Cry Havoc by Baxter Clare Page A

followed. Again they walked for a long time between the big men. Frank thought they were deliberately leading them in circles and Frank said to Lewis, “You were right about the bread crumbs.”
    “Shut the fuck up,” said the genie behind them. At length he paused at a door and opened it up to sunshine. The genie’s massive torso blocked their exit but he stepped aside and Frank moved past him. He gave her a shove that made her neck snap but Frank ignored it and kept walking into freedom. When she was safely out, with Lewis beside her, she turned and lifted a hand.
    “See ya around,” she said cheerfully. Under her breath she muttered, “Magillas.”
    Getting into the Mercury, Lewis whispered, “Damn!” then, “What’s a magilla?”
    ” ‘Member Magilla Gorilla? The cartoon?”
    Lewis frowned and shook her head. “So you’re calling them gorillas cuz they’re black?”
    “Jesus,” Frank swore. “You gotta get over this black thing. I called them magillas because they’re big and stupid. They could be fucking purple for all I care. They’re still big and stupid.”
    “Hmph,” Lewis snorted.
    “Hmph,” Frank snorted back, relieved she was finally out of the Mother’s goddamned Hansel and Gretel rockhouse.
    “Damn,” Lewis swore softly. She twisted the AC button and warm air whooshed from the vents. “Where we going?”
    Frank intended to visit the Mother’s other sister, but she wanted to think about the morning.
    “Breakfast?” she asked Lewis.
    “I wouldn’t mind.”
    While she directed Lewis to the Norm’s on Pacific, Lewis argued, “I still don’t see why you wouldn’t let me handle her. I’d have done all right.”
    Keeping her earlier thoughts to herself, Frank smiled at the rookie’s unfounded confidence.
    “She’s way too big for you to cut your baby teeth on.”
    “How would you know if you don’t give me a chance?”
    “Trust me,” Frank assured. “I know.”
    She didn’t add that her handle on the Mother had been slippery enough. Lewis seethed beside her, her eagerness pleasing Frank.
    “Whoa. Slow down,” she said, staring out her window.
    “What?” Lewis asked, trying to see what Frank was looking at. A slim woman in a tangerine skirt and cream colored hat sashayed along the sidewalk.
    “Girl, you look good,” Frank sang out the lyrics of a popular song, “won’t you back that ass up!”
    Lewis stiffened and the woman stopped. Making a brim with the flat of her hand, she beamed when she recognized Frank. Singing back, “Bitch who you playin’ wit?” she wiggled her ass dramatically toward the car.
    Frank’s smile was genuine, and in a deep, sultry voice, the woman purred, “Officer Frank, where you been at? I ain’t seen you, Lord, on into a month of Sundays.”
    It didn’t matter if they were a detective III, a captain, or the chief of police—on the street all cops were officers.
    “Been busy, Miss Cleo. How you been?”
    “You tell me,” the woman pirouetted.
    “It’s not right,” Frank admired. “I get older and uglier, and you get younger and prettier.”
    Miss Cleo gushed, “You just gotta know how to work it, sugar.”
    Frank introduced her to Lewis, amused when Miss Cleo dangled a white-gloved hand out to her. Lewis took the fingertips, saying, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
    “Ma’am,” Miss Cleo laughed. “Isn’t she sweet? Now what can I do for you, Officer Frank. It’s hotter than seven hells standing out here.”
    “Don’t mean to keep you. What’s the word on Mother Love-Jones?”
    “Whoo-ee, that old thang?”
    Miss Cleo fanned herself.
    “Now you know I don’t involve myself with that kinda traffic. I do my business, on my own side of the street. You know that.”
    “I know. Just wondering if any of your customers might’ve dropped a word on her. Her nephew going down and all.”
    “Oh, isn’t that awful,” Miss Cleo responded in a deep voice. “I heard he had his you-know-what cut off and stuffed in his