Robert Parker: Death in Paradise

"Behind the scenes," Jesse said, "show biz just isn't pretty."

"No."

"You still dating the anchorman?"

Jenn smiled. "No. I hate to date people cuter than I am."

Jesse sipped a little beer. Easy , he thought. Easy does it . He spoke as casually as he could.

"So who you dating these days?"

"You, for one," Jenn said.

"And?"

"Others," Jenn said.

"Like who?"

"Like guys," Jenn said. "Why do you need to ask? What's the point?"

"I don't know."

"It's just the kind of question that pushes me away," Jenn said.

He thought of saying that it was, probably, however distorted, a form of love. But he didn't. It would only make them argue.

"It's the kind of possessive question that drove me away in the first place," Jenn said.

"When we were married it was probably more appropriate," Jesse said.

Jenn was silent. Then he could see a little of the tension go out of her shoulders.

"Yes," she said. "It probably was."

His beer was gone. Jesse didn't even recall drinking it. He felt swollen with sadness and desire. He opened a third can. Jenn patted his right thigh.

"We're still here," Jenn said.

From the backseat the dog nosed the back of Jenn's neck, looking for another crust.

"We are," Jesse said.

After Jenn left, Jesse drank four scotch and sodas before bed. In the morning, at 7:15, sitting in his office, he felt a little shaky, and a little guilty. He tried coffee, but the coffee didn't help either one. At ten past nine a woman who introduced herself as Miriam Lowell showed up wearing a lavender warm-up suit and white sneakers. She was also wearing big gold hoop earrings, and rings on four fingers, and a gold necklace with some sort of big medallion on it.

"I believe you have my dog," she said.

The dog was very pleased. He had jumped up and put his forepaws against the owner's stomach and was lapping her face. Miriam Lowell squinched up her face and took it for a little while. Then she put his collar on him and hooked his leash. The dog capered a little bit. "His name is Baron," she said.

"We've been calling him Deputy," Jesse said.

"Deputy?"

"Like in Deputy Dawg?" Jesse said.

The woman appeared to see no logic in that.

"He was here all the time?" she said.

"Since yesterday," Jesse said. "Last night he stayed with me."

"At your home?"

"Yes."

"I would think," she said, "that the police department would have made a more successful attempt to bring him to his rightful home."

"He was roaming around on the pike with no license," Jesse said. "We asked him where he lived, and he refused to answer."

"Well," the woman said. "There's no need to be snippy."

"Maybe a little snippy," Jesse said.

He bent over and the dog licked his face. Jesse patted him. The woman hesitated for a moment, then turned and marched out with her dog.

"No trouble at all," Jesse said in the empty room. "Glad we could help."

Then he smiled to himself and picked up Deputy's water dish and emptied it in the sink. The coffee tasted bitter. He dumped that in the sink too, and mixed up some Alka-Seltzer and drank it. At least Jenn didn't know he'd gotten drunk. With her he'd been able to stop without finishing the third beer. He always liked leaving a drink unfinished. It made him feel that he had no drinking problem.

Jesse heard someone yelling from the holding cells. After it had gone on for a while, Jesse yelled out his office door for Molly Crane. She came into the office.

"Unhappy prisoner?" Jesse said.

"Name's Bellino," Molly said. "Perkins and DeAngelo arrested him last night up at The Sevens."

"Drunk and disorderly?"

"How'd you guess?"

"He still drunk?"

"I don't think so. I think he's just making a lot of noise to show how dangerous he is. You want to read the arrest report?"

Jesse nodded. Molly went out and came back with the report. Jesse read it. The yelling from the cell block seemed to intensify.

When he was through reading the report, Jesse tossed it on his desk, stood, took off his gun, put it in his desk drawer and locked the drawer.

"You going to talk with him?" Molly said.

"I am."

"He's a big guy," Molly said.

"I hate noise," Jesse said.

He walked down the corridor to the holding cells, and stopped in front of the first cell. Inside the cell was a fat, strong-looking man with shoulder-length dark hair.

"Got a hangover?" Jesse said.

"I'm going to pull the fucking door off its fucking hinges you don't let me out of here," the fat man said.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Jesse unlocked the cell door and walked in and let it click shut behind him.

"I'm going out," Bellino said.

"You have been arrested," Jesse said. "You're going to have to make a court appearance."

"Fuckers pepper-sprayed me," Bellino said.

"Meanwhile," Jesse said. "I want you to quiet down."

"Fuck you," Bellino said.

"You want a lawyer yet?" Jesse said.

"Fuck you," Bellino said.

"I'll take that as a no," Jesse said.

"I ought to kick your fucking ass," Bellino said.

"You got drunk," Jesse said, "and made an asshole of yourself. And now you're trying to pretend you didn't."

"Guy gave me shit," Bellino said.

"Guy you punched out?" Jesse said.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to take shit from some asshole don't even live here? I'm supposed to let some smalltown jerkoff cops blindside me with pepper spray?"

"Why not?"

"I don't take shit," Bellino said.

"We all take shit," Jesse said. "And we all like to pretend we don't."

"You think I'm pretending?"

"Nobody likes to face up to being a stupid drunk," Jesse said.

"You calling me stupid?"

"Sure," Jesse said. "Everybody's stupid when they drink."

"You little fuck," Bellino said, and shoved Jesse.

Jesse kneed him in the groin. As Bellino flinched, his head lowered and Jesse took a left handful of his hair and pulled Bellino forward past him and caught Bellino's wrist with his right hand and turned Bellino's arm up behind Bellino's back. He ran Bellino across the small cell and banged him face first up against the cell wall and held him there. Bellino was gasping for air. Jesse held him against the wall another minute while the hot haze of his anger seeped back into him and dissipated. When Jesse let Bellino go, Bellino staggered to the bunk along the other wall of the cell and sank onto it, his breath rasping in and out.

"I want you to be quiet," Jesse said. "Later this morning someone will take you over to Peabody and you'll appear before a magistrate and pay a fine and go home… quietly."

Bellino nodded.

"Everybody's a jerk sometimes," Jesse said.

"You hadn't kicked me in the balls…" Bellino said.

"But I did," Jesse said. "And might again."

"Cops ain't supposed to hit somebody they arrested."

Jesse smiled at him. "That's correct," Jesse said.

He turned and left the cell and locked the door.

It was a bright summer morning. Jesse was feeling good. Every day you don't have a hangover is a good day . He pulled the unmarked Ford off of Summer Street up onto Morton Drive. At the end of the drive, parked on a shoulder near the lake, was a Paradise cruiser. Suitcase Simpson was leaning on it with his arms folded. As Jesse approached, he held up a clear plastic evidence bag.

"Found this about a half mile that way," Simpson said. "Right near the water. Eddie's still down there, but I thought you should see this."

Jesse put out his hand. Simpson gave him the bag. In it was a densely engraved ring with a big blue stone. There was a broken length of gold chain tangled around the ring.