No Good Deeds

“He’s ambitious,” Collins said. “You can almost smell it on him.”

“Ambitious and stupid? Now, that’s something we can work with. If it comes to that. For now, stay still. Can you do that for me, Bully? Stay still, stay quiet.”

“Absolutely.”

Collins tipped the lip of his bottle against Jenkins’s shot glass, and they both drank. Jenkins studied the amber legs ru

That’s why Jenkins liked Collins. Loyal as a dog. Loyal as the lion was to the guy who pulled the thorn from his paw. Collins would die for him, literally. The kid loved him more than his own kids did.

Then again, Jenkins hadn’t divorced Collins’s mom and taken up with a cocktail waitress who ended up being Miss Ballbuster of the new mille

But then, Betty knew her strengths, too. She claimed she was thirty-five when they met, but she was most certainly on speaking terms with forty. She was one of those natural hard-bodies, a freak gift from the gods, because the most strenuous thing Betty ever did was lift a glass to her mouth. The face-the face had been hard, too, and not in a good way. She had required a good thirty minutes at the dressing table each morning to get it to live up to the body, to mask the lines she’d gotten from squinching up her features and thinking about how she was going to separate this guy or that guy from whatever he had. The way Betty saw it, she had maybe one more husband left in her, and she couldn’t afford for it to be Jenkins, not once he was all but demoted.

He glanced at his own reflection in the window. Eighteen months. Eighteen months to the mandatory retirement age. He could walk now with a decent enough pension, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He’d do his time, get to the end, then set up the sweetest little security gig he could find. In the meantime he would pretend he gave a shit about solving the Youssef case. A loser, even his enemies would concede that. It wouldn’t be his fault if an arrest were never made. All anyone really wanted was for it to recede in the public imagination, an easy enough trick. The average joe couldn’t hold a thought for twenty minutes, which is why all the world’s problems kept being trumped by the missing-white-woman-of-the-week.

He caught a vision of his retirement party, sad and empty. In fact, it would probably look a lot like this-him and Collins, huddled at a table together, two pariahs. In a fair world, a true meritocracy, they would be known for the heroes they were. But Jenkins knew that nothing was more unfair than the bureaucracies allegedly devoted to justice.

7

Lloyd had to wait until almost midnight before the house was quiet and he was sure that everyone was asleep. It had freaked him out a little, the sounds of sex coming from the other bedroom, not that he hadn’t heard those noises before. Made them, too, but that was different. These people were old. Well, not old-old, but old enough. And weird. It was like the Brady Bunch parents rocking the bed, like his mama and Murray, and who wanted to think about that shit?

The woman did have a nice shape, though. Solid, not that ski

Lloyd Jupiter’s mother, Berneice, had been sixteen when he was born, and she hadn’t done so bad by him. Not great, but not particularly bad, all things considered. She had pretty good judgment about the men she brought home, if you didn’t include Lloyd’s father in the mix. He was locked up or dead. At any rate, he hadn’t been around for years. Her latest man, father to Lloyd’s youngest brother and sister, was downright reliable, sticking with her two years now. Which was good for his mama, but not so good for Lloyd, ’cause Murray was one of those Jamaican tight-asses who had some definite ideas about what Lloyd should be doing, like school, and not doing, like just about everything else.

Given the tension between Murray and him, Lloyd hadn’t been around to see his mama for a while. She was begi

But the last time Lloyd had dropped by, she’d been out-and-out pissed at him-furious over the rumor that he’d been working for Be

“I heard about you,” his mother had said, her voice shrill, her finger in his face. “Getting high and shorting the count. You incompetent, a fiend, or just a thief?”

He had shrugged, refusing to align himself with any of those piss-poor choices.

“You know, you can’t even work at McDonald’s if your cash register is light at the end of ev’ry shift.”

“I ain’t go

“Honey, that’s what I’m saying. You ain’t go

It was a lot of shit to put up with, just for five or ten dollars. He could panhandle that much in a good afternoon.

He hadn’t been getting high anyway, not really. He smoked a blunt now and then, nothing more. What was wrong with that? Look at these two, guzzling all that wine with di

He crept out of the half-ass room they had stuck him in and paused in the hallway, listening. The dogs were his main concern, especially the Doberman. The big, rat-looking dog didn’t seem so much a threat, not unless it got close enough to breathe on you. Dog’s breath was nasty. He waited, his lies ready-just going to the bathroom, needed a drink of water-but nothing happened. No boards creaking, no long toenails clattering on the wooden floors, no lights coming on.