Men In Blue (Badge of Honor 1)

It was 6-B, who occupied the apartment immediately beneath hers.

Six-B was male, at least anatomically. He was in his middle twenties, stood about five feet seven, weighed no more than 120 pounds. He paid a great deal of attention to his appearance, and wore, she suspected, Chanel Number Five. His name was Jerome Nelson.

“I was going to bark,” Jero

me Nelson said, waving a bottle of Beefeater’s gin and one of Johnnie Walker Black Label scotch at her. “It’s your friendly neighborhood Saint Bernard on a mission of mercy.”

Louise didn’t want to see anyone, but it was impossible for her to cut Jerome Nelson off rudely. He wasn’t much of a Saint Bernard, Louise thought, but had puppylike eyes, and you don’t kick puppies.

“Hello, Jerome,” she said. “Come on in.”

“Gin or scotch?” he asked.

“I would like a stiff scotch,” she said. “Thank you very much. Straight up.”

“You don’t have to tell me, of course,” he called over his shoulder as he made for her bar. “And I wouldn’t think of prying. I will just expire right here on your carpet of terminal curiosity.”

She had to smile.

“I gather you saw the cops bringing me home?” she asked. “Let me finish getting this crap off my face.”

He came into the bathroom as she was cleaning off what she thought was the last of the makeup, and leaned on the doorjamb.

“You missed some on your ear,” he said, delicately setting two glasses down. “Jerome will fix it.”

He dipped a Kleenex in cold cream and wiped at her ear.

“There!” he said. “Now tell Mother everything!” She smiled her thanks at him and picked up her drink and took a good swallow.

“Whatever it was, it was better than the alternative,”

Jerome said. “What?” “The cops come and haul you off, rather than vice versa,” he said.

“I was a witness to a shooting,” Louise said. “A policeman tried to stop a holdup, and was shot. And killed.”

“How awful for you!” Jerome Nelson said.

“Worse for him,” Louise said. “And for his wife and kids.”

“You sound as if you knew him?”

“Yes,” Louise said, “I knew him.”

She took another swallow of her drink, and felt the warmth in her belly.

He waited for her to go on.

Fuck him!

She pushed past him and went into the living room, and leaned on the wall beside a window looking toward the river.

He floated into the room.

“Actually, I was going to come calling anyway,” he said.

“Anyway?” she asked, not particularly pleasantly.

“To tell you that I have discovered we have something in common,” he said.