T. Parker - Cold Pursuit

"Mom almost killed me when I told her what happened."

"I knew she would."

McMichael had delivered his wounded and unhappy son to Dr. Blass on Sunday evening while Steffy was in the shower.

"I got this crystal radio kit but I can't figure it out. Will you help me?"

Half an hour later McMichael was finally finished winding the wire. It was exacting and slow but Johnny held the spool on a pencil and watched every turn, correcting his father when a loop was loose or crooked or kinked. They talked about school: handball, when to fight and when to walk, how hard cursive writing was going to be. McMichael saw the blood coming through the holes of his knuckle dressings.

They were about to attach the crystal when Stephanie came in and said it was time for bed.

"Quarter to nine ," she said with a weak smile. "Go to bed now, John. I'll come back and tuck you in."

"Dad's going to."

"After that, I mean."

Later Stephanie guided McMichael to the family library and sat him in front of a panoramic view of the black Pacific. Clay Blass came in to say hello and offer him a drink, which McMichael declined. Blass was fiftyish, trim and tan, with curly gray hair and a thoughtful face. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. His fingers were surgeon's fingers- long, slender and somehow intelligent. He labored through some small talk, then excused himself, pecked his wife on the cheek, and shut the door quietly behind him.

"That was a stupid thing to do, Tom- just throw a new woman at him like that."

"I didn't throw her, Steffy. We had lunch."

"And Johnny almost got killed."

"He's never done anything like that."

"Neither have you," said Stephanie. "This is all new to him. That's the point. Tom, I'm all for you dating, I am totally for that. But you've got your son to consider. You had to know his reaction was going to be strong."

"I had no idea that would happen."

"You should have talked to me about it first," she said. "I could have told you how I introduced Clay into-"

"It's none of your business how I introduce my son to my friends."

She looked at him hard. "How could you let him into the street?"

"He ran into the street when I wasn't looking at him. You cannot watch a person every second of the day, waiting for them to run into the street. You might think you could, but you can't. So get off your high horse. You look wrong on it."

"I'm on the high horse? You can't even admit you made a mistake that almost killed your son. I'd have never let that happen."

McMichael couldn't see the logic in her argument and he couldn't muster himself for a fight. In the twelve years he'd known Stephanie he'd never actually won one.

She shook her head in disbelief at McMichael's negligence, then put her hands on her hips, straightened her back and sighed. Her dismissals had always hurt and infuriated him, but he did his best to ignore it. At this moment he was extremely pleased not to be married to her.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt him, Tom."

"You've got that right."

"Just remember you have a son to consider."

"That would be hard to forget," said McMichael.

"Sarcastic as ever, I see."

"Good night."

He turned to go but she stepped in front of him. "Bullet holes?"

"Someone shot her. It was eight years ago."

"Okay. I know that's none of my business. But keep in mind, Tom, that you're not just looking for a good time. You're looking for a stepmother for John."

"I'm not looking for either."

"Maybe you should be. How old is she?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And no children?"

McMichael shook his head.

"Where did you meet her?"

"At work."

"Well, good luck. And next Wednesday is bad for you and Johnny," she said.

McMichael had become amazed at the new decisiveness with which his ex-wife organized his life.

"Clay has a function," she said. "He wants all of us there. Sorry. I know that makes two weeks in a row."

"Saturday, then," he said. "Don't break that one on me."

"No. I promise."

She walked him to the front door. "You look different," she said.

"Same old guy."

"Your son loves you more than anything in the world," said Stephanie. "You're the hero. You can do no wrong. Somehow he's got it in his head that I wanted you out, and he resents me for it."

"You did want me out."

"I wanted a husband who liked me as much as his job. And we both agreed it was best."

"You know the truth, Steffy. So do I and so does Johnny. Good night."

McMichael cruised the Gaslamp Quarter looking for working girls, spotted one of his old Metro/Vice ladies crossing Fourth at J Street. Ellie, the surfer girl from Ocean Beach. She'd changed her hair from blonde to red. He pulled over and waved. She made the plainwrap immediately, went the other way.

He got out and trotted after her. "Ellie! Tom McMichael here. We have to talk."

She turned a corner. When McMichael rounded it a moment later she had one black boot resting against the bricks, one on the sidewalk and the rest of herself wrapped in a pea coat. She was lighting a smoke.

"Haven't seen you in a while," she said.

"I'm on Homicide now."

"Big leagues. No more hassling the girls."

"Seen Angel around?"

"Not for a while. That creep retard was stalking her."

"So I hear."

She looked him over. "What do you want Angel for?"

"Conversation."

"She's gone. It's too bad."

"What's wrong with being gone?"

"No whore ever disappeared because something good happened to her."

McMichael nodded. "When was the last time you saw her?"

She puffed and watched the smoke hang in the cold air. "Couple weeks."

He waited while Ellie took another puff. "Must have been a Monday. Yeah, Monday I saw her at the Cooler. It's two-for-one night."

"What's the word on her, then- gone two weeks? People must be talking."

She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her boot. "There's no word. She had the old retard after her and she disappeared. The girls see Victor coming, we just clear out."

"Has he been around much?"

"He's around too much. Walks more than we do."

"Ever date his old man?" asked McMichael.

"He was Angel's."

"Penny still working out of the Palms?"

Ellie shrugged.

It took him half an hour to find Penny. Her john came from the Palms lobby first, looked furtively in both directions before crossing the street and ducking into a Mexican restaurant. He looked like a man running through rain but it wasn't raining.

Five minutes later Penny came strolling out in a faux python miniskirt with matching boots, and a long leather coat with a fur collar. She was tall, with a toothy smile and pretty eyes. The wig shined vehemently in the streetlights.

"I'm clean, not holding and not working," she said.

"I believe all that."

"Come on, McMan."

"I want to talk."

"Not here."

They walked to a parking lot on Sixth. She led him to the back where nobody would see them.

"All right," she said. "I could sure use forty bucks for the collection plate on Sunday."

McMichael gave her twenty. "I heard you and Pete Braga were dating."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Once or twice."

"When was the last time?"

"A few days before he died. I think it was a Sunday. His place out on the point."

"See anybody there?"

"Just him. Alone."

"Pete worried, say anything to get you thinking?"

She thought a moment, popped a breath mint. "He said they were going to name a church after him. Which was weird, considering what we were doing."

"You lift anything?"

She screwed her face into an attempted mask of innocence. "Shit, McMan, what do you think I am?"