P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

“Pretty girl,” he said.

Louis nodded. The three men were quiet, each taking a moment to look at their own pictures before stashing them back in their wallets.

“So your ex-wife. . Cathy, is she’s still-” Rafsky said finally.

“Carol,” Flowers corrected him. “And yeah, she’s still here. Took a leave of absence from her job.”

“She gonna stay?”

Flowers shook his head. “No, she has a really good job in KC,” he said. “But she wants to reconcite, recon. . she asked me to come back with her.”

“You gonna go?” Louis asked.

“I don’t know,” Flowers said. “I don’t know how to do anything but this and electrical work, and I sure as hell don’t want to go back to that. With my luck I’d probably electrocute myself.”

“Apply to the Kansas City department,” Rafsky said.

Flowers gave a small shake of his head and took a long drink of his Labatt. Rafsky glanced at Louis, then back to Flowers.

“You don’t have a degree,” Rafsky said.

“No,” Flowers said. “And all the big departments-the ones that pay-want one now. I don’t want to go KC and have my wife supporting me.”

“Not the worst thing in the world,” Rafsky said. “Being a househusband. I bet your girls would love that.”

“Didn’t you see Mr. Mom ?” Flowers asked. “The guy was a moron, sitting around in his robe watching soap operas all day. I ain’t that guy. I’m a cop. I’m a fuckin’ cop. I’m not a fucking Mr. Mom.”

Rafsky sat back in his chair, nearly falling out of it. Once he regained his balance, he pulled out his wallet again and opened it. He stared down into it for a moment, then carefully pulled out a business card. He slid it across the table to Flowers.

“Call this guy,” Rafsky said.

“Who is he?”

“Friend of mine,” Rafsky said. “Specializes in getting cops grants to advance their education so they can keep their jobs.”

“In Kansas City?” Flowers asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Rafsky said. “Just call him and use my name. He’ll do right by you.”

“Thanks, Rafsky.”

Flowers reached for his own wallet but couldn’t seem to figure out what pocket he had put it in, so he slipped the card into his shirt pocket.

“That’ll keep you with Cathy,” Rafsky said. “That’s the most important thing. Cathy. Remember that.”

“Carol,” Flowers said.

“Who?” Rafsky asked.

“Never mind,” Flowers said.

“And you, ” Rafsky said, looking across at Louis. The blue eyes were a little duller, muted by the alcohol and who knew what else.

“What about me?” Louis asked.

Rafsky pointed a finger at him. “You are the stupidest one of us all. Going back to Florida. What the fuck you got in Florida?”

“A badge, man,” Louis said.

“What else?” Rafsky asked.

“What do you mean, ‘What else?’ ” Louis asked. “Right now, there is nothing else for me.”

Rafsky shook his head. “Like I said, you’re the stupidest one of us all. Where does your lady live?”

Louis stared at him.

“Come on,” Rafsky said, “tell me and Flowers here where your lady lives.”

“I already know where she lives,” Flowers mumbled.

“Shut up,” Rafsky said, waving a hand. “I’m making a point here. Tell him where she lives.”

“Here in Michigan,” Louis said.

“Where’s your little girl live?” Rafsky asked.

“Here in Michigan.”

“You got parents alive?”

“Foster parents.”

That made Rafsky pause for a second, then he went on. “Where do they live?”

“Here.”

Rafsky threw up both hands. “Could it be any more fucking obvious, Kincaid?”

Louis glanced around the bar. The bearded man was looking at Rafsky like he was crazy. But he wouldn’t say anything. Everyone in town knew they were cops.

Louis leaned toward Rafsky. “I want my badge back. After I get that I’ll figure everything else out. Now get off my back.”

“Don’t fight, guys, come on,” Flowers said. “I don’t want to see anyone fight.”

“No one’s fighting, Chief,” Rafsky said. He picked up his wallet, fished out two twenties, and tossed them on the table. He hesitated, then added one more. It took him three tries to get his wallet back in his pocket. “I’m done for the night.”

“Not me,” Flowers said. “I don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I’m going to close the bar.”

“I thought you were back on this case with us,” Rafsky said.

Flowers blinked. “Well, I’d like to be, but I wasn’t sure. . I don’t know what I can do.”

“You can go to Cedarville.”

“What’s in Cedarville?” Flowers asked.

“Rhonda Grasso, hopefully,” Rafsky said.

Rafsky finished off his beer and stood up. As he tried to put his overcoat on he stumbled and knocked over a nearby chair. Louis jumped to catch his arm, but Rafsky caught himself on a post.

Louis watched him struggle to get his bad arm in the sleeve but resisted the urge to help.

“You going to be okay to get home?” Louis asked Flowers. “It’s snowing pretty heavy out there.”

“I’ll call one of my guys,” Flowers said. “You go ahead and tuck Rafsky in. The last thing we need is to find him frozen stiff in a drift tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t need an escort,” Rafsky mumbled.

“I’m going your way anyway,” Louis said, standing. His head started to spin, and he put a hand to the table. He realized he wasn’t much more sober than Rafsky.

Rafsky wandered toward the door, trying to button his coat.

Louis looked to Flowers. “Where’s Cedarville?” he asked.

“About a half hour from St. Ignace. I’ll run a check in the morning for her address.”

“If you find her, I’d like to go,” Louis said.

“Sure, company is good.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

Louis threw some money on the table, grabbed his parka, and hurried to catch up with Rafsky. He stepped out into a blast of snowy wind coming off Lake Huron.

It took him a moment to spot Rafsky. He was sitting in a snowbank, staring at his shoes.

“Watch that step,” Rafsky said. “It’s a little slippery.”

Louis went to him and held out a hand. “Come on, you old drunk,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

Louis pulled Rafsky to his feet, and the two of them started down Main Street toward the Potty. Rafsky trudged through the snow like an exhausted husky pulling a sled.

“Did I show you the picture of Chloe?”

“Yeah. Keep walking.”

“Did I tell you about my papers?”

“Yeah. Keep walking.”

“I’ve spent my whole life doing this fuckin’ job,” Rafsky said. “My whole life, and sometimes I feel like I haven’t learned a fuckin’ thing.”

“Here’s the hotel,” Louis said. “Watch your step.”

Rafsky grabbed the railing and shuffled in ahead of Louis. Louis stopped in the lobby to stomp the snow off his shoes, but Rafsky just walked toward the stairs, trailing puddles. He stumbled again halfway up, and Louis had to catch him.

“Thanks. I’m sorry.”

“No problem.”

“I can’t find my key. . where’s my key?”

“Look in your pocket.”

Rafsky patted every pocket and finally came up with his key. Louis took it from him and unlocked the door. When he pushed it open Rafsky nearly fell inside. Somehow he found his way to the bed and plopped down, face-first, coat on and wet shoes hanging off the end of the mattress.

Louis tossed the key to the dresser, turned off the light, and started to close the door.

“Kincaid.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Kincaid.”

Louis sighed and stepped closer to the bed. Rafsky’s face was buried in the pillow.