Laura Resnick - The Misfortune Cookie

“Uh-huh.” After a moment I asked, “Am I all done here? I mean, what happened to my arrest for . . . ? You know.” I made an awkward gesture indicating the cheek I had slapped.

“We’re dropping the charges.”

“Good!” I said with relief. Then: “Um, why? Napoli seemed to think that hanging would be too good for me.”

“I screwed up the arrest,” said Lopez, looking through the clerk’s window to check on progress. “This could take a few minutes. They’re understaffed tonight.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, you screwed it up?”

“Oh, I charged you with the wrong thing.” He sounded as tired as he looked. “I didn’t read you your rights. I filled out the report wrong. And so on.”

I hadn’t even noticed any of this. I’d been too upset to be aware of the whole ordeal as anything other than a surreal nightmare.

Lopez added, “I thought about sexually harassing you in front of witnesses, but that seemed like overkill. And I’ll have enough explaining to do, as it is.”

I stared at him as I realized what he was saying. “You mean you screwed up on purpose? ”

“Of course it was on purpose,” he said a little testily. “Although you might not believe it, based on tonight, I’m not actually a raging incompetent.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you screw up?”

Now he was annoyed. “Because seeing you at the restaurant—where you weren’t supposed to be, Esther—right in the middle of my bust . . . Well, it threw me off my game. I got rattled. And then you and I devolved into some kind of insane tabloid brawl. Which I still don’t really know how . . . Wait. No. I swore I wouldn’t go there again. Not here and now.” Lopez took a deep breath and regrouped. “I’m just saying, I’m normally a lot better at my job than that.”

“Um, no, I meant, why did you screw up my arrest?”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That?”

“Yes,” I said, clinging to my patience. “That.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face before answering, as if trying to wake himself up. “Well, I saw there was no way Napoli would let you go. Not in those circumstances. He was going to bring you in tonight, no matter what.” Lopez shrugged. “So I made sure that we can’t keep you.”

Now I thought I understood. “By handling this so sloppily that you have to drop the charges?”

He nodded. “You’d have to be a much more important collar for the prosecutor to stick with this and try to press charges after the mess I’ve made of your arrest. So we’re cutting you loose.”

I remembered Napoli’s comments in the restaurant when Lopez decided to take over arresting me. “Detective Charm knew you were going to do this, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He looked through the window again. “Oh, good, they’ve got your stuff.”

“I don’t get it. Napoli is such a jerk. Why—”

“He’s not the easiest guy in the world to get along with,” Lopez admitted, “but he’s a good cop, and he’s fair. We’ve learned how to work with each other. Though you probably couldn’t tell, based on tonight’s performance.”

“But he can’t stand me,” I said. “So why did he let you go ahead and do this?”

“Because it’s a fair compromise all around,” Lopez said dryly. “You got to slap me, which Napoli thought I deserved. He got to make his point in front of the Gambellos about hitting a cop. And me . . . well, I guess I won’t have to explain to anyone why you’ve got a criminal record.” As he handed my stuff to me, he concluded, “See? Everyone walks away a winner.”

“Some victory,” I muttered. “No money, no job . . .” No boyfriend.

“You’ll find another job,” he said firmly. “You can do better than a mob joint that’s full of wiseguys hitting on you.”

“I liked it there,” I said grumpily.

His shoulders slumped. “I know.” His voice was soft, and he was avoiding my eyes again.

“So I guess this thing happened because of the way OCCB has been putting the Gambellos under a microscope ever since the Fenster heists first hit the news?” I said.

Lopez nodded, then said, “Now check to make sure this is everything that you had with you when you were brought in, then sign for it.”

“Miss Diamond,” said the clerk. “Here’s the rest of your belongings.”

“The rest?” I said with a puzzled frown. My server’s pouch was the only possession I’d been arrested with (and as far as I could tell, all the cash was still inside it). Then I saw what he was handing over to Lopez. “Oh! Well, that’s good, at least.”

It turned out that shortly after I was arrested, it had occurred to Ned to get my daypack and my coat from the staff room and give them to the cops, so I could be reunited with these things upon eventually being released. Lopez set my daypack on the floor and held my coat slung over one arm while telling me this. I was relieved, since this meant I wouldn’t have to go back to Little Italy and try to convince the cops to let me into the restaurant so I could remove my stuff.

It also meant I had the keys to my apartment now, so I could go straight home and collapse. I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. Without thinking, I grabbed Lopez’s wrist and looked at his watch. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning.

“Oh. No wonder I feel like a pumpkin,” I said, still holding his wrist.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s almost morning,” I said.

But suddenly I wasn’t thinking about the time.

“I know,” he murmured.

My thoughts had shifted to how sturdy his arm felt. I hadn’t touched him in a week—except to slap him tonight.

“I wanted to release you sooner, but um . . .” His voice was a little breathless now. “But it takes some time to . . . uh . . .” He trailed off.

I looked up into his face and our eyes met. I had stepped closer to him to look at his watch. Now I realized how close. I could feel his body heat. With our gazes locked, I saw the fatigue in his dark-lashed eyes replaced by a spark of something else. Something I’d seen there before. His gaze drifted down to my lips and his breathing changed.

Everything inside me quickened and my hand tightened on his wrist. Touching him for a moment, even with his wooly sweater between my fingers and his flesh, reminded me of what it was like to touch him elsewhere . . . Everywhere . . . Really touch him. Anywhere I wanted, as much as I wanted . . .

NO. Stop right there.

I dropped his wrist like a hot rock and stepped away so quickly I stumbled.

“Careful.” He reached for me.

“Don’t,” I snapped, staggering away from his outstretched hand.

“Huh?”

I balanced myself against the nearby wall, aware that I was breathing too hard for someone who’d simply been standing around for the past few minutes.

“Esther?” he prodded.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “You are not allowed to do that.”

“Okay,” he said quickly.

“Just don’t. ”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“Good.”

After a pause, he said, “Just so I know . . . What are we talking about?”

I stared at him incredulously. “I never cease to be amazed,” I said in disgust, “at what a guy you can be.”

“And here we go,” he muttered.

“No, here we don’t, ” I said. “I’m leaving. Right now.”

He nodded, apparently perceiving the unwisdom of saying anything more just now. My coat was still slung over his arm. He shook it out now and held it open for me.

That date-like gesture upset me, all things considered, so I snatched the garment away from him and slipped into it by myself. It was a heavy, knee-length wool coat with a hood. I’d found it at a thrift shop two years ago. It had a ragged hem and a dark stain on one side, and its profusion of buttons and zippers always took a while to fasten and unfasten. But it was really warm and very good at keeping out the icy winter winds that hurtled down the urban canyons created by the city’s tall buildings.