Trust and Betrayal

by Christopher S. Thomas

Part III.

     The next day, Friday, Chris sat at his desk at police headquarters and waited. Stifling a yawn, he wondered for the umpteenth time where his partner was. Probably still asleep, he guessed. After they finished the search of Billy’s apartment the previous night, he and Rita had gone home to try to salvage some rest before the sun rose again. By coincidence, when Chris arrived at his apartment he found Jillian waiting for him. She had just finished a double shift at the hospital. They had joked about how their crazy schedules sometimes coincided nicely, as they had that night. They were both juiced- Chris from breaking ground in the case, and Jillian from the chaos of the ER. Needless to say they didn’t do much resting for what was left of the night, as evidenced by the dark circles under Chris’s eyes. Smiling to himself, he glanced at the clock again- it was 10 a.m. now, and still no sign of Rita. He reached for the phone, and halfway through dialing her number, he glanced up and saw her walk in through the double doors.

     "Well, it’s about time, partner," he said. "I thought I was going to have to walk down the hall and file a missing person’s report."

     "Very funny," Rita replied, grinning.

     As she sat down at her desk, Chris looked at her more closely. "You look good, Rita," he observed.

     "Thank you," she replied, smiling brightly. "After I went home last night-" She snapped her fingers. "I was out like a light. Slept right through my alarm, and get this- no nightmares."

     "That’s great, Sam," Chris said sincerely. "I’m really glad to hear it." Then he glanced over at Harry’s office. "I don’t know that Cap will be so sympathetic, though," he added, lowering his voice. "He’s been asking about you all morning. I’ve already briefed him about the notebook we found at Billy’s apartment last night, so we’d better get in there."

     Rita winced, and together they got up and went to Harry’s door. As they were walking, Chris added, "I also got a call from your friend Claire this morning. She said that Natalie disappeared from her apartment late last night, about the time we were investigating the second murder."

     Rita nodded, her expression concerned. "I’ll ask Donnie if he knows where she is," she said distractedly.

     The two Sams stopped at Harry’s door when they saw what he was doing. He had a small, hand-held mirror and a flashlight. He was shining the light down his throat, intermittently saying "aaaaah", and trying to see down there with the mirror.

     Trying to keep from smirking, Rita said, "Sore throat, Cap?"

     Harry almost dropped the flashlight and the mirror. "Well it’s about time, Lance," he snapped. "Nice of you to join us today."

     "Sorry, Cap, I… overslept." She walked over to his desk and picked up the flashlight. "Let’s have a look in there. Now say ah." Harry complied, and after a careful inspection, Rita declared, "Looks fine, cap. Nice and pink."

     Harry rubbed his throat gingerly. "It’s this damn air-conditioning," he complained. "They leave it on even when it’s cold outside." He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, asking for divine intervention. Chris followed his gaze, looking puzzled. Harry glared at him, and a grin broke out on Chris’s face. Then Harry said, "Okay, okay, let’s find some answers, for Pete’s sake. I’m up to my ears in dead bodies, and they’re sure not giving me any."

     Chris nodded, then glanced around. "Where’s Donovan?" he asked.

     "He got tired of waiting for sleeping beauty here," Harry replied, jerking his thumb in Rita’s direction. Rita cleared her throat dubiously, and Harry added, "I’ll call him in."

     "While you’re at it, Cap, call Lt. Hudson in, too."

     Harry raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and got on the phone. A minute later, Lt. Hudson joined them. He and Harry shook hands. "Glad to have you with us, Lieutenant," Harry said.

     Lt. Hudson grinned and replied easily, "It’s Lou, Harry. I save the Lieutenant for these two grunts." He pointed two fingers at Chris and Rita. They all smiled as George Donovan- prosecuting attorney and good friend of all those present- walked into Harry’s office.

     He stopped short and said, "Never trust a roomful of grinning cops."

     "It’s when we stop smiling that you gotta worry, George," Harry said dryly. He went on, "Now isn’t this a cozy little group? Okay, Lorenzo, get on with it. I’m starting to get claustrophobic."

     "Well," Chris began, suppressing a smirk, "I got the lab results from Hattie this morning on our two guests of honor. As for Billy Vasquez, there’s not much in the report that we don’t already know. He was only in the water for eight or nine hours before he washed up on shore. And, the gun that killed him was a 9 mm. Now, as for the dancer: she is one Veronica Dempsey, also known on the job as Kayla. Hattie put the time of death at between 1:30 and 2:30 a.m. last night. As for the cause, Hattie said it was a toss-up. She had a partially crushed windpipe, and her blood-alcohol level was more than twice the legal limit. She also had traces of some highly potent amphetamines in her system."

     "What about sexual assault?" Lou asked, his face more grave now.

     Chris nodded. "She had extensive bruising on her wrists, probably from handcuffs. More bruising on the breasts, and whip marks, too. Also, Hattie said that there was damage to the genitals, but there were no traces of semen. She can’t be sure, but Hattie suspected it was the work of a woman." Chris shook his head.

     Rita folded her arms, an expression of disgust on her face. Then Lou said, "Maybe it wasn’t Rhinegold after all. Could have been his ladyfriend."

     Chris nodded and said, "We’ve got a name for her now- Carlotta."

     Then Harry spoke up. "Okay, so let me see if I follow this. These two characters Carlotta and Rhinegold are in the slave trade- they play the part of the ‘auctioneers’, so to speak. They use people like Magee to find girls for them, then they sell them to the highest bidder."

     "We’re not sure, but we think so," Rita interjected. "That’s how it usually works."

     Harry nodded and went on, "So Billy Vasquez finds out about their little operation and gets snuffed. But which one of them did it? Magee, Rhinegold, or the third man? And as for Carlotta… maybe she likes to try out the merchandise before they sell it. Only this time she played too rough." He shook his head. Then he looked at George. "You’ve been awful quiet, Donovan. What’s your take on all of this?"

     George looked doubtful. "If you’re thinking about a warrant, it’s out of the question at this stage. We need something a lot more solid than this dead bouncer’s notebook. And so far, you’ve got nothing to tie any of these people to the murders. Magee’s lawyers would have a field day with your witness, Rita. By the time they got finished with her, the jury would believe she couldn’t see past her own nose. As for the dancer, just because Chris overhead them invite her to their party doesn’t mean she was there."

     "Thank you, George, for your vote of confidence," Rita said sourly.

     George held up his hands innocently. "Just being realistic, Rita."

     Chris nodded and said, "George is right- we’ve got squat. Finding some witnesses who could place the Dempsey girl at the party would be a good start."

     "Yeah, and I’ll bet that if we start asking questions, those witnesses will get a sudden case of amnesia." Rita said. "But you know what- I’m not sure if we should go that route. If we get too nosy we could scare them off. I want to put an end to their ‘business’, and I think we have a good chance of catching them."

     She glanced at George, who nodded and replied, "Absolutely. Just get me some hard evidence. A taped confession would do nicely." He added the last bit with a grin, which Rita returned. Then George went on, "Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m due in court. Remember- you guys catch ‘em, I’ll put ‘em away."

     "Thanks George," Rita said. "See ya."

     George made his exit, then Harry clapped his hands together. "Okay, good. Now- you have any idea where these clowns are?"

     Chris’s face lit up. "We finally got lucky," he said. "I called the limousine service that rented the limo to Carlotta and Rhinegold last night. I managed to talk them into telling me who signed for it. Of course, they used aliases, but I did get an address. As we speak, there are a couple of our boys keeping an eye on their estate. It’s been pretty quiet over there this morning, but they’ll call us if anything happens."

     "Good thinking, Chris," Harry said. "Now, what about this Magee character?"

     Rita answered, "I think our best chance for Magee is with DiBarto."

     Harry’s face wrinkled up like a prune at the mention of DiBarto’s name. "Not Donnie Donuts again," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "What’s he got to do with this?"

     "He owns Thoroughbreds, and Jerry works for him," Rita explained. Then she turned on her partner. "I thought you said you briefed the Captain," she said accusingly.

     Chris cleared his throat. "I was hoping that you’d already eliminated him as a suspect." Knowing how Harry felt about Donnie, Chris had hoped they could keep his name out of it- no such luck.

     Rita folded her arms. "No, I was sleeping, remember?"

     Chris grinned sheepishly. Then Harry pounced. "DiBarto has to be in on this," he said, leaning forward on his desk. "No way one of his employees goes and takes Donnie’s girls away, just like that. Donnie must know what’s going on."

     Rita shook her head emphatically. "No way, Cap. Donnie would not be involved in a slavery ring."

     "Come on, Lance," Harry jeered. "You’ve had one too many candlelit dinners with this guy. He’s a gangster, for crying out loud!"

     Chris backed his partner up. "Cap, we have to give him the benefit of the doubt. We owe him that. He’s helped us out on more than one investigation- you know that. Remember last year, when he was going to testify against Tony Toe-Tag Torrino."

     Rita picked up where her partner left off. "Yes, that’s exactly right. He was going to break the wise-guy code of honor. And if Donnie finds out what’s been going on behind his back, he’ll help us nail these slimeballs. I know he will."

     Harry shook his finger. "Huh-uh," he said. "DiBarto will give you up to those slavers the first chance he gets."

     "Captain, it’s our best shot," Rita protested. "Billy’s log said they’re going to make the exchange tomorrow. We don’t have time to put someone on the inside. What other choice have we got?"

     Lou spoke up. "I agree with them, Harry. DiBarto could have blown Chris’s cover when the three of us were working a jewelry heist investigation a few years back, but he kept quiet."

     "Yeah, I heard about that," Harry replied, with more than a tinge of sarcasm. "As I recall, DiBarto kept quiet only on the condition that you guys gave him the FBI plant in his organization, which you did." When Harry stopped, he was answered only by three stubborn stares. He finally sighed and held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "Lance, you go see DiBarto- alone. He seems to prefer it that way." Rita smiled wryly, then Harry added, "You come straight back after you talk to him. The three of us will organize things here while you’re away."

     "Okay Cap," Rita replied. "See ya soon."

     "Be careful," Lt. Hudson called after her.

     "Yeah, be careful," Chris echoed softly.

* * *

     When Rita arrived at Thoroughbreds, she was stopped at the door by Jerry Magee. "We’re closed," he grunted, folding his arms.

     "Yeah, well I’m not here for the entertainment," Rita replied sarcastically, showing him her badge. "You tell your boss that Sergeant Lance is here to see him."

     Magee stood his ground. "Mr. DiBarto doesn’t want to be disturbed. You got a warrant, lady?"

     "You listen to me very carefully," Rita said, lowering her voice. "If Donnie finds out that I came here to see him, and you turned me away, I would not want to be in your shoes, my friend. No sir. I would be on the next plane out of the country, if I were you."

     Magee’s sneer wavered. Rita said, "Now you be a smart guy and tell Donnie that Sergeant Lance- that’s L-A-N-C-E, is here." She gestured towards the inside of the club.

     Fixing her with an icy stare, Magee turned and led her inside. When he reached the door of Donnie’s basement office he stopped. "Wait here," he muttered.

     Rita goaded him further. "Remember, it’s Sergeant Lance. Just think of one of those big spears, and you won’t forget."

     Magee glowered at her as he shut the door behind him. Rita laughed to herself and glanced around the club. It appeared to be empty. Very soon, Jerry appeared from behind the closed door. He jerked his head towards the office, allowing Rita to pass, and strode off without a word.

     Donnie’s office was spartan compared to his luxurious Palm Beach estate home, Rita thought to herself. Some things hadn’t changed, though; the ever-present Dutchie was curled up in his dog basket, and Donnie was his usual sparkling self. "Why Rita, what an unexpected pleasure," he said, rising from his desk.

     Rita managed a polite smile. "I’m afraid it’s anything but pleasure, Donnie."

     He pretended to be hurt. "Aw, Rita, be nice," he said.

     "No, I didn’t mean it that way, Donnie. I meant I’m here on business."

     He held up his hands. "Not on an empty stomach. I have some fresh proshuito in the fridge- your favorite!"

     Rita smiled. "Thanks Donnie, but… I’m trying to cut back on proshuito. The guy at the deli told me it was really fattening."

     Donnie waved his hand in dismissal. "Nonsense, Rita. Besides, if you cut back any more, there won’t be anything left of you." He pointed his finger at her and grinned. "You should come with me to Palermo and sample some of Mama’s cooking, Rita. 82 years old, but she still makes everything from scratch. Manicotti, ravioli, linguini…" His eyes began to gleam.

     Rita laughed a little and said, "Well, the next time she’s in town, I’ll take you up on that offer." Then her face became more serious. "Listen Donnie, I really need to talk to you." She glanced around. "Is it safe to talk here?"

     "Of course," Donnie replied a little defensively.

     Rita sat down across from him. "I just don’t want to be overheard, that’s all." She paused, collecting her thoughts. Donnie always seemed to throw her off stride. She had to be very careful, for although she didn’t believe it, there was still a chance that Donnie was involved in the whole scheme. "How long has Jerry Magee worked for you, Donnie?" she began.

     "Since I took over the club, about six months ago. But he and I go way back- all the way to Brooklyn, as a matter of fact."

     Rita nodded. "Do you trust him?"

     Donnie grinned. "Trust is a rare and valuable commodity these days, Rita. Like good proshuito."

     "I see. Well, the way I heard it, Jerry Magee gave up his old boss- Pauley Francesco- to the mob."

     Donnie shook his finger, his face grave. "Jerry’s from the old school, Rita. We don’t rat our friends out."

     "But the times they are a-changin’, Donnie. Like you said, trust is a very rare and valuable commodity."

     "Come on, Rita, what is this about?" Donnie asked impatiently.

     Rita smiled smugly. "All in good time, Donnie. Next subject: Carlotta and Fritz Rhinegold."

     Donnie shrugged. "Business associates," he said. "Jerry introduced us. They represent a modeling agency in Paris. Lately I’ve been doing a little talent scouting for them."

     A modeling agency… So, that was their front. Rita’s expression turned grim. "The latest ‘talent’ that you scouted for them just turned up dead, Donnie."

     "What are you talkin’ about, Rita?" he asked. He looked genuinely shocked. "You mean Kayla? My girl Kayla?"

     Rita nodded. "She was found in her car last night. Somebody crushed her windpipe after she’d been beaten and sexually assaulted. And she had enough booze and drugs in her system to kill a horse."

     "Aw no, this can’t be true." Donnie leaned on his arm for support. "She was such a sweet kid." Suddenly his expression turned angry. "You think Carlotta and Rhinegold did it? Why those miserable sons-a-bitches. I’ll rip their lungs out! I’ll feed ‘em to the alligators!"

     He knocked his chair over as he stood up. Dutchie’s head snapped around in alarm, and he looked at his master with a puzzled expression. "Donnie, wait!" Rita said, trying to block his path. He stopped, not wanting to run her over, and stood there, seething with anger. "There’s more, Donnie. Sit down." He complied reluctantly, and Rita went on, "We think Carlotta and Rhinegold are part of a slavery ring. They take young girls like Kayla, with no family ties, and auction them off… probably to buyers in the Middle East. And your boy Magee is in on it." She paused. She had been about to tell Donnie how Billy was killed because he found out, but Donnie was still a suspect in Billy’s murder. He had to establish an alibi first. "Donnie, I need to know where you were late Wednesday night, between 1 and 3 a.m."

     "Don’t play games with me, Rita," Donnie warned.

     "Donnie, I need to know," Rita insisted.

     "I was with those two bastards," he spat, referring to Carlotta and Rhinegold. "Actually, just one of them- Carlotta. Rhinegold was out. I was at their estate, discussing ‘business’." He shook his head and cursed in Italian.

     Rita nodded- that piece of news could put Rhinegold at the scene of Billy’s murder. Then she said, "Donnie, one of your bouncers, Billy Vasquez, was murdered while you were with them."

     Donnie’s face turned a shade redder. He was so angry, his hands were shaking. "Who killed him, Rita?" he ground out between clenched teeth. Then he started to put the pieces together. "It was Magee, wasn’t it?"

     Rita nodded. "We think so, Donnie- either him or Rhinegold. One of your dancers, Natalie, was behind the club smoking, and she saw Billy’s murder. She didn’t see the guy’s face who pulled the trigger, but she gave us a description of two of the three men. She said one spoke with a German accent, and the other… well, her description fits Magee. Trouble is, it fits you, too. And since you were with Carlotta at the time, we can’t exactly corroborate your story."

     Donnie actually relaxed a little. "Yeah, my alibi ain’t exactly waterproof, is it?" He pointed towards the upstairs door. "That night, Billy was working the door. Jerry came to me said he needed to talk to me in private. So we came down here, and he told me that he caught Billy trying to sell drugs to the girls. That’s strictly prohibited, as you know. I run a clean place here, and I take care of my girls. Naturally, I was surprised, ‘cause Billy seemed like a real straight arrow. So I told Jerry to fire him. I was in a hurry- I had business in West Palm and I didn’t have time to deal with it." He shook his head. "That lying weasel. And that poor kid- she saw the whole thing. You know, Natalie came to me last night and said she wanted to take the modeling job that Carlotta and Rhinegold are offering."

     Rita nodded; she figured Natalie had come to Donnie after she left Claire’s apartment. "I kind of had a feeling it was her," she said aloud. "Well, at least now we know who the other girl is. Billy found out what was going on, Donnie. That’s why they killed him. He had a log- he knew that two girls were involved, and Kayla was one of them. He tried to warn her, but he didn’t get the chance."

     Donnie held out his hands. "Rita, you gotta believe me. I didn’t know about any of this. You know me, Rita. You know I’m uncomfortable with the idea of people as merchandise. Jerry introduced me to these scumbags Carlotta and Rhinegold- he’s worked for them before, with his old boss Francesco. I didn’t trust them, so I checked, and they have a legitimate background set up. Big modeling agency in Paris that represents some of the top models in the world."

     Rita nodded in understanding. "I believe you, Donnie. You help us catch them, we’ll conveniently forget that you even know them."

     Donnie nodded slowly in return. Then he said, "And how are we going do that?"

     "Well, we’re still working on it," Rita replied. "I also have to convince my captain that you’re not involved in this."

     Donnie chuckled. "Good old Harry the Lip," he said. "Still doesn’t trust me after all these years."

     Rita smiled wryly. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Have you spoken with Natalie today?" Donnie shook his head. "You might want to keep an eye on her," Rita went on. "When does her next shift start?"

     "Tonight at nine," Donnie replied. "But I told her to get here early so we could go over the details of the modeling contract. In the meantime, I’ll have my good friend Jimmy Shoes keep an eye on her."

     "Good," Rita said, nodding. "That will give you a chance to tell her what’s going on. By the way, would you give me her address?"

     Donnie nodded and pulled a file from his desk drawer. Rita looked at it, then copied the address into her notebook. "We’re going to have to be extremely careful, Donnie," she said when she was finished writing. "Your friend up there is suspicious enough already, with a cop showing up. We don’t want to tip our hand. And there’s still the third man involved in Billy’s murder. Could it be another of your employees? How many of them are in on it?"

     "You leave that to me," Donnie said, scowling. "I’ll remind them who they work for, and put the fear of God in ‘em while I’m at it. But don’t worry- I trust Shoes more than any other man in my organization. Natalie will be safe with him."

     "Okay. Just be careful, Donnie. I’ll send Chris around later tonight, once we’ve worked out the details at our end."

     Donnie chuckled. "I saw that jabeeb in here last night. Couldn’t figure out what he was doing here."

     "Well, now you know," Rita said dryly. "Did Magee make him for a cop?"

     Donnie shook his head. "Nah. Jerry left early last night. Don’t worry, his cover’s safe."

     Rita nodded. "Good. Well, I’d better get back, Donnie." She paused, then added, "Good luck."

     Donnie grinned roguishly. "Luck is for amateurs, Rita. You sure you don’t want some proshuito before you go?"

     Rita smiled and patted her tummy, then went back upstairs and left the club, as Donnie followed her with suspicious eyes. Very soon after she left, Jerry Magee came down the steps and approached Donnie’s desk. Glancing back at the door, he said, "Trouble, boss?"

     Donnie managed a smile and waved his hand in dismissal. "Nah. Just some friendly neighborhood flatfoot reminding me about that new city ordinance. Something about topless dancing and serving alcohol. But I took care of it," he added, rubbing his fingers together.

     Jerry nodded and smiled in understanding. "Good thinking, boss."

     Donnie nodded, then looked down at his desk impatiently. "I got work to do, Jerry."

     Taking the hint, Jerry retreated back upstairs. The look Donnie fixed on him was deadly cold. In Donnie’s world, the price for betrayal was high, perhaps more than Jerry could afford. Very soon, he would find out.

* * *

     Natalie emerged form Donnie’s office, looking angry. They had just finished discussing the details of her "modeling" job. Then Natalie noticed Jerry Magee watching her, a suspicious look on his face. Quickly masking her expression, she threw her arms around one of the bouncers and flirted with him. When she was out of Jerry’s sight, she went back into the dressing room to get ready for her set. She stood in front of the clothes rack where the girls kept their dancing outfits and stared at it blankly, her thoughts jumbled. One of the other dancers, named Charlotte and nicknamed Mama Bear, came up to her and put her arm around Natalie’s shoulder. She could tell she was upset, and asked her what was wrong. Natalie made up a lie about boyfriend troubles and tried to put on a happy face. Satisfied, Charlotte helped her pick out an outfit and gave her some encouraging words of advice.

     Later that night, about halfway into Natalie’s second set, she saw Jack Shoemaker walk into the club. He noticed Natalie and smiled. Annoyed, Natalie turned her back on him, concentrating on the other side of her stage. Jack was used to this kind of treatment, but now things were different. He was pretty sure that she knew. She had been in Claire’s apartment; surely she had seen the photo of her and Jack. Soon it will all be over, though, he thought to himself. He sat down at his usual table and waited while Natalie danced. When her set was over, she collected her tips, not even looking in Jack’s direction. Then she went into the dressing room. Jack sat back and waited for her to return. He actually felt relaxed- something he had never experienced here in the club.

     Soon, Natalie emerged from the dressing room, wearing her street clothes and carrying a lit cigarette. She stopped by the bar and picked up a drink, then went to Jack’s table. Avoiding his eyes, she put the drink down with a thud, then turned the chair around and sat in it backwards. Still not looking at him, she folded her arms on the back of the chair and said coolly, "You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here."

     Jack folded his hands on the table. Now he was sure. "I’ve come to say goodbye," he replied matter-of-factly.

     Finally, Natalie met his gaze. The look in her eyes bordered on contempt. It was so much easier to hate him, and Natalie almost always took the easy way out. "You bastard," she said, blowing smoke in his direction. "I can’t believe you."

     Jack sat back in his chair and sighed. Evidently this had been a bad idea. But Jack hated to leave things unfinished, and he still carried a twisted sense of responsibility for Natalie around with him, even though she resented it. He had to try to make things right with her. "Natalie," he began, "I told you that night that I was in love with Claire. I begged you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen."

     "Oh, don’t even give me that shit," she snapped. "You make it sound like I raped you or something."

     "No," Jack said patiently. "No, I didn’t say that, Natalie. But tell me, what guy could have resisted you under the circumstances?"

     She rolled her eyes. "Some guys believe in fidelity, Jack. Very few, but they do exist."

     Jack raised his finger in protest. "Now wait a minute," he said. "Claire and I hadn’t made love when you and I met. We still haven’t, to this day. Claire’s a shy, quiet farm girl form Scotland, Natalie. She hasn’t been in this country for very long, and where she comes from, casual sex is not as common as it is here."

     "Oh, so if you two had sex it would be ‘casual?’ I thought you loved each other. I know she loves you." She paused and shook her head sadly. "Poor Claire," she said. "She’s such a sweet, innocent girl. How could you do that to her?"

     Jack closed his eyes and sighed. "I’ve regretted it every day of my life, Natalie. You know that. Every single day, I take out my guilt and look at it- then I try to get rid of it, but it just keeps coming back. It’s useless, like garbage. I take it out to the curb every day, but I just keep generating more and more of it, in an endless cycle."

     Her expression softened a little. She knew what Jack was talking about. Guilt and regret- she had more than her share. Then Jack reached into his jacket pocket and discreetly pulled out a small roll of hundred dollar bills. "I want you to have this," he said in a low voice. "I know how your roommate steals everything from you. Take this and put it in a bank, okay?"

     She sat there, her mouth half open, looking from his face to the money and back again. "I don’t want your goddamn money, Jack," she said, her voice rising. Jack shushed her and glanced around nervously, afraid someone would hear her. Someone did. One of the bouncers was heading for their table. Jack cursed under his breath and quickly stashed the money back in his coat. But Natalie waved the bouncer away with an impatient look. The she turned back to Jack and nodded. "So that’s what this is about," she went on more quietly, but still with an edge in her voice. "All this money you’ve been giving me the past few months. It’s like your penance or something." She sneered at him. "Just screw the slut and give her money, and that makes everything okay," she said, mocking him. "You’re such a humanitarian, Jack."

     "Fine, then- forget it!" Jack said angrily. He started to get up, but Natalie put her hand on his.

     "No, Jack, wait," she said, sounding tired. Tired and defeated. Slowly, he sat back down. "I’m just being bitter," Natalie went on. She sighed heavily. "The truth is, I envy what you and Claire have. You’re two very lucky people."

     Jack squeezed her hand. "I know," he said softly.

     Natalie continued, "Leave your guilt at the curb, Jack- for good. You don’t need it anymore. What’s done is done, and you learned your lesson."

     Jack nodded and rubbed her slender fingers. "We’ll always be friends, Natalie," he said. "You know that, don’t you?"

     "Yeah," she replied looking down, her voice almost a whisper. "So you’re not gonna come see me dance anymore, Jack?"

     He shook his head slowly. "No… I can’t."

     She raised her chin and shook her hair out of her face, trying to hide her feelings. "Well, that’s okay. I’m not going to be here much longer anyway."

     "Are you going to go back home to your family?" Jack asked hopefully.

     "Maybe," Natalie replied. "Maybe."

     Jack nodded, then noticed that Natalie’s boss, the man with the little dog, was watching them. He laughed a little and said, "Looks like your boss is being overprotective again. I’d better go- I’m late anyway."

     They both stood up and embraced. Natalie squeezed him tightly and said into his chest, "I’ll miss you, Jack. You were always so nice to me."

     "I’ll miss you, too," Jack replied, rubbing her back. "If you ever need anything, call me. Wherever you are, day or night. Okay?"

     She nodded, and reluctantly let him go. "Bye, Natalie," he said softly. "Take better care of yourself. You deserve that." He kissed her cheek gently and walked away.

     Natalie stood there silently, Jack’s last words echoing in her mind. Now, she looked like the innocent eighteen year old kid that she should have been, standing there rubbing her arm with her shoulders hunched slightly, as if to ward off a sudden chill.

     Then Donnie appeared in front of her. He saw the look on Natalie’s face, and his smile faded. "What’s the matter, doll?" he asked. "Who was that guy?"

     "Just a friend," Natalie replied softly. Before Donnie could respond, she went on, "I’m going home, Mr. DiBarto. I’m really tired and my stomach hurts. Charlotte’s covering for me, okay?"

     "Sure, kid, sure," Donnie replied, rubbing her shoulder. Then he looked past her and shouted, "Jimmy!" Then a tall, thin man wearing a fedora and wingtips sauntered over to them. Donnie trusted him to see Natalie home safely. He would have taken her himself, but he had to meet his ‘partners’ here at the club, to make the final arrangements. Donnie looked up at the tall man and said, "Shoes, take Natalie home."

     "Sure ting, boss," Jimmy replied. Natalie smiled to herself- sometimes she felt like she was on the set of Goodfellas, or a Warner Bros. Cartoon- she couldn’t decide which.

* * *

     After he left the club, Jack went home. He stripped off all his clothes and took a quick shower. When he dressed again he chose a totally new outfit; he didn’t want the smell of smoke- or Natalie’s perfume- lingering on him. On his way to Claire’s apartment, he made a quick stop. By the time he got there it was 11:30. He was late; they wouldn’t have much time together. At least they had spent most of the day together, something they didn’t get to do very often.

     He walked into Claire’s apartment with one hand behind his back. Claire noticed this and said with a giggle, "What are you hiding, Jack?" She reached around and tried to grab his hand, but he played keep-away, dancing around in circles to avoid her. Then, when she leaned in close he stole a kiss. Claire stopped grabbing and returned the kiss, with feeling. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of Jack’s lips on hers. When she opened them again there was a bouquet of roses in front of her.

     "For you, Miss MacKenzie," Jack said softly.

     Claire smiled warmly and took the bouquet. "They’re beautiful, Mister Shoemaker. Thank you!" She set the bouquet down gently and put her arms around his neck. "So why are you bringing me roses, laddie?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

     Jack glanced at the calendar and replied, "Because today is our 6 month, 1 week, and 2^nd day anniversary," he replied with a pinch to her nose. "And because I love you."

     "I love you too, Jack," Claire said softly. They kissed again, tenderly. Then Claire went into the kitchen to get a vase for the roses. Jack followed her, not letting go of her waist. She giggled at his clinginess. After she carefully arranged the roses, Jack put one of their favorite CDs into the CD player- a collection of Gaelic songs. As they listened they sat on the couch together. Jack put Claire in his lap and held her like a child. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, thinking about the past couple of days. He realized just how lucky he was, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. Sitting here in his lap was a treasure. Claire was one in a million; Jack would most likely never meet anyone like her again. He connected with her on so many levels, and at the same time, their personalities balanced each other. Her patience offset his temper; his confidence helped her overcome her timidity. She had common sense, and he was book smart. The list went on- there were so many things that Jack could point to and say, "That’s why I love her." The same was true for Claire.

     Why then, had he done what he did? She trusted him implicitly, and he had betrayed that trust. Jack struggled with his guilt for the umpteenth time. Then he remembered Natalie’s advice. It was good advice, and if he took it, maybe she would take his as well. That was the best he could do.

     Then, all too soon, their time together was over, for the time being. Jack had to do a project for school; he and some of his astronomy classmates were timing a rare series of lunar occultations over three nights. They had arrived, and were down in the parking lot honking. Jack stepped out on the balcony and waved to them, then prepared to say goodbye. It wasn’t going to be easy this time; Jack and his friends were driving to Miami and staying the weekend. He wouldn’t see Claire again until Monday. More than anything, Jack wanted to spend this night with his beloved. But duty called, and this was a project he could not afford to skip. He spent several minutes just holding his Claire, soaking up her warmth. He would need it to keep him going. Then, they performed their parting ritual. Claire went to her dresser and retrieved a small piece of cloth. It was a handkerchief embroidered with flowers; Claire had had it since she was a little girl in Scotland. For her and Jack, it served as a talisman, keeping them together whenever they were apart.

     She gave it to her love. Carefully, he folded it up into a neat little square. Then he closed his eyes and gently pressed it to his lips. After tucking the handkerchief into his breast pocket, he kissed his beloved one last time and whispered goodbyes and I-love-yous in her ear. Claire smiled and bid him farewell.

     When he was down in the parking lot, he looked up to the balcony. Claire was standing there, leaning casually against the railing. Jack thought to himself that she seemed to be less upset than she usually was about the prospect of them being apart. Of that, he was glad. As much as he wanted to spend every moment with her, he also wanted her to be more independent- for her own sake. He knew that she looked to him as a father figure, as well as a boyfriend. Jack was more than happy to play both parts, and he knew that as time passed Claire would recover from her parents death. Underneath her sensitive exterior, she was a very strong person.

     As he was about to leave, Jack remembered something and walked back over to the building. He tossed Claire his car keys so that she could use his car while he was away. After catching them, Claire blew him a kiss. Jack caught it and touched it to his lips. Then, reluctantly, he got into his friend’s car and they drove away.

* * *

     Although he sometimes played the part, Jerry Magee wasn’t stupid. He also wasn’t blind. After seeing the cop that paid Donnie a visit, and the reaction on Natalie’s face after she had met with Mr. DiBarto earlier, his suspicions were aroused. He thought back to the night of Billy’s murder, going over the events in his mind. After he had come back into the club, he had been sure that he was alone. He had gone to the dancers’ dressing room and watched them changing clothes. He knew how much they hated that- all the more reason for him to do it. Although he had thought nothing of it at the time, he had seen a particular dancer- one with dark blue eyes and short blond hair- come into the dressing room through the back entrance. He also remembered that she had looked very pale and shaky, although she had done an excellent job of covering it up. That clinched it for Jerry; it was time to cut his losses and move on. He would have to abandon his partners- and their money- but at this point it couldn’t be helped. He had an awful lot at risk, and things could start to go very sour very soon.

     From the back of the club he watched as Natalie embraced someone- a tall young man with a baseball cap. Then Donnie went over to her and spoke to her briefly. Finally, Jimmy Shoes escorted her out of the club. That was good- a stroke of luck for Jerry. Furtively, he retreated out of view. Unobserved, or so he thought, he went out the back door and got into his car. He hated to do this- it would cost him a lot of money- but then he realized he could get some enjoyment out of it. Smiling to himself, he started his car and drove away.

     By the time Natalie arrived at her apartment, she was feeling much worse. She thanked Jimmy for driving her, and he offered to walk her up. She accepted wearily, and together they climbed the steps to the second floor. She was surprised to find that her apartment was empty; Jody and her friends must be out raising hell. Seeing that everything was in order, Jimmy said goodbye. When he returned to his car, he spoke to someone briefly on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Natalie went to the bathroom and downed three aspirin. When she went back into the bedroom she lay sprawled across her bed. The pain was growing worse by the minute. After she had been laying there for a little while, suddenly her stomach seemed to explode. Natalie cried out in agony; she had never experienced such pain in her entire life. Clutching her stomach, grinding her teeth in anguish, she reached for the phone. The only number that she could remember was Claire’s. The seconds seemed like hours as Natalie counted the rings. Finally, Claire answered. "Claire, please help me," Natalie moaned. "I think I’m gonna die…"

     "Natalie?" Claire said, her voice rising in alarm. "Where are you, Natalie? What happened?"

     "Take me to the hospital, Claire. Please…" The pain was so bad, Natalie began to cry. She managed to give Claire her address, and Claire promised she would be there in no time. Natalie hung up the phone and curled up into a ball, clutching her stomach in desperation. Hurry Claire, hurry, she thought. Then, everything went black.

* * *

     Chris Lorenzo emerged from the shadows, watching Jerry’s car as it pulled out of the parking lot. Wasting no time, he hopped into his Charger. Thankfully, it started right away this time. Keeping his headlights off, he slowly pulled out of the lot. Jerry’s car was still in sight, stopped at a light up ahead. Chris gave him a good lead, and turned on his headlights when he was in the flow of traffic. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialed Rita’s number. "Rita, he’s on the move. Heading south on Furman."

     "Okay, Chris," Rita replied. "Listen, we just got a call from the surveillance team. Carlotta and Rhinegold have left their estate, and they’re heading towards downtown."

     "Great," Chris muttered. He wished all the birds hadn’t flown the coop at the same time. "I guess you’d better follow them, Sam."

     "What do you think Magee’s up to?" Rita asked.

     "I’m not sure. He seems to be headed towards a low rent district."

     "Okay, keep me up to speed," Rita answered. "I’ll be on TAC-4."

     "Got it, Sam. Be careful."

     "You too, partner."

     Chris hung up the phone and concentrated on his driving. He was determined not to lose his quarry this time. Jerry seemed to be driving very cautiously, but Chris didn’t think he had made him yet. At one point, Chris saw him speaking briefly on a cell phone. Other than that, everything appeared to be normal. Finally, Jerry turned a corner and slowed down. Chris stayed well behind and killed his headlights. Although the street was not well lit, there also wasn’t much traffic, so he could afford to drive blind. Jerry parked across from a run-down apartment building, on the right-hand side of the street. Chris pulled over as well on the opposite side, in between two cars and about fifty yards behind Jerry. From here he could see clearly. He picked up the car radio and tuned to channel 4. "Rita, you there?" he asked.

     "Right here, Chris," came Rita’s reply. "Listen, Carlotta and Rhinegold are back at the club. They’re inside talking with Donnie."

     "Magee is parked outside of an apartment building on Hancock- 1300 block. So far, he hasn’t gotten out of his car."

     "1300 block?" Rita’s voice was suddenly urgent. "That’s where Natalie lives. Don’t let him out of your sight, Chris. Stand by."

     Chris acknowledged and picked up his binoculars from the passenger seat. From this angle he could only see Jerry’s back, unfortunately. But he was looking down, and his hands were moving. Then Chris glimpsed the tip of a silencer. He put down the binoculars and cocked his own gun, ready for action. Then Rita’s voice came back over the radio. "Chris, I just called Natalie, but there’s no answer. She lives in the second story corner apartment."

     Chris looked up at the building. "Well, there’s a light on up there," he said.

     "I’ll keep trying to call her then. Stay sharp, Chris. I’ll be there in ten."

     "All right. Listen, Rita, take Clay to get here; he’ll be facing away from you. Park on the left side of the street near the intersection."

     "Got it Sam."

     Chris picked up the binoculars again. He had been unable to make out the license plate number during his pursuit, so he took the opportunity to get it while the car was stationary. He had to strain his eyes, even with the binoculars. It was dark, and the angle was bad. Absorbed with trying to make out the number, Chris failed to notice the car that arrived and parked farther down the street, on the other side of the building. But Jerry noticed. A young girl got out and headed for the entrance. Jerry rubbed his chin thoughtfully and wondered. Was she another resident? A friend of Natalie’s? Jerry hoped it was the latter- it would be more fun that way. Then, the girl was inside. Chris lowered his binoculars, ignorant of Claire’s arrival. Across the street, Jerry was about to get out of his Cadillac, but then, yet another car pulled up. However, this particular one happened to be a police car. It came to a stop directly in front of the apartment building. Jerry cursed his luck and quickly hid his gun under the seat. As the officers got out of the car, Jerry tensed- but they went straight into the building, taking no notice of him. He breathed a sigh of relief, but reflected to himself that this turn of events definitely put a damper on his plans. He couldn’t afford to be seen, but he could afford to wait. So he did.

     Claire hurried up the steps and knocked urgently on Natalie’s door. There was no response. She tried the knob, and it opened. Fortunately for Natalie, she had been so out of it when she came home that she left the door unlocked. As Claire stepped inside she immediately saw her friend sprawled on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Claire hurriedly bent down and felt for Natalie’s pulse. Then Natalie came to, and Claire quickly decided on a course of action. There was a hospital close by, and Claire could most likely get her there faster by car than if she called an ambulance. "Honey, it’s all right," Claire said soothingly. "You’re going to be all right." She put her hand gently under Natalie’s head and lifted it a little. Her head and her face were soaked with sweat. "Try to stand up," Claire urged. Natalie got unsteadily to her feet, looking around in confusion. She was clearly disoriented. "Come on, sweetie, we’re going to the hospital," Claire said. She put Natalie’s arm over her shoulders to steady her, and together they began the painstakingly slow walk back down to the street. "Where does it hurt?" Claire asked, when they reached the building’s entrance.

     "My stomach," Natalie ground out between clenched teeth.

     "Easy, honey, we’re almost there."

     Rita pulled up and parked several cars behind Chris. She said into her radio, "I’m right behind you and to the left, Sam." She paused, then added, "What the hell is that black-and-white doing here?"

     "Stand by, Sam," came Chris’s reply. Then he tuned to a different channel and said, "This is X-ray 9. Why is there a black-and-white at the 1300 block of Hancock? We ordered them to stay out of the area so as not to spook our suspect."

     The police dispatcher, a woman, replied, "Sorry, Chris. They’re responding to a domestic dispute at the apartment building."

     "What apartment number?" Chris asked.

     "Number 1C," the dispatcher answered.

     1C- that meant the first floor, not Natalie’s apartment. "All right- appraise them of our situation."

     "Roger, X-ray 9."

     Chris quickly tuned back to channel 4. "Rita, they’re responding to a domestic dispute in another apartment. I told them to stay out of our way."

     "Roger that, Sam. I’m coming on foot."

     "He’s got a gun, Rita," Chris answered. Then he looked in his side mirror and saw Rita’s Jeep. She got out of it and nodded in his direction. Her gun drawn, Rita crouched down low, using the parked cars as cover. She made her way to Chris’s Charger just as the door to the apartment building opened, and two young girls emerged. Chris immediately trained his binoculars on them.

     "Chris, give me the binoculars," Rita whispered urgently. Chris passed them through his open window. "That’s Natalie and… Claire!" Rita exclaimed. "Looks like Natalie is sick or injured," she added. Before either of them could react, Claire and Natalie were out on the street, with Claire opening the door of Jack’s car. Natalie was on the verge of collapse; Claire struggled to keep her balance. Knowing that Jerry was armed, and that Claire and Natalie were now in his line of fire, Rita sprang out from behind Chris’s Charger and ran full speed into the street. As she sprinted towards Jerry’s car, she saw to her horror that his gun was pointed out of his window at the two girls. A muffled sound, and one of the car windows shattered. The two girls ducked, flattening themselves against the street, and one of them screamed. About halfway to Magee’s car now, Rita ran even faster and shouted, "Police- freeze! Drop your weapon!"

     Jerry cursed and started his car. He aimed his gun in Rita’s direction and fired off a few wild shots. As Rita ducked he peeled out, smashing the edge of his bumper into the car parked in front of him. Almost immediately, Rita heard Chris’s Charger roar into life behind her. Rita straightened up again, planted her feet, and emptied the contents of her gun into Jerry’s rapidly retreating car. His back window shattered, then one of his brakelights. The two girls stayed low, covering their ears against the deafening thunder of gunfire. Rita’s pistol seemed alive, like a roaring, vengeful animal as she pumped the trigger. Then the Charger roared past her as Chris gave chase. Breathing heavily, she watched as first Jerry and then Chris sped wildly around the corner, out of sight. Then she heard Claire urgently yelling her name, and she sprinted over to the curb.

     "Are either of you hit?" Rita asked, a lump of fear rising in her throat.

     Claire shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. "No, but Natalie’s very sick. I have to take her to the emergency room."

     Mentally, Rita breathed a sigh of relief. Then she looked down at Natalie’s crumpled form. She helped Claire get her into the back seat, where she lay clutching her stomach. As Rita closed the car door, one of the uniformed officers came out of the apartment building, her gun drawn. Rita identified herself and hurriedly explained what had happened. The officer nodded and got into the squad car. Lights flashing and sirens blaring, she drove off after Chris and Jerry.

     Quickly, Rita made a decision. More than anything, she wanted to go after Magee. Had it been anyone else but Chris following him, she would have. Now, her duty lay here, with her friends. With Claire, who had risked her life to help someone she barely knew. Rita turned to her and said, "Come on, let’s go. I’ll drive." Claire nodded and got into the back seat. She eased Natalie’s head into her lap and brushed the wet hair out of her face.

     Natalie moaned pitifully, and Claire said, "Hurry, Rita."

     Rita glanced in the rearview mirror and nodded. As she wove skillfully through traffic, her own stomach felt twisted up. The adrenaline was still flowing through her, and her hands were shaking. It didn’t bother her that Magee had fired on her. No, what frightened her- terrified her- was that her friend, her friend, had nearly been caught in the crossfire. The thought of what might have happened made Rita feel sick. Rita was supposed to get shot at; she expected it. But not Claire. Rita already had more than enough memories of friends and relatives that had died or been killed. It took more than two hands to count them. As for Natalie, the verdict wasn’t in yet. They had no idea what was wrong with her. She had escaped Magee unharmed, but it seemed her battle was just beginning.

     Five minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. At that point, Natalie was unable to even walk, so Rita went inside the ER. She ran into Dr. Jillian Dupree, Chris’s new girlfriend. Rita quickly explained to her what had happened, and Jillian ordered a stretcher to be brought out. Natalie was wheeled in, and everyone rushed off, leaving Claire and Rita alone. Seemingly in slow motion- after the flurry of events they had just been through- they sat down together and began the wait.

     Claire was understandably distraught, but she held herself together. Rita simply felt numb; the nearness of the whole thing was still foremost in her mind. She glanced over at her friend, then put her arm around her. "You okay?" she asked softly.

     Claire nodded and leaned her forehead against Rita’s. "Yes, I’m fine," she replied in her musical Scottish accent. "I just hope and pray that Natalie will be."

* * *

     As Chris continued the chase, he radioed police headquarters and appraised them of the situation, giving the make and license number of Jerry’s car. He was notified that backup was not far behind him, but Chris doubted it would do him any good. Jerry was proving himself to be one hell of a driver. It was all Chris could do to keep up. Jerry drove wildly, sideswiping several other cars as he tried to shake his pursuer. He crossed the median more than once to avoid traffic lights, narrowly avoiding head-on collisions. He wasn’t just driving at random, Chris noticed. He was leading Chris through Palm Beach’s warehouse district. Only a few minutes after the chase had begun, it was suddenly over, as Jerry turned a sharp corner. When Chris rounded the corner four seconds later, his prey had disappeared. It was a long street, and well lit, and as Chris looked down its’ length, he knew that Jerry must have turned off somewhere. Slowing to a stop, he looked around. On his left was a long, low building, like a hangar. At regularly spaced intervals along the front was a series of garage-like doors, all of which were open. Jerry could have taken any one of them. On Chris’s right, about seventy-five yards down the street, was a parking garage. The side that faced the street housed only one exit, for outgoing traffic. The gate was still intact, meaning that if Jerry had gone into the parking garage, he would have done so on foot. Chris rolled down his window and listened. Other than his idling engine, there was no sound anywhere. It seemed he was in a stand-off.

     He considered for a moment, then eased off the brake and began a slow crawl past the open garage doors. Each one was so dark that whatever was inside was effectively invisible. Chris began to sweat as he crept past yet another door, the fourth one. As he was straining his eyes to see inside, suddenly a figure emerged from the sixth door. He ran full speed across the street, firing several shots in Chris’s direction. Chris ducked, but the shots went wide. When Chris looked up again he saw the figure disappear under the gate of the parking garage. Chris killed his engine and sprinted after him. He ducked under the gate, holding his gun at the ready. Then he heard footsteps going up the exit ramp. The ramp sloped up gently, but it wound in a tight spiral. It was like continuously turning a corner, which was decidedly dangerous in this situation. Keeping as close to the wall as he could, Chris hurried up the ramp. Another shot rang out, spanging against the concrete ahead of him. Chris flattened himself against the wall, and was forced to slow his pace. He was at a real disadvantage here, and he knew it. He listened for Jerry’s footfalls; when they became louder, Chris could move faster. But when they slowed Chris had to do the same, in order to keep out of Jerry’s line of sight. It was a cat and mouse game, and Chris wondered if he was the cat or the mouse.

     Finally, Chris reached the top of the ramp. He peered cautiously around the corner, but there was no sight or sound of Jerry. There were plenty of places for him to hide, though- numerous large concrete columns, and quite a few parked cars. Then, Chris thought he heard voices at the far end of the garage. There seemed to be some kind of activity down there, too. He strained his eyes, but he was too far away and the garage was poorly lit. Chris quickly made for the far end, using the columns as cover. When he was about halfway there, he heard a car start. He definitely heard voices now- shouting. Then the doors slammed shut, and the car took off in a hurry. Chris stepped out from behind his cover, his gun raised. But the car was taking another exit at the far end. Chris glimpsed it for a split second before it disappeared down the ramp- it was a dark green sedan, and he was pretty sure it was a Lexus. Chris hated being just pretty sure, but it would have to do in this case.

     He stalked down to the exit, still cautious. But there was no one. Frustrated, Chris pulled his cell phone out of his jacket and called headquarters. After putting out an APB on the green Lexus, Chris made his way back down to ground level. His Charger was still where he had left it. He looked around, but the place was deserted. Chris pounded his fist on the car’s roof and got back inside, empty-handed.

* * *

     They hadn’t been waiting long when Rita’s cell phone rang. Claire jumped; she had been half asleep. Rita put a steadying arm around her friend as she took the call. It was Chris, and he reported his futility at catching Magee.

     "Damn," Rita murmured. She had wanted to nail him- bad. She sighed and added, "Let me know if he gets picked up."

     "You bet I will," Chris replied. "Any word on Carlotta and Rhinegold?"

     "I spoke to the surveillance team a little while ago. They haven’t left the club. But Donnie has."

     "I wouldn’t worry about Donnie- I think we found our killer."

     "I know, but you know how he likes to deal out his own justice."

     Chris’s reply was frustrated. "I don’t think I’d mind so much, Sam."

     Rita laughed a little. "Now now, let’s not get cynical," she said.

     Chris sighed and replied, "How are the girls?"

     "Neither of them were hit, thank God, but Natalie’s still being treated in the ER- something about her stomach, she said. And Jillian was on duty, by the way."

     "She’s in good hands, then," Chris said warmly. "Say hi to her for me, okay? Listen, I’m gonna stick around here awhile, see if they find that green Lexus. I’ll check back with you a little later."

     "Okay Sam. See ya."

     Rita hung up the phone, and Claire looked up at her sleepily. "Did they find him?" she asked.

     "Not yet," Rita answered. "But we will, I promise you."

     "Why- why was he trying to kill Natalie?"

     Rita hesitated. "We really shouldn’t talk about that, Claire," she said softly.

     Claire nodded. "I understand."

     Just then, Jillian came out of the ER and walked over to where Claire and Rita were sitting. Claire looked up expectantly.

     "Hi Rita," Jillian said cordially.

     Rita smiled tiredly and said, "Thanks for your help, Jillian. How is she?"

     "She has a bleeding ulcer," Jillian replied. "A pretty bad one, too. It’s damaged the lining of her stomach." Jillian paused and shook her head. "She told me she’d been taking aspirin- a ton of it. That was the very worst thing she could have done. She’s really lucky it didn’t kill her."

     Claire managed to look relieved and worried at the same time. "But she’s- she’ll be okay, right?"

     Jillian nodded. "She should be. She’ll have to be admitted, though." Jillian paused again. "I hate to ask this, but does she have any insurance? If not, she should probably be transferred to the university hospital. It’s much cheaper there." She saw the indignant look on Claire’s face and added hastily, "I know how it sounds, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s really for her own good; I know how this hospital’s collections department works. They’re bloodsuckers. We’re talking about a considerable amount of money here, depending on what needs to be done."

     Before Claire could reply, Rita interjected, "I’m sure that Natalie’s… employer will take care of it. I’ll try to reach him, now, as a matter of fact."

     Jillian smiled and said, "Okay. Are there any family members we should notify?"

     "Yes, but they’re out of the country."

     Jillian nodded. "We’ll take good care of her. And call me if you need anything, okay?"

     "We will- thanks, Jillian. Oh, Chris says hi, by the way."

     Jillian smiled again over her shoulder and walked off.

* * *

     The green Lexus lay abandoned on the shoulder of the road. Its’ occupants, who were equipped with a police scanner, had wisely transferred to a different car. That car was now parked outside a seemingly abandoned warehouse. Inside, a confrontation was taking place.

     A small room, lit by a single hanging lamp. Four figures- three at one end, blocking the door. The fourth, looking decidedly worried.

     One of the men by the door, the one obviously in charge, folded his hands in front of him, an almost curious expression on his face. He gazed at the fourth man, his head tilted slightly. This, coupled with his silence, only made the fourth man even more nervous. The man in charge finally looked away, shaking his head slowly, a queer little smile on his face. It was a smile utterly without humor. He paced back and forth for several minutes, not saying a word. He paused in front of the fourth man, and now the look in his eyes was deadly cold. The fourth man held his ground, but seemed to shrink under the withering stare of his antagonist.

     The man in charge snorted- only slightly- and turned away once more. He nodded to one of the other men, who then opened the door. The man in charge stalked silently out, with not so much as a glance at the fourth man. The door closed behind him, and the silence remained. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and the man in charge returned. By this time, the fourth man had a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

     The man in charge sighed dramatically and said, "Jerry. Jerry, Jerry, Jerry… I thought we were friends, Jerry." Then he reached into his inside suit pocket. Jerry cringed, but the man in charge had only removed a handkerchief, or so Jerry thought. "Here, Jerry," the man in charge said. "Wipe that sweat offa yas."

     Jerry complied, not knowing what else to do. The man in charge shook his head, then said, "You shoulda known better. When you took off from the club, you tipped your hand, Jerry. I excused myself from our ‘friends’, and decided to do a little listening. Radio chatter is soothing- good for the nerves, I find. But then I got upset, Jerry. You know why? Here I was, trying to relax with the scanner, and I hear that some guy’s shooting up the neighborhood over on Hancock. Then he fires on a police officer and splits. A high speed chase follows. Now, I think to myself, if I was this guy they’re after, what would I do? I’d need to ditch my car, because every cop in the city is lookin’ for it. Then suddenly it hits me." He went on, mocking Jerry’s slightly higher pitched voice, "The parking garage! My boss has a whole fleet of cars there. I got easy access… I can grab one and split! You would have been home free." Then his expression darkened. "But you got caught, Jerry. Did you really think I was that stupid? That I wouldn’t figure it out?"

     Jerry swallowed and stammered, "Donnie, I was gonna tell ya- ya gotta believe me."

     Donnie Dogs DiBarto pretended not to understand. "Tell me what, Jerry? That you shot Billy Vasquez in the head?"

     Jerry held out his hands. "No, Donnie, I didn’t do it. I swear on my mother’s grave!"

     "Yer mother ain’t dead, Jerry," Donnie growled. He went on, "So you didn’t kill Billy. Who did, then?"

     Jerry bit his lip. Moving closer to him, Donnie lowered his voice threateningly. "It’s a very easy question, Jerry. I know you were there when he was killed. Now who was it?"

     Jerry closed his eyes and said, "Rhinegold. It’s his fault- the whole goddamn mess is his fault!" He paused, then went on, "Billy found out- he was gonna blow the whistle on the whole thing. Rhinegold gave him a choice- become a partner, or…" He made a slicing motion across his throat. "Billy spat in his face. Rhinegold lost it and shot him. I told him it was a mistake, but he was juiced. When he gets like that it ain’t no use tryin’ to talk to him."

     Donnie nodded. "Oh, I see… I see. Rhinegold… interesting. You know what? I don’t believe you, Jerry. You’re just covering your own ass, like you always do."

     "Donnie, I swear!" Jerry began to sweat even more. "It was Rhinegold! Ask- ask Jimmy- he was there."

     "Jimmy?" Donnie cried in disbelief. "Jimmy Shoes? Why that no-good pencil neck…" He shook his head and turned to his two bodyguards. "So he was the third man. I’ll be damned- you can’t trust nobody no more!"

     The bodyguards shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent. So far, they had proved their loyalty to Donnie, but they knew that it might be tested at any moment. Then Donnie turned back to Jerry and said, "And what about Kayla? Did she ‘find out’ too? Did you give her a choice, like your buddy Fritz the Freak?"

     Jerry waved his hands frantically. "No-no-no, Donnie- no. I didn’t kill her either. That freak Carlotta did. She’s some kinda sadistic lesbian wacko, Donnie. She tries out some of the girls before… and sometimes she gets a little carried away."

     Donnie cocked his head and put his hand to his ear. "What was that? Before? Before what, Jerry? Before they take the girls back to Japan to start their modeling career?"

     Jerry shook his head and sighed. "No, no, Donnie, that’s just a front. Carlotta and Rhinegold are slavers. They sell these girls to black market buyers in the Middle East."

     "Slavers," Donnie repeated thoughtfully. "Slavers. Tell me something, Jerry. I was going to get an agent’s fee for these two girls. I was going to go and see them on the runway. Now, how would they have pulled that off?"

     Reluctantly, Jerry answered, "They had everything set up, Donnie. After the girls leave the country, they fake a car accident, and both of them die. I’ve seen them do it before- they get pictures and everything. Real convincing."

     Donnie nodded slowly. "Ah, I see," he said with mock humor. "And that agent’s fee- I guess that goes to you instead, huh? Nice, Jerry. Very, very nice. How long you and these… associates of yours been in the slave trade?"

     "Since I was in business with Francesco," Jerry answered, swallowing a lump in his throat.

     "Ah yes, Francesco. I heard about him. Very unfortunate. Snuffed in his own place, I heard. Still had his lobster bib on, Jimmy told me. What happened, Jerry? He get greedy on ya? Wanted all the action for yourself?" Donnie paused, and his face turned a shade redder. With a swiftness that surprised even his old friend, Donnie produced a gun from out of his jacket. "I trusted you, Jerry. You betrayed that trust. Now, you’re gonna have to answer for it. On your knees."

     Jerry had been expecting this moment. Throughout most of his life, it had been there, like a specter, a shadow lurking around the next corner. As time passed, the faces behind the shadows changed, but the specter remained. The face of Death could be anyone’s face; Jerry had crossed the wrong people for years, and always gotten away with it. Now, it seemed Death had finally caught him, in the form of one of his oldest friends.

     Jerry sank to his knees, at the same time pleading, "Donnie, we can still pull this off! Let me deal you in with Rhinegold! You can make millions, Donnie! You- you can even have my cut! Come on, Donnie, we go way back… I always stood up for you back in the days with Torrino’s crew, remember?" Jerry thought frantically, trying to come up with something to substantiate his claim. Quickly, he added, "Remember- remember when Torrino sent you to break that Irish guy’s knees? I know you settled the markers yourself, Donnie. But I kept quiet about it! If Torrino had found out he woulda broke your knees!" Donnie’s expression never wavered throughout Jerry’s appeal. Jerry made one last, desperate attempt. "Don’t be a fool, Donnie- don’t throw away a gold mine! Rhinegold can get five million apiece for some of these girls!"

     That only made Donnie angrier. He hovered over his longtime friend, caressing the barrel of his sleek pistol. "Let me tell you something," Donnie said in a cold, chilling voice. "There’s a reason why I didn’t break that Irish guy’s knees, and a reason why I was going to turn state’s evidence against Torrino before he bought it. It’s that same reason which causes me to do what I’m doing now." His next words were literally ground out between clenched teeth. "I do not- repeat, do not use people as merchandise, you son-of-a-bitch." He smacked Jerry’s head lightly with his palm. Then he reached into his inside suit pocket again, but this time his hand came out empty. Pacing back and forth, he went on, "You shoulda just let it go, Jerry. But you hadda go and get greedy again, like you did with Francesco. You tried to kill Natalie, and the girl that was with her. You tried to kill my dear friend, Rita Lance. You tried to kill her partner." Donnie laughed sardonically. "This way is much better, Jerry. You know that. Better than life in prison, being some 300 pound guy’s wife. Much better than the electric chair. I hear that takes 15 minutes sometimes…" He shook his head and laughed again. "Say goodnight, Jerry. The party’s over."

     Jerry squeezed his eyes shut, but the sound he heard was not a blast. It was a thud. He opened one eye, only to see that a woman was standing in front of him. The thud he heard had been the door when she came in. Instead of Donnie’s gun, the woman’s gun was now pointed at him, as was her gold police shield. Donnie, in fact, began laughing hysterically, unable to control himself. Jerry slumped even further, realizing he had been had. The woman went behind him, cuffed him, and read him his rights. When she finished, Donnie managed to get control of himself. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled out a small tape recorder. As he rewound the tape and played a sample of Jerry’s confession, he jeered, "Smile, Jerry, you’re on Candid Camera!" He burst out laughing again, then looked down at the gun he was holding. Then he put it against his stomach and pulled the trigger. Click! He pulled it again, and again. Click! Click! Wagging his finger mockingly, Donnie chided, "Shame on you, Jerry! You couldn’t even tell my piece wasn’t loaded! Yer slippin’ Jerry- yer slippin’!"

     "That wasn’t very nice, Donnie," Rita said, a wry smile on her face.

     Donnie smiled in return. "Well, you took a while to get here after I called. It didn’t take long to get his confession, so I had some time to kill." He suddenly burst out laughing again. He smacked Jerry’s head and said, "Time to kill! I can’t believe I said that, Jerry!"

     Jerry rolled his eyes, and then Rita got him on his feet. When she turned to look at him, her smile had vanished, without a trace. "You listen to me, you bastard," she said, in a voice even colder, even angrier than Donnie’s had been earlier. "You ever, ever take a shot at my friends again, and I will blow you to hell. I swear to God I will."

     Jerry had the nerve to sneer. Without hesitating, Rita punched him in the gut as hard as she could. He doubled over, the sneer on his face replaced by a grimace. Rita shoved him roughly in the back, and he stumbled towards the door. Two uniformed officers were waiting there, and they led him away. Rita watched them go, then turned back to Donnie. Hands on her hips, she sighed and said, "Good work, Donnie. Did you get it all?"

     Donnie smiled. "Every word," he answered, waving the tape recorder. "Well, except for the very end. But that part was just me, having a little fun. You don’t need that part anyways," he added with a wink. Donnie shook his head, then went on, "It was Rhinegold who killed Billy. I figured it was Jerry. And the third man that was there- Jimmy Shoes, another guy I trusted. Well, at least ya got two witnesses now."

     Rita nodded. "And Carlotta?" she asked.

     Donnie nodded in turn. "Poor Kayla," he muttered.

     Rita smiled and patted Donnie’s shoulder. "Good work," she repeated. Then she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. When her call was answered she said with another wry smile, "Operation Stool Pigeon is complete. Wrap it up, guys."

     On the other end of the line, Chris smiled and hung up his phone. He turned to Lt. Hudson, who was riding next to him in their department issue Buick, and nodded. Lou smiled also, then spoke into the police radio. "All units, close the net. Repeat, close the net. Subject is heading southwest on the Turnpike. Hold it- stand by…" Lou strained his eyes, then went on, "Subject is taking the Southern Boulevard exit. Acknowledge."

     "This is Delta nine-zero," came the response. "We’re in position."

     "Roger," Lt. Hudson answered. "Let’s nail ‘em."

     Chris closed in on the subject. It was a black Porsche, driven by Fritz Rhinegold. He and Carlotta had fled the club during Jerry’s capture. As they drove down the exit ramp, Chris flexed his hands around the steering wheel, preparing for action. Lou drew his gun. The Porsche came to the end of the ramp and stopped at the traffic light. Almost immediately, two squad cars pulled out of the intersection on opposite sides, blocking the Porsche’s path. They turned on their lights and buzzed their sirens as Chris came to a stop. He and Lou quickly got out of the car, as one of the officers said over an external loudspeaker, "Turn your engine off and place your hands on the steering wheel."

     Before Chris and Lou had reached the Porsche, the driver’s side door opened and Fritz emerged, dragging Carlotta with him and holding a gun against her side. All the officers trained their weapons on Fritz as he backed slowly away, attempting to keep Carlotta from struggling. "Drop the gun!" Chris shouted.

     "Back off, or the bitch loses a kidney!" Fritz retorted.

     "Wouldn’t bother me any," Chris shot back. "You pull your trigger, I get to pull mine. What’s it gonna be?"

     Fritz remained silent, still holding his partner and edging toward the guard rail on the side of the road. Carlotta was aware of this, and as he neared the rail she leaned all her weight against him, toppling them both over the side. Fritz’s gun flew out of his hand as they rolled down the embankment. Chris and Lou hopped over the guard rail and carefully made their way across the wet grass, trying not to slip. Finally, Carlotta freed herself, and Fritz got to his feet and took off running. Chris sprinted after him. When he was close, he slid like a baseball player and knocked Fritz off his feet. Further back, Lou was putting his cuffs on Carlotta, who made no attempt to resist. The uniformed officers rushed past him, coming to Chris’s aide. After making sure Carlotta was securely cuffed, Lou hurried after them. Ahead of them all, Fritz freed himself from Chris’s grip and turned to face him. With a wild gleam in his eyes, Fritz produced a knife from out of nowhere and slashed viciously. Chris barely avoided the blade. He timed Fritz’s backswing, then rushed him, sending him sprawling on his back. By this time, half a dozen firearms were trained on the German.

     "Freeze!" Lou shouted. "Drop it- now!"

     Fritz looked rabid. Panting heavily, he looked from Lou to Chris, who was standing a few feet in front of him. With a cry of rage, Fritz hurled the knife at his antagonist. Chris deftly dodged the blade again, and at the same time Lou pulled his trigger. Fritz cried out again, this time in agony. Chris approached him cautiously, and saw that Lou had hit his throwing shoulder. "Nice shot, Lieutenant," Chris said as he knelt down. Roughly, he flipped the German over onto his back, producing more screams from him. Chris patted the wounded shoulder and said, "You’re lucky, sport- I would have aimed for the chest." He retrieved his handcuffs and went on, "You know, I got shot in the shoulder too. Hurts, doesn’t it?" He turned to Lou and gave him a quick nod. "Better call a paramedic, Lieutenant. We don’t want him to croak on us- that’d be the easy way out. No, we’re going to make sure you never see the light of day again, my friend."

     Lou gestured to one of the uniforms, who went back up the embankment to his squad car. The rest of the uniforms went back also and collected Carlotta. Although she appeared to be uninjured, she had sat where Lou had left her, not moving an inch. Her face seemed carved from stone.

     Lou looked back down at Chris, who was reading Fritz his rights. He holstered his gun and stood with his hands on his hips, grinning. When Chris finished reciting he looked up at his old friend. The look they exchanged said it all- "we got ‘em."

Epilogue

     Chris and Rita stood at their desks, accepting congratulations from their fellow officers. It was Monday, and they had just received their special commendation from the police commissioner. They displayed their little plaques proudly, for not only had they received praise for the Seaside Strangler case, but also for the Seaside Slavers case, as it came to be known.

     Harry came out his office to break up the party, but there was still a proud smile on his face. At the same time, George Donovan strode up. "Congratulations, you two," he said, glancing down at their plaques. "And congratulations again."

     Rita took his meaning. She smiled and said, "What’s the word from the D.A.’s office, George?"

     "Well, we got lucky," he replied. "We put the heat on this Jimmy Shoes, or whatever his name is, and he gave us Rhinegold as Billy’s killer. Since he was only an accessory, we can give him immunity on the lesser charge in exchange for his testimony. If we had to rely on Magee’s testimony alone, we would have had to cut him a deal. But since we have Jimmy, we can prosecute Magee to the max."

     "And what does that entail, exactly?" Chris asked.

     "Four counts of attempted murder, conspiracy, reckless endangerment… the list goes on."

     "Life without parole?" Rita asked hopefully.

     George shook his head. "Probably not, but he’ll go bye-bye for a while, rest assured. That confession was a nice touch," he added with a grin.

     Rita laughed a little. "You asked for a taped confession, George. Didn’t think we would get one, did you?"

     George shook his head. "No, but I’ll take it any day."

     "What about Rhinegold and Carlotta?" Chris asked.

     "Carlotta really turned on her partner. She was singing like a whale last time I checked."

     Rita laughed again. " ‘Singing like a whale?’ Come on, George."

     "Well, they do sing, you know," George replied with a wink. Then he went on, "Carlotta’s responsible for one death, possibly two. I’m sure she’ll do time as well- probably the best we can do under the circumstances. But, you take a little, you give a little. The D.A. is not as concerned with her as he is with Rhinegold. He’s the one we’re really going after. I have a strong feeling the D.A. is going to push for the death penalty, in fact."

     "Yes!" Chris and Rita exchanged high-fives.

     Then George added, "Just keep your fingers crossed, and hope it doesn’t go to trial."

     Rita nodded, then asked, "What about the missing girls? Any chance of finding them?"

     Harry answered her question. "Interpol is trying to locate them. Carlotta gave up some of their buyers in the Middle East, too. It won’t be easy, but maybe some of them will turn up." Harry paused. When he continued, there was actually a trace of affection in his voice. "I gotta hand it to you guys. You were right about Donnie Dogs. Even though he picked Magee up from the parking garage, he called you and got the guy to confess." Harry paused again and shook his head. "I just wish the guy would make up his mind!" he snapped, slapping the back of his hand into his palm. "Is he on our side or theirs?"

     Chris and Rita smiled in unison. Rita said, "If everything was black and white we could take early retirement, Cap. But then we wouldn’t have anything to do with ourselves, now would we?"

     Harry threw up his hands in mock frustration, then patted the two Sams on the back and retreated into his office.

     Then George glanced at his watch and said, "Well, I’m due at a press conference, but I think I might actually enjoy this one. You done good, kids. Catch you later."

     Chris and Rita said goodbye, then looked around. Everyone had left by now; it was just the two of them. Chris looked around, then folded his arms and fixed his partner with a suspicious grin.

     "What?" Rita asked, unconsciously mimicking Chris’s expression. "What? You better wipe that smirk off your face, Christopher!" she warned. She already knew what he was going to say.

     Chris held up his hands innocently, but kept the smirk. "Don’t be so touchy, Sam," he said. "I was just wondering… well, you know- uh- if Eric had called yet."

     Rita folded her arms and tried to be indignant, but she just couldn’t pull it off. "No Sam, he hasn’t called yet," she answered. She was embarrassed by the disappointment that showed in her voice.

     Chris smiled at her- a very curious smile, Rita thought. "Good," he said under his breath.

     "What was that, partner?"

     "I said how terrible," Chris shot back, flashing a trademark Lorenzo "cheese" smile. Then he shrugged. "Maybe he’s forgotten about the whole thing."

     "Just keep it up, hotshot. You’re really going to get it!" Rita snickered in spite of herself.

     Chris nodded and said, "I know, Sam, I’m a bad boy. But your social life has always been a source of amusement to me. I just can’t help it." Rita was about to reply with a stinging comment, but before she could Chris put his finger to his lips and glanced furtively from side to side. Then he pulled the edge of his tennis racket above his desk so Rita could see it. "It’s all part of the plan, Sam," he said in a near whisper. "I had to get your competitive juices flowing. So how about it? Up for a few sets?"

     "You’re on, Sam," Rita replied with a smug grin.

     "Good," Chris answered with a satisfied nod. "Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up to congratulate us."

     As they were walking to Rita’s Jeep, Chris received a poke in the ribs for his teasing. After they stopped laughing, he said, "By the way, I talked to Jillian, and she said that Natalie had been discharged from the hospital already."

     "Well, not exactly. We contacted her parents in Canada. Her father chartered a jet down here and had her flown back home. She’s still pretty weak, but the doctors okayed the transfer."

     Chris looked puzzled. "Her father chartered a jet?" he asked. "That’s weird. If Natalie has a wealthy father in Canada, what is she doing stripping in Palm Beach?"

     "It’s a long story, Sam," Rita replied. "But it may have a happy ending; we’ll just have to wait and see."

     When Chris and Rita arrived at the tennis club, they saw Claire and Jack on one of the courts, exchanging volleys. Rita noticed that Claire had her hair pulled back into a pony tail, and she was wearing Jack’s Sky and Telescope baseball cap. Jack wore a black t-shirt that had a picture of the Milky Way galaxy and the words "You Are Here" next to a little arrow. Claire executed a brilliant forehand smash, then spotted the two Sams and said, "Hi Chris, Rita!" She was on the far side of the net, and as she came over to join them Chris and Jack slapped hands.

     "This is a surprise," Rita to said to Claire. "How long have you guys been members here?"

     "Quite a while, actually," Jack replied. "We just never get a chance to play. But we were both free this afternoon, and since the weather warmed up, we thought we’d get in a few games."

     "So who’s winning?" Chris asked.

     Jack smiled and pointed to Claire with his racket. "She’s eating my lunch!" he said. "Steffi Graf better watch out for you, kiddo!"

     Claire laughed and put her arm around Jack’s waist. "Not in this lifetime," she said. "Actually, we were just warming up."

     "Great," Rita replied. "How about some mixed doubles?"

     "You’re on!" Jack agreed.

     Chris unzipped the cover of his racket and said, "Okay, hotshot. You better hope your tennis game is better than your hoops game. And I want Steffi there on my team."

     "O-ho, so you’re splitting us up, huh? All right, old man- Rita and I will kick your butts!"

     He gave Rita a high five and stuck his tongue out at Claire, who returned the gesture playfully. They took their places on the court, and as Jack prepared to serve Chris called out, "Losers buy dinner tonight!"

     "You’re on again!" Jack returned. "It’s gonna be a massacre, you know. They call me Backhand Jack at Wimbledon!"

     "More like no-hands Jack at the playground," Chris said aside to Claire. She laughed and tossed a tennis ball at him.

     "What was that?" Jack called over the net.

     "I said I love you, sweetie!" Chris sang out, with another cheesy grin on his face. "Okay, McEnroe, serve the ball already!"

     After two double-faults- and some sincere encouragement from Claire- Jack finally got a serve inside the lines. It was an omen of things to come. Although his game improved, Chris and Claire won, 6-3, 6-1, 6-4. Much good-natured ribbing followed. Then one of the tennis pros, named Carter, offered to give Jack a tune-up on his game. Embarrassed, Jack endured the laughter of his friends and told the pro "another day."

     A little later, Claire and Rita were getting dressed in the women’s locker room. Rita said to her friend, "So, did you tell Jack about our little adventure over the weekend?"

     Claire shook her head. "No, I didn’t."

     Rita nodded and smiled. "Good. If I were you I wouldn’t, if you ever want to be allowed out of the house again," she said jokingly.

     Claire returned her smile. "I knew it would upset him, so I just kept quiet about it. You know how he is."

     Rita nodded again and said, "Yes I do. And he’s a very lucky guy, I might add."

     "Aye, and I’m even luckier," Claire replied warmly. "I welcome Jack’s protectiveness; I need it right now. Being alone in America is scary. There are so many trappings- so many… dangers in your society. And I’m not talking about what happened the other night… I’m talking about carjacking, date-rape, drugs… all sorts of horrible things. It’s not what I’m used to."

     "I know, sweetie, I know." Even now, after it was all over, Rita still felt a lump in her throat when she thought about how close Claire had come to being shot… She blinked her eyes a few times, willing the unpleasant thoughts away. Then she said, "I’m really sorry you had to go through that." She smiled and added, "I gave the guy one hell of a sucker punch for you."

     Claire giggled. "For Natalie, you mean," she said. "She was the one he was aiming for."

     Rita nodded, then said, "How is she, by the way? You told me about her dad coming to get her. Did you see her before she left?"

     "Yes, I did. In fact I stayed with her the night she was admitted, after you left to make your arrest. She was really scared, and didn’t want to be alone. The man she works for stopped by, too, and he took care of the costs, like you said he would. He seemed very nice. I had coffee with him in the cafeteria, and he thanked me for ‘saving Natalie’s life’, as he put it. I told him you saved her life, not me."

     Rita smiled at the thought of Claire MacKenzie and Donnie Dogs DiBarto sharing coffee. Then Claire went on, "By the time her father arrived yesterday, she was doing much better. She promised to call us when she gets out of the hospital in Canada. And she told me to give you her thanks for everything."

     "She thanked you too, I hope. You’re the one that deserves it." Rita’s smile grew wider, and she fairly beamed with pride for her young protégé.

     Claire shrugged, looking thoughtful as she brushed out her way hair. "I had lunch with her father before they left. He seems like a very nice man, too. But he was really upset, and not just about Natalie’s ulcer."

     Rita nodded, opening the clasp of one her earrings. "He should be," she replied. "If I was her father I would straighten that girl out once and for all."

     Claire shook her head. "She’s got a lot of problems, Rita; it’s not all her fault. Her father told me she attempted suicide when she was fifteen. And she’s always had problems with depression, since she was a child. They even suspect she has Attention Deficit Disorder. But she never got any help for any of it. No one realized what was wrong with her until she grew up. He blames himself- and Natalie’s mother. If they had been around when she was a child they would have seen it."

     "Well, at least now they have a chance to work things out."

     "I think they will. I watched them together; I know they love each other very much, despite all their problems. When Mr. Leonov first arrived Natalie was hugging him- and crying- and she kept saying, ‘I love you, daddy, I love you.’"

     Rita smiled. "That’s sweet," she said. "It sounds like Natalie’s learned something from all of this."

     Claire nodded and folded her arms. "I think she has."

     Then Rita finished adjusting her earrings. She held her arms out and said, "Well, how do I look?"

     "Beautiful, as always," Claire replied with a grin. "The sweater looks great on you, Rita."

     "Thanks honey. It feels great, too. I’ve never worn anything so soft."

     "I’m glad you like it."

     Rita put her arm around her friend and said, "I love it. Now, let’s go see if the boys are done primping, shall we?"

     They both laughed as they walked out of the locker room.

     In the men’s locker room across the hall, a similar scene was taking place. Chris and Jack were also finishing getting dressed. Chris glanced over at his friend. "Hey man," he said lightly. "Everything going okay?"

     "Yeah," Jack replied, glancing back. "Everything’s fine. Why?"

     Chris shrugged as he bent down to tie his shoes. "Just wondered. So you and Claire are okay?"

     Jack smiled. "We’re great," he answered. Then his face fell a little. "It’s going to be tough though, being apart form her while I’m in Miami. I could barely stand it when I was there this weekend."

     Chris nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He paused. "But I was thinking about something else."

     Immediately, Jack took his meaning. His guilty conscience clicked on inside his head, flashing back to the club, and Natalie… He wondered if Chris knew about them. Not even waiting to find out, he blurted out, "I’m not going back to the club anymore. I said goodbye to Natalie before I left on Friday. I told her I couldn’t see her again. But I don’t want you to think- I mean, we both got real drunk one night, and things got out of hand. But that was it- just that one night. We both knew it was a mistake. I just went by the club every now and then to see her, to see how she was doing. She’s a… very mixed up girl, and I just wanted to help her out."

     Chris held up his hands, surprised by Jack’s confession. "Hey bud, it’s cool with me. I just wondered why you were hanging out there. You don’t seem the type."

     "Oh," Jack replied, embarrassed. "Well, anyway, what I said is true. I’m not going back there anymore. I love Claire, more than anything in the world. I won’t screw up like that again."

     Chris patted him on the back. "I believe you," he said. "I know how devoted you are to her. And I know she feels the same way. It’s real easy to see, you know. The way you two look at each other says it all."

     Jack smiled- he knew that was true.

     "The oysters here are the best in the world," Jack said as he looked over the menu. He didn’t know why he was bothering to look at it; he already knew what he was going to order even before he picked it up. Chris and Claire made faces at Jack’s mention of oysters, but Rita smiled at him knowingly. Oysters were her favorite, too.

     They were at a seaside restaurant called The Black Pearl, and from the name it was easy to figure out why they had come here. Since Jack and Rita were buying, they had been allowed to pick. Fortunately for Chris and Claire, there were plenty of other seafood specialties on the menu. They placed their orders, which included a bottle of wine. While they waited for it to be served, they engaged in a spirited discussion about the virtues of the jazz music that could be heard softly in the background of the restaurant. Chris was a staunch defender of jazz music in general, while Rita preferred rock and R&B. Claire cast her vote for Celtic and classical music. Jack stayed quiet for the most part, enjoying the flow of conversation. He felt happiest when the people around him were happy. Such was the case that night.

     When the wine was served Rita poured them all a glass. Raising hers, she said, "To Claire and Jack."

     "To Claire and Jack," Chris seconded. The two toastees exchanged a smile, and they all clinked their glasses together.

     Then Claire said, "To Chris and Rita."

     "And to Chris getting his butt kicked the next time we play basketball," Jack added. They all laughed and clinked again. Then they took a drink, finally. Jack sat back and savored the taste of the wine. His thoughts went back to the locker room, to Chris’s observation about he and Claire. The way they looked at each other… Jack remembered a photo of he and Claire that had been taken a couple of months ago when they visited Jack’s parents in Rhode Island. It was a candid photo- Jack’s mom had snuck up on them when they thought they were alone. They were holding hands in the garden, and the look they exchanged- that was the look Chris was talking about. It was captured perfectly in that photo, for all time.

     Jack was surprised, because he had just seen the same look pass between Chris and Rita. He knew they were partners and best friends, but… was that all? Around them, people in the restaurant were eating, talking, watching each other. Any of them that happened to glance at Jack’s table would not notice anything unusual- two young, attractive couples. Even though Claire was sitting with Chris and Rita with Jack, it was easy for the onlookers to see who was attached to whom. They would naturally assume that Chris and Rita were "together." And of course, they were.

The End

Chris and Rita forever…

Very special thanks to: Elaine, Bruce, Amber, Liz, Christina, Steve… you all know what for! And of course to Kyle Nolan, for letting me share my words with the rest of the world! Thanks to Stephen J. Cannell, Stu Segall, David Peckinpab, Charlie Brill, Robert Gossett, Dennis Paladino, William Anton, and all the other folks that have been involved with the show over the years. Lastly, and most importantly, a heartfelt thank-you to Mitzi Kapture and Rob Estes, without whom none of this would exist. You’ve brought a tremendous amount of joy to my life, and this story is dedicated to you!

Copyright 1998 by Christopher S. Thomas. Disclaimer: This story is strictly for entertainment. The sale and use of this document for any purposes other than entertainment are expressly prohibited. "Silk Stalkings" and all its characters are the property of Stu Segall Productions, Steven J. Cannell Productions, the USA Cable Network and New World Distribution. All other characters are my property. No infringement is intended on the properties held by the above.