“Unh. Low blow, Ms. W. Low blow. I don’t see that our work has to be in conflict, but maybe you do.”
“Conrad, I know there are good cops; my dad was one. But cops are like any other group of people—when they get together they act clannish. They like to show their collective muscle to people outside their clique. And society gives you guys a lot of power to bulk up your muscle. Sometimes I think my whole job consists of standing outside different cliques—of cops or businessmen or whoever—with a yellow flag to remind you that your outlook isn’t the only one.”
He was quiet a minute. “You still want to have dinner with me Friday?”
I felt my cheeks redden. “Sure. Yes, unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“Well, let’s just leave things here before we say so much we don’t want to get together again. I can’t think fast enough to do a discussion like this on the phone.” He hesitated, then said, “Will you promise to call me if someone tries to hurt you? Run you over, climb through your window, whatever? Would that be a violation of your principles?”
I agreed amiably enough, but my fists were still clenched when I hung up the phone. I should have known better than to get in bed with a policeman. Every day for the last two weeks I’d been acting before I thought. And every day it had gotten me into trouble.
The phone rang again as I was heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I was tempted to let it go—it was after eleven, after all. But maybe it was Rawlings wanting to smooth things out. I picked up the bedroom extension on the fifth ring. It was Murray Ryerson. By the noise in the background, he was calling from a party in full swing.
“You drunk, Murray? It’s way past a respectable time to call anyone.”
“You getting old, Warshawski? I thought your night just got going about now.”
I made a face into the phone. “Yes, I’m getting old. Now that you know that, is your investigative reporter’s mind at ease?”
“Not really, Vic.” He was shouting to be heard over the music. I held the receiver a few inches from my ear.
“How come you go falling into the Sanitary Canal without telling me about it? One of my gofers just came sidling up to me with the news at the bar here. Of course, he thought I must already know, since everybody believes you and I are pals. You made me look bad.”
“Come on, Murray, you told me the last time I saw you that what I was doing wasn’t news. Don’t you come playing that ‘all pals together’ tune on your violin. I won’t stand for it.” I was so angry, I snapped a pencil I’d been fiddling with in two.
“You can’t pick and choose |what’s news, Warshawski. An old lady losing her dogs because she’s senile and they’re a nuisance—that just isn’t interesting. And neither is a drunk deadbeat falling into the canal. But when you go in, people want to know about it.”
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Ryerson.” I slammed the phone down as hard as I could.
I was panting with rage, my fragile calm from my trip to Atlanta completely shattered. What was with these guys, trying to run me around? I dug a basketball from the back of my hall closet and started bouncing it up and down, with an evil disregard for the family trying to sleep below, hoping to pound away some of my fury.
I’d been dribbling for about five minutes when the phone rang again. It was either Murray, hoping to bludgeon me into giving him a story, or my downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Lee. I hastily stuffed the ball back in the closet before picking up the receiver.
“Vic?” It was Dick’s light baritone. “I know it’s late, but I’ve been trying to get through for two hours.”
I sat down hard on the piano bench, surprise knocking the rage out of me. “And that gives you the right to call at eleven-fifteen?” Just because I’d stopped feeling angry didn’t mean Dick got a free ride.
“You and I need to talk. I left two messages with your answering service today.”
I realized I hadn’t checked with my service since returning from Atlanta. “This is really sudden, Dick, so I don’t have a response ready. Does Teri know?”
“Please don’t clown around right now, Vic. I’m not in the humor for it.”
“Well, that’s kind of why we split up to begin with, wasn’t it,” I said reasonably. “Because I didn’t care enough about the stuff you were in the humor for.”
“Look. You’ve been sticking your nose into my business for the last two weeks. I think I’ve been pretty tolerant about it on the whole, but you’re really asking for trouble now. And strange as it may seem to you, I don’t want to see you in major trouble.”
I made a face at the mouthpiece. “Funny you should say that, Richard. I just had that identical thought about you recently. Til trade you—you tell me what major trouble you think I’m headed for and then I’ll tell you about yours.”