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“My name’s Je
“Jesse Stone.”
“What are you having?” she said.
Her eyes were blue, the biggest eyes Jesse had ever seen, and the lashes were very long. She was wearing cobalt-and-emerald spandex and her fingernails were painted blue.
“Coffee.”
“Wow,” Je
Jesse smiled. Je
“So, you in the business?” Je
“I’m a police officer,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“God, you don’t look like one.”
“What do I look like?” Jesse said.
“Like a producer, maybe, or an agent. You know, slim, good haircut, good casual clothes, the Oakley shades.”
Jesse smiled some more.
“You carry a gun?” Je
“Sure.”
“Really?”
Jesse opened his coat and turned his body a little so that she could see the nine-millimeter pistol he wore behind his right hip.
“I’ve never even picked up a gun,” Je
“That’s good.”
“I’d love to shoot one. Is it hard to shoot one?”
“No,” Jesse said. The gun nearly always worked. Unless they were sort of late-age hippies and then it turned them off. “I’ll take you shooting sometime, if you’d like.”
“Is there a big kick?”
“No.”
Je
“If I’d known I was going to eat with someone I wouldn’t have ordered this sandwich,” she said.
Jesse nodded.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“No,” Jesse said. “I don’t.”
“Why is that, most guys I know around here talk a mile a minute.”
“That’s one reason,” Jesse said.
Je
“Any other reasons?”
“I can’t ever remember,” Jesse said, “getting in trouble by keeping my mouth shut.”
“So what kind of cop are you? You a detective?”
“Yes.”
“LAPD?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you, ah, stationed? Are cops stationed?”
“I am a homicide detective. I work out of police headquarters downtown.”
“Homicide.”
“Yes.”
Je
“Is it like, what? Hill Street Blues?” she said.
“More like Barney Miller,” he said.
It was his standard answer, but it was no truer than any other, just self-effacing, which was why he used it. Being a homicide cop wasn’t like anything on television, but there wasn’t much point in trying to explain that to someone who could never know.
“You an actress?” he said.
“Yes. How did you know?”
It was another thing he always said. He had a good chance to be right in Los Angeles, and even if he were wrong, the girl was flattered.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “And you have a sort of star quality.”
“Wow, you know the right things to say, don’t you.”
“Just telling the truth,” Jesse said.
“Right now I’m working at the reception desk at CAA,” Je
“You done any work I might have seen?”
“Mostly nonspeaking parts, crowd scenes, things like that. I’m in a play three nights a week just down the street here. It’s a modern version of a Greek tragedy called The Parcae. I play Clotho.”
“Sounds really interesting,” Jesse said. “I’d like to come see it.”
“I can leave a ticket for you at the box office. All you have to do is let me know the night.”
“How about tonight?” Jesse said.
“Sure.”
“Maybe have a bite afterward?”
“That would be very nice,” she said.
“Good,” Jesse said. “I’ll meet you afterward in the lobby.”
She smiled and stood and disposed of her tray.
“If you don’t like the play, don’t arrest me,” she said.
“I’ll like the play,” Jesse said.
He watched her as she walked away. He knew he’d hate the play, but it was part of what he was willing to pay in order to see that body without the Lycra. . . . At Santa Rosa he crossed the Pecos. It was a pretty ordinary-looking little river to be so famous. What the hell made it so famous? Was it Judge Roy Bean? The law west of the Pecos? Small things pleased him as he drove. He liked seeing the towns that had once marked Route 66: Gallup, New Mexico, Flagstaff, Arizona, Winona. He liked seeing the occasional wind-driven tumbleweed that rolled across the highway. He liked seeing road signs for Indian reservations and places like Fort Defiance. Past Santa Rosa he pulled off of the interstate to get gas and a ham-and-cheese sandwich at a gas station/restaurant in the middle of the New Mexico wilderness. It was the only building in sight with views in all directions to the empty horizon. He pumped his own gas, and a ski
“Would you like a drink, Jesse?”
“Sure,” he said.
She was wearing a little black dress with spaghetti straps and backless high-heeled shoes. She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him. Maybe a little theatrical, but she was an actress.
“Let’s have it afterward,” she said.
Her bedroom was neat. The bed freshly made. She had probably pla