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A Plan, A Trap, and A Scheme
Mark was laughing so hard he was choking on his beignet. I could see puffs of white powder coming out of his nose. It wasn’t the first time.
“And you give ME shit!”
“Hey, with me, I don’t find out they’re married until AFTER I hook up with them! And then I end it immediately.”
“Trust me, it’s not that bad. You get used to it.”
“Says Mr. LAPD that doesn’t need to worry about vengeful husbands because he has the whole force behind him.”
“That is a perk.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Yes, but an asshole that’s going to help you out. Have you tried the banana pudding yet?”
“That’s real bourbon in it, isn’t it?”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Yeah, that’s damn good. Who the fuck would expect a New Orleans restaurant in the middle of Chinatown?”
“Right? Okay, so here’s my idea on how to snag this guy and shut this operation down.”
Mark laid out the trap he wanted to set. In essence, now that he knew who and what we were looking for, he could get wiretaps, warrants, and surveillance. We would be able to gather enough evidence to make a play. If this all went right, Mark would get an office in City Hall.
I took a swig of the Abita.
“How long do you think it will take?”
“Beats me. Are they running low on bodies?”
“Fuck if I know. Wait, does that mean…?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”
“You’re right. So, what do I do about Destiny?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”
***
Lunch had been productive, but it did not make me feel any better. The case was progressing nicely, but I was more troubled than ever. The girl I had fallen in love with was married and that didn’t stop her from playing footsie with me under the table and playing squash with my head.
She had texted me asking about the Rangers game. I told her I would check to see if I could get tickets. She wanted glass seats, but 100 level would do. Beautiful, smart, fearless, and expensive. She was just my type. Except for the married thing.
I had not responded back to her as I was not sure what I wanted to do. I was caught in a pickle. The investigation was still on-going, so I couldn’t exactly disappear from her life and jeopardize the case. At the same time, I was increasingly uncomfortable with going out to a hockey game with a Mrs.
The tickets were easily sorted. I do have friends in high and low places. I finally decided it was in my best interest to continue to see her. Maybe it was my penis that decided. In any case, I trust him. He hasn’t let me down yet.
As per usual, and now that I think about it, painfully obvious, we met outside the arena in front of the Wayne Gretzky statue. She looked stunning. Mind you, girls in general look great dressed up for hockey games, but she took it to another level. Part of me was wondering why I left the bulletproof vest at home.
We walked in and walked down to our seats. I was hoping her husband wasn’t a Kings fan because I was sure the TV cameras would zoom in on the hot blonde banging on the glass when there was a scrum in the corner. If he was a Rangers fan, well, we’d already beat them for one Stanley Cup, so maybe that boded well for me?
At the second intermission and after two beers, I finally worked up the courage to ask her.
“Why don’t you wear a ring?”
“I don’t like rings.”
Appropriately evasive. Really smart.
“Never worn one?”
“Why don’t you spit out what you are really trying to say, pretty boy?”
Shit. I’d been downgraded to pretty again.
“Eve’s dad told me you’re married.”
“Yeah. And?”
“Twice?”
“And?”
“And your first husband is dead?”
“Are you worried I’m going to kill you?”
“No.”, I lied.
“You’re too pretty to kill. And no, I didn’t kill my first husband and no I’m not particularly attached to my second husband. And no, you won’t be my third.”
I felt somewhat better. Like when you’re hung over and you’re about to throw up and you feel it coming up but it stops halfway to your throat. You are happy that you didn’t puke, but it’s still there. Lingering, like a stale fart. Eventually, you get used to it.
“So, if I’m not husband #3, what exactly am I?”
“Well, you sound like a fucking girl right now. Can’t we just have fun and enjoy ourselves? May I remind you that we haven’t even slept together? You keep it up, we probably won’t.”
“Probably?”
“I’m all about second chances.”
She was right, of course. I was acting like a lovesick fool. The problem was that I didn’t know what I wanted. Ten days ago, my life was easy with no commitments, no concerns, and no feelings. Now, I was more emotional than a quinceañera whose dress hasn’t come back from the alteration shop and the party is in three hours.
I mentally slapped myself. Then I turned, grabbed her hips, pulled her into me, and kissed her on the lips. The horn sounded. The Kings took the lead, 1-0.
***
“I’m in deep waters, man.”
“You and me both. You won’t believe how far this goes.”
“How bad?”
“Bad. Like I can’t make any arrests bad.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess we have to take things into our own hands.”
“What are you thinking?”
“How much evidence do you have?”
“Enough to convict. But, like I said, no one wants to touch this. It can’t become public.”
“Okay, here’s what we do.”
I laid out my plan.
“You’ll make the arrangements?”
“Yup. All you need to do is to show up and look pretty. Dress is business casual.”
“Good to know. I’ll wear my best holster.”
***
I was on hold for about ten minutes. Maybe he was in the jacuzzi? The pool? The toilet?
“Yes?”
“Good morning, sir! I was wondering if I could ask a favour?”
“What do you need?”
“Would it be too gauche to have another dinner party next weekend?”
“Should be alright. The guest list is not exactly high society, so no one should make a fuss.”
“I also have one more guest coming. My friend.”
“I take it we will get some resolution to the matter?”
“That’s the idea. I will need your assistance on a couple of things.”
I explained what I wanted him to do.
“Not a problem. See you Saturday.”
I hoped to be able to see Sunday too.
***
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