Arsonist by Victor Methos Page B

having to buzz up.
    The knocking got louder and he pulled the covers up over his head, staring at a spot on the sheets, holding his breath and waiting for the next knock. It didn’t come for a long time, but when it did, he took a deep breath and rose to answer the door.
    Stephen Gunn stood there with two coffees in his hand.
    “What the fuck? It’s like one o’clock. What’re you still doin’ in bed?”
    “I just wanted to sleep in today.”
    “You been sleepin’ in a lot these past few weeks,” he said, brushing past him and into the apartment. He placed the coffees down on the table. “Brought you some joe.”
    “Thanks,” Stanton said, sitting down on the couch.
    “Don’t you want it?”
    “No, I can’t drink coffee, Stephen. You knew that.”
    “Oh, yeah, guess I forgot.” He came and sat down next to him. “Still gettin’ used to the Mormon thing. Weren’t any Mormons in East Brooklyn when I was growin’ up, I can tell you that.” He took a sip of coffee. “So what happened with that arson expert you were gonna bring in?”
    “She cancelled because of some emergency. I’m meeting her at the Yazzie’s house tomorrow afternoon.”
    “What’s she look like?”
    “Why does that matter?”
    “Don’t be a fag, come on. What’s she look like?”
    “She’s hot.”
    “No shit. How hot?”
    “ Out-of-your-league hot.”
    “Pss, you forget who you’re talkin’ too, son.”
    Stanton yawned. “She’s too smart for you, Stephen. She wouldn’t be interested.”
    “Yeah? And how the hell would you know?”
    “Because I know. She wouldn’t be interested.”
    “You, my friend, have never seen the attraction a bad boy has over shy nerdy types. I will bet you dinner I can get her to go out with me tonight.”
    “She might just do it out of pity. Although I think you’ll be revolting enough to her that she won’t even do that.”
    “Bet?”
    “Sure.”
    “Okay, cool. Now get your ass dressed we got a meetin’.”
    “With who?”
    “CI. She’s got some info on that homie we found in the dumpster.”
    “Michael Cisneros.”
    “Whatever. One junkie’s just like the next to me.”
    Stanton got up and walked to the bathroom and started the shower. He went to his closet and took out jeans and a button-down shirt with a sports coat. “How’d you hear about this CI?” he shouted as he undressed and stepped into the shower.
    “She called me. It was an old one I was usin’ back in Narcs. They called her Super BJ Jones.”
    “Why?”
    “Seriously?”
    “Nevermind.”
    “If you want, I could give you two some privacy and you can find out why they called her that.”
    “I can do without gonorrhea, thanks.”
    “You can’t get gonorrhea from a blow job, man.”
    “Of course you can. It can infect the throat and can be passed to the genitals of another person.”
    “Well, I’m tellin’ you. It’d be worth it with her. I had a sample back in my Narcs days and Super Blow doesn’t begin to describe it.”
    Stanton got out of the shower and began to towel off. He was dressing in front of the mirror when he heard his fridge open and things being unwrapped. Then the balcony door slid open.
    When he was done and came into the living room, he saw Gunn sitting on the railing of his balcony with his feet dangling over, eating a sandwich.
    “This view, man. It’s somethin’ else. I don’t know how you got this place on a cop’s salary. If you was anybody else , I’d say you was takin’ cream.”
    “I haven’t stolen anything since I was sixteen years old and even then I was terrible at it and got caught.”
    “What’d you steal?”
    “Pack of condoms.”
    “You’re kiddin’? Did you use ‘em?”
    “No. I just wanted some of the other kids in gym to see them in my locker. I thought that might make me seem cooler.”
    “Did it work?”
    “I don’t know ‘cause I got busted walking out of the store. That’s what happens when you act like something you’re not.”
    Gunn