Too much of
a good thing
... is magic.
CHAPTER 32
Jewel woke up late Saturday morning with a sex hangover. Every joint in her body ached, and her skin felt abraded in unusual places. She felt like a puffy plush toy of herself.
Randy brought her coffee in bed.
“You’re still here,” she croaked. She shut her eyes and breathed carefully, weighing options. “That’s good.” Waking sex with Randy had turned out to be as wild as his dream performance. The tendons on the insides of her thighs felt like sore wet noodles.
“You are a famous person!” he announced. “Look!” She squinted. “Your likeness is on the front page.”
Her brain hurt. “What did we do last night?”
He put the newspaper on her lap. “Voilậ.”
And there she was. She unfolded the Tribune and stared at a grainy full-color picture of herself standing on a park bench, a liquor bottle and a backpack in her hands, her mouth ajar. She was looking up. The phone-cam had caught the genie in the act of coming out of or going into the bottle, distorted into fluid, swooshing, smoke-bending curls.
The cutline under the photo identified her as “allegedly a city employee.”
In a photo inset a pigeon was setting fire to some confetti, amid fallen cotton-candy cones, spilled soda, and pom-poms.
She scanned the article. The Pan American parade, apparently, was still on. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
In despair she said, “Any messages?”
“Edward Neccio telephoned twice. He was most insistent. I assured him you would speak to him when you arose.”
She nodded dully. That hurt, too. “He’s in the office on a Saturday? Guess I’ll go in, too, so he can fire me.”
She staggered to the bathroom and cranked up the hot water. She dressed in maudlin mood, and put on the red pumps that poor old Clay had stolen for her from Field’s. She hoped he was making out okay in stir.
An hour later she sneaked into the evidence room at the department. The Drambuie bottle full of genie was sealed with every one of the sultan’s seals she’d taken off Buzz. For good measure she had put the bottle in a paper bag, taped the bag up tightly, and labelled it poison. She was tagging the bag with a fake case number when Ed caught up with her.
“There you are, Heiss. I been looking all over for you.”
She jumped. “For God’s sake, don’t make me drop this.”
He looked at the bag. “You poisoned your lunch?”
“Depends if you fire me before noon or after.” She tucked the bag way back on a shelf behind some boxes dating from the early 1980s. As she dusted her hands off she said, “I know it’s bad. But I corked up the genie yesterday. It’s gone forever. And I hear the Pan American parade went off okay.”
“We gotta go talk to the chief attorney.” Ed didn’t seem upset. Not necessarily a good sign.
“Taylor’s in on a Saturday?” she squeaked.
“Everybody’s in. That big identity-theft case.”
Thanks, Ed, rub it in. “Is he mad?”
Ed made a meh face. “Depends on your report. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”
The air conditioning in Taylor’s office was so strong, her sweat-soaked armpits felt like ice. The chief listened stony-faced through her debriefing about Clay’s sex-therapy scam. Every now and then he looked at Ed, and Ed stared doggedly at Jewel, as if the whole thing had nothing to do with him. She did her best to imply that.
Skimming like mad, she said, “I met with the informant at The Drake Hotel, obtained an introduction to the suspect, and, uh, conversed with him at length. On several occasions. I came to the conclusion that he was skating close to the law, but in fact he never made any claims to offer medical service, nor to cure any diseases, disorders, or psychiatric conditions. The most you could say was, he offered a kind of faith healing.”
That wasn’t a hundred-percent lie. A sex demon was imaginary, so if somebody thought she met one, and he helped her fix her sex problems, she must have had faith in him, right?
“Ultimately I let it go. The suspect had no record and I had no material evidence.” Her face burned with guilt.
“And the hinky part?” the chief attorney said.
She sat up straight. “Suppressed, sir.” She met his stony stare head-on. “You’ve heard the last of this one.”
“You’re positive?” Taylor looked at Ed, who darkened.
“Positive,” Ed croaked.
“How about the genie seller?” Taylor aimed his eyebrows at her. “It seems you got pretty close to it yesterday.”
“Captured it, sir,” she said. “Sealed up and forgotten.”
“He won’t sell any more?”
“There was only one genie, sir, lured from bottle to bottle.”
“Sounds like fraud.”
She swallowed. “Hinky fraud, sir.”
They got out of there somehow. Taylor talked to Ed alone for a few minutes and then she and Ed went downstairs.
Can I get fired and go home now?
“I’m glad you got all this experience,” Ed said heavily, towing her into his office. “The chief has some suggestions.” He shut the door. “First being, you’re suspended.”
She eyed him warily. “You suspended me two days ago.”
Ed looked stuffed, which meant he was putting one over. “Also, you’re promoted. You are now a new division under my supervision. You get all the wack cases.”
“What? I already get the wack cases!”
“Now it’s official. This containerizates the hinky stuff in one accountable spot.”
“And what exactly does ‘accountable’ mean?” she said, though she knew.
“God forbid there’s a leak, we fire you, let it blow over a week or two while you go to the Bahamas, and when you come back all tanned, you’re on the job again. Like now, you with the genie in the news,” Ed reminded her, and Jewel slumped. “Twice. It ain’t suspension for real.” He showed both hands. “It’s paid leave. Time to get to know your partner.” He waved all ten fingers. “I never told you this, by the way.”
She gaped like a gaffed salmon. “I don’t have a partner.”
“Yes, you do.” He opened his office door and signaled to someone outside.
Copyright @ 2008 by Jennifer Stevenson
First published by Ballantine Books, April 2008
www.jenniferstevenson.com
http://smokingpigeon.livejournal.com
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