James Conway - In Cold Blonde

She never told Andrea that she’d killed two men. In Syd’s mind those weren’t crimes, they were clear-cut cases of self-defense. Besides, she feared Andrea’s sense of justice would land her in jail.

Syd joined the LAPD as soon as she graduated from Santa Monica City College. She was determined to be number one in her Academy class and make Andrea proud. So she was an overachiever.

But Andrea didn’t live to see Syd’s graduation. Andrea was killed by a gangbanger trying to hold up a Wendy’s.

Syd’s reaction was surprising. She was heartbroken, of course, but a part of her was relieved. Syd was hoping to start her LAPD career on her own. She was ready to move on with her life and that meant breaking up with Andrea. Andrea would have been devastated, so a valiant death in the line of duty was at the very least, a consolation.

Syd’s success as a cop was due, in great deal, to the lessons learned from Andrea and the ambition seared into her soul by her late lover. And though Syd had dated a few times in the ensuing years, men only now, nothing stuck until Syd met Ryan.

But at times like this she really missed Andrea. Andrea was a great judge of character and Syd would love Andrea’s take on ex-wife Anne and the whole lottery mess.

The bullpen door swung open and Ryan walked in. He had a bounce to his step and a smile on his face.

“You look happy,” Syd said clicking a window on her computer banishing the picture of Anne Rogers.

“I do? Well, I guess I kind of am. Anne was very helpful.”

“What, tell me?”

He plopped into his chair, facing her. “You first; any luck finding the Tuttle girl?”

“Of course, nobody can hide from me. She’s a wannabe actress working nights as a waitress at Tony Roma’s.”

“I love Tony Roma’s.”

“I know you do. I thought we could stop for a little third degree and a side of baby back ribs.”

“Genius.”

“I also got the VICAP report on numbers scrawled into corpses. 666 seem to be the numerals of choice, often left on corpses, walls, floors or cars.”

“Devil worship.”

“Right, which is what we don’t have here. Aside from the 666 freaks, I couldn’t find any reports of a body found with the number 1 carved or painted on it, or the numbers 2, 3 or 4 for that matter.”

“Okay. Guess we’ll have to crack this case the old fashioned way.” Ryan stood. “So, we good to go?”

“Wait, what about your ex-wife and the lottery ticket?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Ryan said heading for the door. “But here’s the headline: Ryan Magee saves the world.” And he walked out the door.

Intrigued, and more than a little worried, Syd followed.

The five most expensive items on the Bel Air Regent Hotel room service menu were: Iranian Ostera Caviar, three hundred and sixty-five dollars an ounce; Lobster Thermador with Wilted Baby Spinach, sixty-five dollars; Crispy Duck Confit with Sautéed Fingerling Potatoes, Smoked Mushrooms and Wild Mushrooms, fifty-five dollars; a twenty-four ounce Rib Eye at fifty-two dollars and finally, Duo of Foie Gras with Scented Wild mushrooms a paltry forty-five dollars.

Of course, the most expensive things on any restaurant menu are the wines and the Bel Air Regent room service menu was no exception. So Adam also ordered the priciest wine, a six hundred dollars bottle of Chateau Margaux ’89 to wash it all down.

Adam watched Susie gobble up the caviar. And that’s exactly what it looked like. He’d never seen anyone enjoy something so much. It was a far cry from her reaction when she first saw the jet-black pile of fish eggs.

“I’ve never had caviar,” she said staring at the caviar warily. “Why would anyone want to eat fish eggs?”

“Because they’re good. Here, let me make you one.” Adam picked up a cracker, doled out a small scoop of caviar, added a little chopped onion, chopped egg and a dollop of sour cream. He handed it to her; she took it cautiously but made no motion toward her mouth.

Adam smiled. “They don’t charge hundreds of dollars an ounce because it’s bad, Susie. Go ahead, you’ll love it, I promise.”

She closed her eyes, slipped the cracker into her mouth and took a tentative bite. First her eyes popped open, then a smile spread as the miraculous mixture of salty eggs, crunchy onions, sour cream and egg engulfed her taste buds. “Oh, my God,” she said, her mouth still full. “This definitely does not suck.”

“Told you.”

She closed her eyes relishing the flavor. Only one word could describe her reaction, ecstasy. And watching her bliss was thrilling for Adam. His wife Emily was a spoiled bitch who grew up in Beverly Hills and had probably been spoon-fed caviar as a baby. Nothing seemed to delight her any more. She’d seen it all, done it all. She was totally jaded.

But not Susie. She was like a kid with a new toy and Adam was surprised how much pleasure he was getting from Susie’s happiness. Then he had an epiphany.

“Come work for me.”

“What?”

“Now that I’ve found you I don’t want to let you go. If I get you a job with one of my clients who knows when I’ll see you again. I want you all to myself.”

Alice looked at him and smiled provocatively. “What kind of job do you have in mind?”

“No, I’m serious. I’ll train you to become an agent. You’re smart, beautiful, and ambitious; you would make a fantastic sports agent.”

Alice realized he was serious. “You’re offering me a job?”

“Not just a job, a career. You could make enough money to order caviar whenever you liked.”

She threw her arms around him. “Yes, I’d love to; Adam, thank you so much.” She kissed him.

“Of course,” he said slipping his hand under the robe, rubbing his finger on her nipple, “we’re going to need to spend a lot of time together while I train you.”

“I suppose I could stomach it,” she said, nibbling his ear.

“And I travel a lot, all over the world. You’d need to come with me.” His hand moved to her other breast.

She purred. “Sounds exhausting, but I’m game.” She kissed his neck.

Then Adam realized something. “I can’t believe it, I’m hard again.”

“Then I guess we’re just going to have to do something about that,” she said, slipping off her robe.

“Four times in one night!” Adam reached past her to put down his glass of wine. “Okay, I’ve haven’t had sex four times in one day since college. Whoops…” his hand hit her purse, knocking it to the floor. It landed upside down, spilling most of its contents. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’ll get it.”

“No!” Alice blurted, leaping off the bed. “Let me.”

But she was too late, Adam picked up the purse revealing a pile of purse detritus — including the Colt Vest Pocket .25.

“Is that a gun?”

“Yes,” she said, picking it up. “A girl can’t be too careful these days.”

Something else caught Adam’s eye; he picked it up. “And a scalpel, what’s this for?”

Alice said the first thing that came to mind. “They’re great for getting stains out of clothes. Just scrape them off and good as new.”

“What a great idea.” Adam looked at the blade. “Guess you spilled some red wine recently, this blade is filthy.”

Colin Wood’s dried blood, Alice thought. She’d meant to wipe it off when she got back to the apartment after killing him, but forgot. Shit. “I spilled wine on a sweater the other day, worked like a charm.” She took the scalpel from him, dropped it in the purse along with the gun.

Adam reached into the pile to help her refill her purse, coming up with a Platinum American Express card. He stared at the name, confused. It said Colin Wood. “What the hell?”