F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 by Sibs (v2.1) Page B

lately. The human
misery he saw on a daily basis seemed to be deeper, more soul-wrenching; the
scum he had to deal with seemed scummier. Was the city changing for the worse,
or was it him?
     
                That little restaurant he and Kara
had dreamed of opening was looking better and better. Even though Kara wouldn't
be with him, he still wanted to give it a try. He'd put in his twenty years,
then use his pension as a back-up while he made the restaurant a going thing.
He just had to hold out until—
     
                He felt a hand slide up the inside
of his thigh. He looked at Connie. She was awake and staring at him with her
curly brown eyes. Her long dark hair flowed over her cheek and throat.
     
                "An option on your
thoughts," she said.
     
                "Nothing. A blank."
     
                "Come on. Your face reminded me
of the first time I made you try sushi."
     
                "Okay. I was thinking about a
murder that maybe wasn't a murder and how I'm probably never going to
know."
     
                "Hey, it's Sunday. You're not
suppose to be thinking about work. You're supposed to be thinking about
me."
     
                As if to emphasize that point, she
ran her hand further up his thigh and began caressing him. Rob felt a faint
tingle of pleasure but little more. His usual quick response wasn't there this
morning.
     
                "Not in the mood, huh?"
Connie said after a couple of minutes.
     
                "Not really."
     
                "I hate it when you get so
wrapped up in a case. You're good for nothing else when that happens."
     
                "And I suppose you were a
barrel of laughs back in October of '87?"
     
                She laughed and punched him on the
arm.
     
                He'd met Connie during a robbery
investigation when he'd been assigned to the Upper West Side . Her apartment—condo, rather—was next door
to the scene; she'd heard noises and knew her neighbors were in Tortola for the week, so she called the police. Rob
had questioned her and learned that she was an investment banker with Saloman
Brothers. A few days later she had called him back to her apartment, saying
she'd remembered a few more details. She'd greeted him at the door… nude.
They'd been seeing each other ever since.
     
                Neither of them had any illusions
that this was going anywhere. There were no problems in bed. That was fine.
Connie wasn't easy to keep up with, but Rob managed. It was out of bed that
they ran into problems. They moved in radically different circles. Rob had
taken her once to Leo's, the watering hole where most of the Midtown North cops
did their post-shift relaxing. She'd loathed the place. And Rob felt far out of
his depth with her yuppie friends.
     
                "How about going out for
brunch?" she said.
     
                "Brunch? I don't do
brunch."
     
                Connie hopped out of bed and went
over to the mirror above the dresser. Rob had never met a woman so totally
unselfconscious about nudity. Maybe that was because she had a great body and
knew it. She pulled a brush out of her purse and began working on her hair.
     
                "Sure you do. Every time you
order breakfast when you're supposed to be having lunch, you're doing
brunch."
     
                "Oh. Okay. Let's do
brunch."
     
                She turned to him, her eyes bright.
     
                "I got a great idea! We'll go
to this place Pete McCarthy and I found up on Columbus Avenue .. It's called Julio's."
     
                "Not another yuppie
eatery!"
     
                "No. This place is really
declasse—determinedly so. It's a working man's bar left over from
pre-gentrification days. It's grungy, the owner's the bartender, and the
service is surly