Page 71 of The 24th Hour
SATURDAY
CHAPTER 94
JOE HELD THE front door for me and I felt transported back to a more elegant time, at least as it was portrayed in black-and-white movies.
The jazz was hot, the patrons looked cool, and Joe and I held hands as we took the grand staircase to the mezzanine floor. To my eye, Joe looked a little bit like Clark Gable without the mustache, and I’d swept up my hair, worn my red, scoop-necked cocktail dress, giving me a glam Ginger Rogers look.
Bix had been named for Jazz Age musician Bix Beiderbecke, and the restaurant in a brick building in an alley off Gold Street felt like a 1930s supper club or speakeasy. The waiters wore white jackets, and ours, a young man named Randall, said, “Welcome back to Bix.” He showed us to a table with a view of the ground floor dining room and handed us the menus. In fact, we ordered from memory and Joe and I were alone again.
Over a light white wine, I updated my combat-trained husband on the recent high points of the Fricke case.
I said, “We got an unbelievable break, Joe. Maybe.”
“Let me have it. I’m braced.”
I told him about Claire’s eagle eye, that the first shot at Jamie Fricke was a .40 fired at close range to his left shoulder. That Claire suspected he’d been adrenaline-charged enough to turn around and punch the shooter in the face.
“That’s plausible …” Joe mused.
“The next four rounds killed him but the DNA on Jamie’s knuckles told the tale on the shooter. He’s male and get this, Joe. He shares DNA with James Fricke.”
“Nice catch on Claire’s part,” said Joe. “I guess the lab was unable to ID anyone from the DNA comparisons?”
“Not yet.”
“Hunh. So if a suspect has no Fricke DNA, he’s out of the running. On the other hand, Jamie Fricke was such a hound with women …”
“I was thinking the same,” I said. “Who knows how many offspring he’s produced in the last thirty years …”
We paused as the waiter brought our entrées.
When he had left the table, I prompted Joe to tell all about his stress-packed save-the-hospital week. He told me about his partner, Bao Wong, whom he liked and admired.
“How much?”
“Hmmm?”
“How much do you like and admire her?”
Joe pinched my knee. “You goofball. She’s a high-tech agent, cyberterrorism director, actually. Lives in DC, but if I take the job, she may move here with her family to work with me and Craig. We make a good team.”
CHAPTER 95
OVER DUNGENESS CRAB and sautéed asparagus, Joe described the shoot-out at the blue house. And then described the thirtysomething coder with the green windbreaker who’d left his computer for the Feds, then helped save St. Vartan’s Hospital.
Joe said, “I really like that guy. I hope I’m right about him.” And then said nothing for a full minute. I shook his arm and then he gave me his straight-on, blue-eyed gaze and said, “So, I’m thinking I should take the job. Here are the whys and why nots …”
“Joe, it’ll be good for you.”
“Not so good for you, though.”
“Here’s how I see it. If it makes your life more interesting, challenging, and you don’t get killed, I’ll be happy enough. We’ll offer Mrs. Rose a full-time job.”
“Well. I’ll be getting a good raise, more than enough to cover Gloria’s salary and fun for the kiddo. As for the job, it’s full-time. Which doesn’t mean nine-to-five. You remember.”
“I sure do,” I said. “It was like living inside a sci-fi thriller and getting out of the theater is not guaranteed. That said, I think it’s now or never.”
Joe showed me his palms, first one, then the other. “On the one hand, assuming Gloria says yes, it could be the perfect life. On the other, early retirement, and I’m already bored with myself.”