31.
It was early afternoon, and I felt like crap, and I would continue to feel like crap until the sun disappeared in a few hours. We were at Hero's again, where very few people knew our names, but at least the bartender remembered our drinks.
"A glass of chardonnay and a martini?" he asked, giving us a warm smile. He had cute dimples around his mouth. Thick lips, too. Thick, juicy lips.
"You bet," Mary Lou said, beaming. He winked and moved down the bar to pour our drinks, and Mary Lou continued smiling at his back, or perhaps at his backside. "Isn't he just amazing? What a memory!"
"Down girl. It's his job to remember," I said. "He does well to remember."
He returned with our drinks. Mary Lou handed him her credit card, although she probably would have preferred to slip it inside the waistband of his Jockey shorts. She sipped carefully from her glass and finally looked over at me. "So what's the latest news with your case?"
"Are you done undressing our bartender with your eyes?"
"Not yet. Wait. Okay, now I am."
"You're a married woman, with kids," I said.
"I know. Your point?"
"Married women shouldn't be undressing bartenders with their eyes."
"Show me that in the rule book."
"There is no rule book."
She looked at me. "Exactly. Now tell me about your case."
I gave her an update, and to her credit she forgot about the bartender and his buns and focused on me.
"Well, Horton's obviously your guy. What a fucking creep." She shuddered slightly.
"Do you talk this way around your kids?"
"No, just you. I let it all out around you."
"Lucky me," I said.
"And you were next on his list?" she asked.
"You know, to silence the pesky private eye."
"You are kind of pesky, aren't you?"
"The peskier the better."
"So what're you going to do?" she asked.
I sipped some wine. I tasted nothing, literally, but at least I didn't double over with stomach cramps. Sipping from the wine glass gave me some semblance of normalcy. "I'm going to have a talk with Detective Sherbet this evening."
"But what can he do?" asked my sister. "He can't just barge in there and arrest the guy without probable cause."
"You've been watching too much TV, but you're right. Not without a search warrant. And one needs evidence to obtain a search warrant."
"So breaking into this guy's house and finding evidence hidden under his bed won't fly with a judge, right?"
"Right," I said.
"So what will you do?" she asked.
"The detective and I will figure something out."
"Will you tell this detective about your break-in?"
"Yeah, probably."
"Will he like it?"
"Probably not."
We were silent, and I decided now was the time to tell her about the attempted rape and the death of the gang banger
35
