Lies You Wanted to Hear by James Whitfield Thomson Page A

I gunned the engine and cranked the T-bird up to eighty. Hand-me-down cool from my uncle Joe. I had a feeling I was going to need it.
    ***
    Friday morning after roll call, I was told to report to Captain Antonucci’s office. I had never been called in by the captain before, which made me a little nervous, but I couldn’t think of any reason to be concerned. I saluted as I entered the captain’s office. He waved it off and told me to close the door and take a seat.
    “I’m going to get right down to business here, Drobyshev.” He had my personnel file open on his desk. “I see from your record you got a community college degree?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “That’s good, good. It says here you speak Spanish?”
    I smiled. “ Sí, capitán .”
    He smiled too. “Schoolbook or street talk?”
    “Street, sir. I studied it in high school, but I got pretty fluent living in Puerto Rico.”
    “Good, good. Let me tell you what I have in mind.” He started talking about the school busing problems, how the department felt like it was under siege. Damned if we do and damned if we don’t. The captain leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The commissioner wants me to put together a small task force. Officers who can go out into the neighborhoods and get the people back on our side. You know, talk to the priests and ministers, really get to know the merchants, spend some time at the boys’ and girls’ clubs. Cops used to do that kind of thing every day. We need to get a dialogue going, come up with some fresh ideas. Speaking Spanish will come in real handy.”
    “Sounds like a great opportunity, sir.”
    “It is, it is. I got some good feedback on you, Drobyshev. I think you’ll be a great addition to the team. But I want to caution you—we’re still in the planning stages for the next month or two. We don’t even have a name for the task force yet. Everything I just told you is confidential. Not a word about it leaves this room. You understand?”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
    I left his office and practically jumped up and clicked my heels. The job was a plum. I wished there was a way I could tell Lucy. Things were definitely turning my way.

Chapter 7
    Lucy
    I went to bed Friday night thinking about Matt, telling myself I’d be a good girl on our date the next evening and not drink so much. The phone rang about two in the morning—Griffin calling from a hotel in Denver. It was almost like he had a sixth sense that another guy was circling, or perhaps I had summoned him with my extrasensory need. He sounded stoned, maudlin. He told me he had just lost out on a big contract he’d been working on. Also, his father was having some serious heart problems back in Cincinnati. I tried to be sympathetic but couldn’t think of much to say. He asked me how things were going and I said same-old same-old.
    “You miss me?” he said.
    “Every day.” I didn’t mean to be quite as sarcastic as I sounded.
    “You’ve met somebody, haven’t you?”
    “Of course. You told me not to wait.”
    “Is he there now?”
    “He just left.”
    “Was he good?”
    “Incredible. One of the best.”
    “But you want more?” Griffin said.
    “Always.”
    “Tell me what you’re wearing.”
    “Just panties.” The truth. “Nothing else.”
    “Touch your nipples.”
    A deep intake of breath, my pulse quickening. “Okay.”
    “Squeeze them,” he said. “Dig your fingernail in a little.”
    I let out a soft cry.
    “Now slowly move your fingers down across your belly.”
    And so on. I can’t explain why this made me feel like I had a hold on him. Wasn’t he simply proving the opposite?
    The next afternoon Jill and I went shopping. When we stopped for a bite to eat, Jill put my hand on her stomach so I could feel the baby move. I asked if she knew if it was a boy or girl, and she said she had no idea. It seemed strange that the child could be inside your body and still be such a mystery.
    Jill watched with disapproval as I tore