Burn (Michael Bennett 7)

They stared at me, biting their little lips to stifle the giggles that had already started. How did I get myself into these things?

I washed up and got into my pj’s and lay down. Then I sneezed as something furry scrubbed up against my left nostril.

“What the—!” I said as I shot up to a barrage of hysterical giggling.

I clicked on the light. It was the stupid cat!

“Put Socky out of this bed, Chrissy. This bed has a strict no-cat policy. No means no. Get him out of here!”

“But Socky misses Touchdown and Flopsy, Mopsy, and Desiree, too,” said Chrissy.

“No, Socky misses the rodents, and most of all, those delicious birds,” I said as I placed the cat on the floor and put the pillow over my head.

“That’s so mean, Daddy,” Chrissy said. “Homer is a bird and Socky is my friend. Socky would die before he hurt even one feather on Homer’s head.”

Wanna bet? I thought.

“Mean Daddy,” Shawna agreed with another giggle.

“Please, girls. Mean Daddy has work tomorrow and just wants some sleep, OK? Just a little sleep, pretty please,” I said as I felt the cat leap back up onto the bed and use the back of my left leg for a scratching post.

I shook my leg free and was about to get rid of the cat again but then wisely resigned myself. I closed my weary eyes and pictured room service breakfast at the Plaza. As I fell asleep, I pictured Mary Catherine in a white bathrobe raising a mimosa as the sun came up over Central Park.

CHAPTER 20

I GOT OUT OF the house at an extra-early six-thirty the next morning to beat the traffic.

Not the commuter traffic in the street so much as the always-heavy bathroom traffic in my apartment on weekday mornings.

From the corner deli, I grabbed a breakfast sandwich and a coffee and the paper. The Post wasn’t in yet, but the Daily News was, so I picked up a copy, which I perused in the front seat of my Chevy as I ate my ham, egg, and cheese.

After I read the sports section, I flipped the paper over. I skimmed through what Kanye was up to these days, and then I read something interesting on page four.

There was a story about a jewel heist at some high-end jewelry shop out in Brooklyn.

The criminals seemed sophisticated. Rushing in wearing ski masks and brandishing handguns, they’d forced the store staff to the ground before smashing display cases with ball-peen hammers and grabbing the most expensive items. The smash-and-grab gang had struck thrice and was always in and out in minutes and got away without a trace.

It really did sound like an interesting case, I thought as I put down the paper and started the car. A crew of professional thieves was something a cop could really sink his teeth into. I imagined the stakeouts and suspect interviews, the adrenaline-laced thrill of the hunt.

Then I stopped fantasizing as I reminded myself that my involvement with high-profile cases was now a thing of the past.

I was first one in at the ombudsman office at 125th in Harlem. After I keyed myself in, I turned on the lights and parked myself at my desk. I was drinking a coffee to the sound of a soothing Mozart horn concerto from YouTube and going through more complaints when a woman poked her head in the doorway.

“Detective Bennett?” she said.

It took me a few seconds to realize that it was the clerk I’d sent home yesterday. It was hard to recognize her, what with the long-sleeved blouse and tailored pants and no gaudy makeup. The only earrings she wore were in her ears this morning, I noted happily. She looked quite respectable and professional. Well, what did you know? Day two and I was already making some headway.

“Yes, Ms. Ramirez?” I said, taking note of her name tag.

“I just wanted to apologize for my appearance and behavior and stuff yesterday. I read the manual like you said, and I’m going to follow it. I actually like my job, and I’d like to try to show you that I’m actually really good at it if you give me another chance.”

“Sounds good, Ms. Ramirez,” I said.

“Oh, please call me Roz,” she said, smiling.

I didn’t smile back. The last thing this tattooed young lady needed was to be more casual in the workplace.

“That’s OK,” I said. “I’ll just stick with Ms. Ramirez for now, Ms. Ramirez.”