I’ll go out with you.”
“Good.”
“But just dinner. Don’t go gettin’ any wacky, adolescent ideas.”
“Who? Me?”
“When and where?”
“Eight o’clock. You pick the place. Any place you want.”
“Any place? You know, I have very expensive tastes when other people are buying.”
“Any place.”
“Okay. Well, I heard there’s a Van Holtz Steakhouse that opened up in the Village.” Another long, rather deafening pause. “Is there a problem there, Mace? A little out of your price range, perhaps?”
“Smart-ass, and no. That’s not an issue.”
“You’re not a vegetarian or something, are you?”
Mace’s almost-hysterical laughter at her offhanded remark seemed a little excessive, but she chose to ignore it. “Well then?”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Fine. You want Van Holtz? We’ll go to Van Holtz.”
“Jesus, Mace. I’m not asking you to choose a political party here.”
“Might as well be.”
“What?”
“Nothing. So eight, in the Village, front of Van Holtz restaurant. That work for you?”
“Perfect. I’ve gotta do some shopping anyway. So, I’ll see you then. ’Kay?”
“Yeah…so…are your nipples hard or not?”
“Bye, Mace.”
She closed the phone. This is such a mistake.
Dez flinched when her phone rang again. She flipped it open. “I’m not telling you if my nipples are hard.”
“That’s good. Cause I really don’t wanna know,” stated a female voice Dez didn’t recognize.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Is this Detective MacDermot?”
“Who’s askin’?” She shook her head. The reappearance of Bronx-Dez. She thought she’d buried her…
“Look, I got some information. On Alexander Petrov.” Dez sat up a little straighter. True, her removal from this case made this a slightly inappropriate conversation, but why scare off a potential lead with that unnecessary bit of information?
“Okay.”
“Can you meet me?”
“Where?”
“The Chapel. At eleven-thirty.”
The Chapel. A hot Village club she could never hope of getting into without her badge. “Isn’t there another place we can—”
The woman cut her off. “I’ll be there. You won’t have a problem getting in.”
“You work there?”
Dez received a long pause. For a moment, she thought the woman hung up. “My family owns it.”
Dez bit the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from saying something stupid. An effective technique she’d learned years ago. “So, you’re a Brutale?”
“Yeah. Gina. Gina Brutale. Meet me there at eleven-thirty. Tell the guy at the door you’re there to see me. Give him your name but don’t say detective…and try not to look like a cop.” Brutale hung up.
Dez closed her phone and glanced at the clock on her nightstand by her .45. This would work nicely. Dinner with Mace at eight o’clock. Having to handle work at eleven-thirty kept her from doing something monumentally stupid. Like going back to Mace’s hotel room or giving him a blow job in the restaurant bathroom. You know, whatever…
Mace turned over in the king-size bed and buried his face into the pillow. That woman’s voice would be the death of him. Knowing she sounded like that when she woke up turned his cock into a lead pipe. He couldn’t wait to experience that for himself. Waking up with Dez growling next to him. He would experience it, too. He’d waited too long for this. For her. She simply had no idea what she did to him. She never did.
Mace went back to sleep and dreamed about him and Dez.
And Dez’s handcuffs…
Dez stood next to her partner as they waited for the M.E.
“Don’t forget, MacDermot. You’re not here.”
“Nope. Right now I’m out singing carols.”
“Let’s not push it.”
John Michaels, one of the city’s best M.E.s, pushed open the double doors. “Good. You’re both here.” He motioned to them, and they followed him inside. Alexander Petrov’s naked body lay out on a metal table.
“I want to show you two something. Here.” He pointed to the man’s throat, and both Dez and Bukowski leaned over and examined the area.
“What is that?”
“Claw marks.”
Dez frowned. “From a dog?”
“Awfully big claws for a dog, in my opinion. Plus something’s not quite right.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned to her, and Dez went and stood in front of him.
“If an animal clawed his throat, we would have found three to four swipe marks here.” He tapped one side of Dez’s neck. “Or here.” He tapped the other. “Or both.”
“Okay.”
“But what I found on this vic is very different.”
“Like what?”
“There’s a bruise across his throat. Four claw marks on the left side of his neck and one on the right. Which would imply this…” He wrapped long fingers around her throat. Four on one side. His thumb on the other. “Now pull away from me, Detective.” Dez did, and Michaels’s gloved fingers painlessly slashed across her flesh.
The two stared at each other. “Holy shit.”
Bukowski stood next to them. “I don’t get it. What am I missing?”
Dez looked at her partner. “How many animals you know got thumbs?”
Dez and Bukowski stood on the street corner while she pulled gloves onto her hands. As soon as Bukowski pulled out one of his rare cigarettes,
