Quintic (33 page)

At the inner
thighs
machine thingy, a
préposé
came over to adjust the machine’s resistance and survey her
body’s positioning while she sat and proceeded to open and close
her legs, straining against the machine’s resistance to squeeze her
thighs together. She opened and closed her legs once again, opened
her legs to the leers of complete strangers, all men, passing by in
shorts. Saturday night at the gym might not be such a great idea
after all. She did ten on the leg machine, immodesty, and quit that
too.

Since she
had not walked to
the gym (after all, she
already walked every single day of her life), she had ignored the
gym’s walking machine, but now, she hopped on it as a last
tentative. And why not, nothing else had worked. She walked
briskly, even broke, if not a sweat but a glow. Finally, she was
into that gym thing. Five minutes. Ten. Hum. She should have
brought a book. Fifteen. The televisions showed a baseball game.
Not her thing. Twenty.

She studied
the men as they were watching the game. They did take sports
seriously. The game and their muscles. They kept touching
themselves, one on a biceps, one a triceps, one his butt muscle,
while many fondled their groin (or so it seemed to her gym-virginal
eyes). From the way a lot of guys were scratching in that area,
those biker shorts weren’t comfortable. And they sure didn’t leave
much to the imagination.

A
rapid visual inventory revealed an even number
of lefties and righties. Funny the myths that got busted at the
gym. And here she had always thought men carried their penis
according to their dominant hand, to the right for right-handed
men, to the left for left-handers. Logical. Boy, the things a girl
learned at the gym. Although, statistically speaking, half the
gym’s male population could not be left-handed.

She
inwardly smirked as she thought of the Big guy.
Christopher was right-handed; he packed his gun in a holster
strapped to his left side, but frankly, she had not paid attention
to which side he carried his cock. It stood erect often enough in
her presence; surely she should be able to recall the side his
pants bulged on such occasions. Nope. She lost her rhythm and
tripped on the belt. She might have been gasping a little heavily
too, and not from the walking. The guy next to her stopped running
to lean and wink at her.
Back
off, Lefty
. Time to leave. After a cab
ride back home and a long shower, she flung herself into bed.
Naked, just in case. She slept like a log.

Sunday
mornin
g, warm and comfy under the covers,
she reflected on the previous days on concluded something was up.
Maybe Christopher didn’t believe her; maybe he thought she wasn’t
going to do it, that she wasn’t
capable
of doing it, that she was
unable of staying out. The nerve of him! What, did he think if she
saw him, she was going to break and ask about the cases? She thus
justified why he had worked all week: the Big guy did not want to
have to tell her off.

She said
she’d quit
, and she had stayed out all
week, damn him! The man clearly had no confidence in her. She spent
her Sunday angry at him for his lack of trust, and a little excited
by her week alone and her trip to the gym. Well, perhaps she was
more aroused than merely excited, but certainly not hot enough to
be distracted from her anger.
Bien sûr que non.

The day
stretched on forever.
Not much left in
her closets, nothing left to reorganise in any case.

She called
Reid
. “Doing anything interesting today?
Want me to come over and help you organise your
closets?”

The closet
cleaning didn’t help much
since all they
did was clean, try on clothes, eat, drink and talk about men. They
only spoke of men in general because Patricia never talked about
the specifics of men or Christopher. To put her feelings into
words, to express them out loud was too risky. Thus, denial was the
way to go.

Over the
course of the day, she tried calling Christopher at his place. No
answer, but he’d need to sleep at some point, and she proposed to
go over and wait him out. She could have called him on his mobile;
he always answered that phone, but she didn’t want him over. Yes,
she wanted to settle his doubts in person, but she also wanted the
possibility to leave if need be.

She
returned to her hotel around eight, took a
shower and got all pretty: soft hair, makeup, buttoned-up dress
easy to take off, small white panties. Tiny. To confront him, she
told herself, and to convince him of her resignation. She was angry
and aroused. At ten, she took a cab over.

He answered
the door
, jacket and holster on. “Hi,
Princess, nice surprise. I just walked in.”

“Work?”

“What else?”

He looked
drained, but she didn’t have time to enquire about his health or
pursue the conversation. He hauled her to him by her coat belt,
kissed her hard, tongue demanding and hands all over. He smelled of
smoke and stale beer. She circled his neck with her arms and
pressed herself tighter. He moved his kissing from her mouth to her
neck to her breasts and back while one of her hands dropped to his
crotch. Lefty, tonight at least. For a more accurate survey, she
intended to check again, repeatedly, in the near future. She hid
her smile in his chest.

O
f course,
he doubted her resolution. How could he not? He knew her well. How
perseverant she was, how fucking determined. He was amazed she had
lasted so far. Seven days, seven
long
days of it. Sheer
stubbornness there again. He had no problem with her thinking he
was avoiding her, anything to keep her away for his
cases.

Lemieux’s
case wasn’t going anywhere. He had spent the week pushing the
case,
breathing down Ham’s neck, going to
crummy bars, shitholes, hookers’ corners. Nothing. It was like the
guy had never existed. But for his body, maybe he hadn’t. Chris
couldn’t put his finger on it. On
him
. Something was off, and until
he figured it out, he wanted Patricia to stay away. Nothing
new.

The other
cases were coming along, the team hard at work. They might even
make some arrests this week, yet Chris wasn’t satisfied. They had
nothing on the important cases. The hackers’ case was bothersome,
Lemieux haunted him, and the dead waitress annoyed him. That case
wouldn’t have been his if it hadn’t been for her. Not that she’d
asked, plain and simple overreaction on his part. He put Shapiro in
charge of that one; the guy was well practised in dealing with
locals.

Shapiro
searched for killings
with similar MO, but, except for Patricia’s cold case, he found
none. Even though serial killers didn’t wait years, Chris had
Shapiro compare the two: colleagues, neighbours, customers even if
he could track any. Nothing yet.

So
here he was, back in his office early Monday
morning. He had awakened early, even for him. Four-thirty. Then
again, he had gone to bed fucking early the night before. Ten
fifteen. Ten minutes after Patricia had showed up at his door. That
dress had slid off so easily. Fucking fast too, even though she had
tried to delay the inevitable.

“
I came over
to talk, Big guy.”

Right
,
Pussycat
. “Should have thought of that
before putting your hand on my dick, Angel.”

“
Cute. I was
simply doing research. Anyway. It’s important I clarify something
before this goes further.” He often teased she shouldn’t start
something she didn’t intend to finish. This, they were going to
finish. Together.
You can
clarify all you want, Princess, no fucking way am I stopping
now
. “Why don’t you trust me to stay out?
Not once since quitting have I so much as ask about a case. I’m
done with police work, and I intend to stay finished,” she
said,
whispered
by that time. Moaned.

He
smiled
without arguing. A day she was off
was a day she was safe. Besides, at that point, he was too busy
sucking her left nipple to waste time arguing. The clarification
pretty much stopped after that, and they finished what they had
both started.

She
fell asleep right after, her body on top of his.
Nice. He had woke early this morning and had watched her sleep for
a while. She looked exquisite and peaceful. She smiled in her
sleep.
Pleasant dreams, Angel
of mine? Am I part of them
?

He made
French toasts
for her to reheat when she
got up. Corny how he liked cooking breakfast for her; she was so
hungry in the morning. So fucking sexy. He left before waking her
up got too tempting.

The
Monday review meeting occurred without her.
Fredrick was even less attentive than his usual inattentive self.
He needed to have a serious conversation with the kid, and
soon.
Our relationship is
making my life complicated as hell, Darling of mine.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world,
though.
Hell was never boring and felt
like heaven with her. It had last night.

The guys
left after lunch. He
did the
meetings-with-Central shit, the return-phone-call hassle, the
I-need-a favour-or-information-so-let’s-trade annoyance. Chris
liked the streets, interrogating suspects, collecting the clues,
making sense out of the bits and pieces that made a case. But be it
men or women he disliked the
things
, smooching and shit that
came with the job.

Monday
night, Tuesday morning, Tuesday afternoon, Tuesday night, Wednesday
morning he left her messages. She returned his call on his
answering machine at home but made no direct call to his mobile
phone. The damn woman knew he would take her call anytime,
anywhere, even on his deadly urgent number just to say hi, but did
she call? Fuck no, she preferred to leave messages on his home
answering machine.

It couldn’t
have been clearer if she had spelled it out
for him. “
I want to
be sure you won’t answer my call, Big guy, because I don’t wish to
talk to you.
”
Childish.
“
You don’t believe I
resigned for real.
”

Damn right
he did
n’t. Ten days already, fucking
impressive. This mess was his fault to beginning with, he should
never have let her in the team in the first place for he knew too
fucking well how her curiosity often got the better of her. Not
this time, though. Not yet at least. She had not asked anyone
anything relating to any of the cases; he had checked with the
team. Maybe she meant it this time? Chris shook his head to
himself. No fucking way.

At the first
hint of action on Lemieux’s front or the diner’s front, she was
going to break and ask him to take her back.
Beg
him. Her begging
he liked. Immensely. Although, he’d prefer not solving either case
to her begging. That his girlfriend remained permanently resign and
spent her days at the library topped his list of fantasies. Way
above begging. Fucking right. And while he was dreaming, after her
library days, she could wait for him at his place. Damn perfect.
And she said he had no fucking imagination. He grinned and got back
to the hassles and shit.

Around five
that day,
Ham got back, depressed and
angry, a flustered-looking Charles on his heels. They sat at their
respective desks sulking. What now?

“
Got a
minute, guys?” Rhetorical question, he was the boss and owned Ham’s
and Charles’s time. “Get over here, I want a review of your day.”
He demanded the same every fucking day, obsessed and worried as he
was by Lemieux’s case.

“
Here’s the
list of the places we went to.” Ham handed over a sheet of
scribbled notes over. “Nothing. The guy’s a fucking
ghost.”

Charles
listened in silence and stared at the floor. Was the case getting
to him? To them? Might be they were getting to themselves. Chris
let them go and watched as they went back to their desks ignoring
each other.

He called
Charles back to his office and closed the door. “So, Charles, how
are things going with the job?”

“
Great,
Sir.”

“
And with
the team? You like working with them?”

“
I do, Sir,
thank you.” Tonight, he found the rookie annoying. And Charles
calling him ‘Sir’ made him feel old.

“How’s it going with Ham?”

Pause,
then,
“Great, Sir. I couldn’t have asked
for a better partner.” Quick answer but long enough pause for Chris
to notice.

“
You need
help with anything, Charles?”

“
No,
Sir.”

“
Think I
should switch the case load?”

Chris
sometimes
shuffled cases between the guys
when they were in a jam. It helped to get new insights.