know a fellow who claims the best way..."

"I know about that fellow."

"Is in a locked room on the hottest day of the year with the windows closed under four blankets."

"Gin and tonic?"

"Good."

"I heard that vodka and tonic is better."

"We'll have to get some."

"Busy day at the mine?"

"Yes. You?"

"Sat around and worried about you," Alice said.

"I see all those grey hairs sprouting."

"He belittles my concern," Alice said to the air. "Did you find that killer yet?"

"No."

"Do you want a lime in this?"

"If you like."

"Means going into the kitchen. Be a doll and drink it this way."

"I'm a doll," Bush said.

She handed him the drink. Bush sat on the edge of the bed. He sipped at the drink, and then leaned forward, the glass dangling at the ends of his long muscular arms.

"Tired?"

"Pooped."

"You don't look very tired."

"I'm so pooped, I'm peeped."

"You always say that," Alice said. "I wish you wouldn't always say that. There are things you always say."

"Like what?"

"Well, like that, for one."

"Name another."

"When we're driving in the car and there are fixed traffic signals. Whenever you begin hitting the lights right, you say 'We're in with the boys'."

"So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, the first hundred times."

"Oh, hell."

"Well, it's true."

"All right, all right. I'm not peeped. I'm not even pooped."

"I'm hot," Alice said. "So am I."

She began unbuttoning her blouse, and even before he looked up, she said, "Don't get ideas."

She took off the blouse and draped it over the back of the chaise. She owned large breasts, and they were crowded into a filmy white brassiere. The front slope of the cups was covered with a sheer nylon inset, and he could see the insistent pucker of her nipples. It reminded him of pictures he had seen in National Geographic at the dentist's office, the time he'd had that periodontal work done. The girls on Bali. Nobody had breasts like the girls on Bali. Except maybe Alice.

"What'd you do all day?" he asked.

"Nothing much."

"Were you in?"

"Most of the time."

"So what'd you do?"

"Sat around, mostly."

"Mmmm." He could not take his eyes from the brassiere. "Did you miss me?"

"I always miss you," she said flatly.

"I missed you."

"Drink your drink."

"No, really."

"Well, good," she said, and she smiled fleetingly. He studied the smile. It was gone almost instantly, and he had the peculiar feeling that it had been nothing more than a duty smile.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said, watching her.

"Hank, if you think ..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I've got to go in again later," he said.

"They're really pushing on this one, aren't they?"

"Lots of pressure," he said. "I think the Old Man is scared he's next."

"I'll bet it's all over," Alice said. "I don't think there'll be another killing."

"You can never tell," Bush said.

"Do you want something to eat before you turn in?" she asked.

"I'm not turning in yet."

Alice sighed. "You can't escape this damn heat," she said. "No matter what you do, it's always with you." Her hand went to the button at the side of her skirt. She undid it, and then pulled down the zipper. The skirt slid to her feet, and she stepped out of it. She was wearing white nylon panties frilled with a gossamer web of puffed nylon at each leg. She walked to the window, and he watched her. Her legs were long and clean.

"Come here," he said.

"No. I don't want to, Hank."

"All right," he said.

"Do you think it'll cool off tonight?"

"I doubt it." He watched her "closely. He had the distinct impression that she was undressing for him, and yet she'd said ... He tweaked his nose, puzzled.

She turned from the window. Her skin was very white against the white of her underwear. Her breasts bulged over the edges of the inadequate bra. "You need a haircut," she said.

"I'll try to get one tomorrow. We haven't had a minute."

"Oh, goddamn this heat, anyway," she said, and she reached behind her to unclasp the bra. He watched her breasts spill free, watched as she tossed the bra across the room. She walked to mix herself another drink, and he could not take his eyes from her. What's she trying to do? he wondered. What the hell is she trying to do to me?

He rose swiftly, walking to where she stood. He put his arms around her, and his hands cupped her breasts.

"Don't," she said.

"Baby..."

"Don't." Her voice was firm, a cold edge to it.

"Why not?"

"Because I say so."

"Well, then why the hell are you parading around like . . ."

"Take your hands off me, Hank. Let me go."

"Aw, baby..."

She broke away from him. "Get some sleep," she said. "You're tired." There was something strange in her eyes, an almost malicious gleam.

"Can't..."

"No."

"For Christ's sake, Alice..."

"No!"

"All right."

She smiled quickly. "All right," she repeated.