Konarth, Joe - Jack Daniels 02 - Bloody Mary by Konrath

long one. He’s a dealer.”
    “Davi’s coke supplier?”
    “All of his charges are for marijuana, but that’d be my assumption. And he was a guest of the city just a few weeks ago. Guess which district.”
    For the first time since the case began, I had that flutter feeling in my stomach that indicated we were getting close.
    “You’re kidding. Here?”
    “The old two-six. For possession.”
    The ducks weren’t perfect yet, but they were forming a row. If Colin Andrews had been in our building, he could have had an opportunity to pick up my handcuffs.
    “Who booked him?”
    “Hanson.” Herb pressed a few computer keys. “She’s gone for the day. Speaking of which, I need to leave early.”
    “Big plans?”
    Herb gave me a grin that was positively wicked. I understood.
    “Ah, those kind of plans. That requires leaving early?”
    “In this instance, yes.”
    “Okay then, Romeo. We can get rolling on Andrews tomorrow.”
    “Good. You know”—Herb eyed the cat—“I drive by the Chicago River on the way home.”
    “Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll let him live for the time being.”
    Herb said good night and left my office.
    “Just me and you, Mr. Friskers.”
    At the mention of his name, the cat awoke and commenced howling.
    I tried to ignore him, and attempted to finish up a report on a suicide from last week. After struggling through that, I went through my in-box and played pass-along with some current homicides that seemed open and shut.
    My position in the Chicago Police Department allowed me more wiggle room than many of my contemporaries. As far as I knew, I was one of the only lieutenants in the Detective Division—the title had been mostly phased out around the time Homicide morphed into Violent Crimes. There are lieutenant inspectors, who are one silver bar below captain, but those are supervisory positions and I had no desire to give up investigative work. My rank allows me to skip morning roll call, operate in other districts without jurisdictional issues, give commands when needed, and pick and choose my cases.
    It took over twenty years to gain this autonomy, and I enjoyed it. Which is probably why no one in the office knocked on my door to complain about the cat noise. Rank has its privileges.
    In the midst of filing, my cell rang. Latham.
    “Hi, Latham. Back in town?”
    “I’m back, Jack. What are you wearing?”
    I smiled. “A plaid flannel shirt and overalls.”
    “Stop it—I’m getting turned on. Might I request the honor of your presence tonight for dinner?”
    “I’ll have to check with my boyfriend first.”
    “Screw him.”
    “I was planning on it. Is six o’clock okay?”
    “It’s perfect. I was thinking someplace nice.”
    “Heels-and-a-dress nice?”
    “Ooh, I like that even more than the overalls.”
    “Does this have anything to do with that important question you mentioned on my answering machine?”
    “Maybe, maybe so. Are you beating the confession out of some criminal right now?”
    “That’s a cat. Long story. I’ll tell you when you pick me up.”
    “Great. I’ll be the guy knocking on your door with flowers. See you soon.”
    He hung up, leaving me sitting there with a dopey grin on my face. I was glad Latham was back home, and not just because I hadn’t had sex in three weeks. Latham made me feel special. He was funny, considerate, attractive, successful, romantic, and in love with me. What wasn’t to like?
    Though, I had to admit, part of me kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had to have
something
wrong with him. But so far, the annoyances were only minor. Snoring. Back hair. Leaving the toilet seat up. A juvenile affection for bad horror movies and ’80s pop songs.
    He probably had wives in four other states. Or his mummified mother tied to a rocking chair in the attic.
    Speaking of mothers . . .
    I called Florida, but the Do Not Disturb was still on her room phone. I spoke with a nurse, and Mom’s condition had improved,