Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

I poured a refill of coffee. “Very nice.” I started in on my plate of eggs. “Delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It wasn’t the first thing he had made for me. He was a good cook-simple dishes but with lots of spice. He favored red chili flakes. My mouth was burning after a few forkfuls. I washed it down with juice, then sipped coffee. I regarded his face. “Sex is really important to you.”

He eyed me behind a coffee cup. “Yes… I hope it’s important to you, too.”

“Of course. It just doesn’t seem to… alter my disposition as much.”

“I am very moody. I told you that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“We are reversed, Cynthia. I work with women; you work with men. It is early in the relationship, so I am not so secure. And with recent circumstances, we’ve been dealing with a lot.”

“I’ve dragged you into a lot of muck. Sorry.”

“If you come with muck, I will take the muck.” He took my hand and kissed it. “When it’s my turn to drag you into muck, then you will remember this.”

“Fair enough.” I bit into a piece of rye toast and stared at the rosebushes. “Well, since sex seems to be a very big factor here, for both of us, I guess I could go on the pill. Make it a little more spontaneous.”

His smile was wide. “That would be very nice.”

“You don’t like condoms.”

“No man does. But it’s your body.” He slathered butter onto the bread. “I do what you want.”

“I have no problem with the pill, but if we stop using condoms, you’ve got to be absolutely monogamous.”

“I know.”

“Like one hundred percent. I can’t be worrying about… things.”

“Disease, you mean. I understand, my love. I am thirty-two, not sixteen.”

“I couldn’t even imagine you at sixteen.”

“It never slept.”

I smiled. “So it’s not a problem for you?”

His laughter was musical. “I am mad for you, Cynthia. I don’t even think about being with another woman. Is it a problem for you? ”

“Being with another woman?” I shook my head. “Not at all.”

He tossed me a disgusted look.

“No, it’s not a problem.” I smiled. “I’m fine with it.”

“Good. So go see your doctor and give me the prescription. I can probably pick up some free samples for you from one of the drug companies.”

“At a children’s hospital.”

“We treat teenagers.”

“Ah.” I finished my eggs. “So how easy is it to get drugs?”

He looked at me. “Pardon?”

“Like hard drugs. How easy would it be to filch them?”

“With the classified narcotics, everything is kept under lock and we all know who has the keys. It is not simple. I don’t do drugs, I’ve never done drugs, but those at the hospital who do usually suck nitrous oxide because it is very accessible and usually wears off immediately. It is stupid. Every year we have at least one of our own staff unconscious because of improper mix of oxygen and nitrogen. Why do you ask about drugs?”

“Cop’s curiosity. You can get the pill so easily. I just wondered.”

“I cannot easily get narcotics from lockup, but if I was desperate enough, I would know ways. Almost anything else-antibiotics; cold medicines; antihistamines; analgesics, both OTC and some low-dose prescription pain medications like Percocet; even Percodan or Vicodin, which have codeine in them. The hospital has closets filled with samples from the drug companies. It’s a perk of the job… like free coffee for you.”

“I don’t get free coffee.”

“Well, here you do.” He picked up part of the paper and handed it to me. “So let’s enjoy our time together before reality intrudes.”

I scanned the front page of the Arts and Entertainment section-vintage ’50s musicals on stage, movie remakes, TV reunion specials. Didn’t anyone have an original thought anymore? I looked at Koby’s face, his eyes focused on the morning news, his brow furrowed with tension as he read the articles about our troops overseas. He was much more familiar with that region than average Joe American. I wondered how much he identified with our soldiers.

Bad news wasn’t good for either of us. We were both highly intense people, and even though I had a strong feeling that he often used sex like an opiate, as long as he wasn’t pushy and he was faithful, what did it matter? He had been shot at two days ago, his car had been totaled, and still he cooked me breakfast.

This was a wonderful man.

“Kiss me,” I told him.

He put down the paper. “That’s a nice invitation.” He leaned over, took my face in his hands, and brought my mouth to his-a slow and passionate and edible kiss.

“Now that was so good,” he told me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his lips to mine, my fingers massaging the back of his scalp as our tongues did a slow dance.

We became more and more amorous.

A few minutes later, we got up and headed for the bedroom.

?

I wiped foam from my lips with the back of my hand. The beer was ice cold, in contrast to the hot, smoky room. Seven in the evening and Bellini’s was thick with cigarette carcinogens. It was a step up from the usual cop’s bar, offering a pretty good selection for dinner-nothing fancy, but good and filling. Hayley and I had often gone there after shift when we still did Day watch. The place was small in size, dimly lit with background jazz: This time, it was Miles Davis doing the honors. Baseball was on the big screen-Dodgers versus the Diamondbacks in Arizona.

Brill found us a booth in the back. By choosing Bellini’s, making us visible, he was making some sort of a statement, though I wasn’t clear on the message. I did know it wasn’t pure altruism. Not with the way he was sipping his beer and eyeing me with those baby blues. I nursed my drink and I let him do it. He looked sharp-shadow pinstripe suit, white shirt, red-and-gold tie. Big gold ring on his left finger. Gold watch on his wrist.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.” I added, “I had a big lunch.”

“With the boyfriend?”

“Exactly.” I could see the TV from where we were sitting. Shawn Green just got a stand-up double. Randy Johnson looked pissed.

“What’s his name?” Brill asked.

He knew the answer to the question. He had interviewed Koby for over an hour. “Yaakov Kutiel.”

“Seemed like a good guy,” Brill said. “Especially considering the circumstances. Does he have insurance for his car?”

“Yes, but you know how that works. Blue book on it isn’t going to be much.”

“Lucky for him he found a girl with a Lexus.”

“You’ve noticed.”

“Only the best for Daddy’s little princess.”

“Now you’re getting nasty.”

Brill smiled, signaled over the waitress. “Wanna clarify something for me?”

“If I can.”

“You have any idea where that phone call came from?”

“Not a clue.”

“For something to go through the grapevine that fast”-he gave me the “cop stare”-“it defies logic.”

I didn’t deny it. On the TV, the throw to the plate was too late. Green scored on McGriff’s perfect, long single. Fred McGriff had advanced to second. One out, Dodgers up by three at the top of the third. A close-up of a disgusted Johnson. The waitress came over. Brill ordered lamb chops with roasted potatoes; I settled for another beer.

“Any ideas?”

I thought long and hard. Anything I’d say could be used against me. “No.”

Brill smiled. “All right. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s.”

“Prints-we found a lot of those. Stop me when you’re interested.”

“I’m interested in whatever you have to tell me.”