King of Swords

Sandra was eating a flaked tuna-steak sandwich on rye with fresh orange juice. Max hadn't been able to eat anything since the previous day, so he was sticking to cigarettes and coffee.

'Not even a general idea?'

'You really don't wanna know, Sandra. Trust me,' he said, nodding to her food.

She pushed her plate aside. 'What if I do?'

'I'm still not gonna tell you,' he said, but he wished he could talk to her. She looked and sounded like she wanted lo know, and her big, steady, attentive eyes showed she was a natural listener; the sort who thought about what the speaker was saying instead of waiting to speak herself, the sort who never missed a thing.

'Is this the way it is with cops? Silence over dialogue?'

'I guess, some, yeah. We got a way higher than national average divorce rate in the force.'

'And you think that's an OK way to be?'

'No, but that's the way it is.'

'Pretty vacant,' she said.

'I can't argue with that.' He shrugged.

'You ever talk about your work to any of your exes?'

'No, never. I figured if I did they wouldn't wanna be around me.'

'Looks like they didn't anyway,' Sandra said.

'You're funny.' Max smiled.

'I have my moments.' She winked mischievously, which made him laugh. He was glad she'd called him earlier that morning and glad he'd come out to meet her. Even though he hadn't been in the mood for small talk and the polite pretences of fledgling courtship, this was turning into their easiest and most relaxed meeting so far. His guard was down and he was letting her take a look at him as he really was instead of throwing up diversions and detours.

Sandra was in her office clothes: a short-sleeved pale blue blouse, undone at the neck, a brown knee-length pinstriped skirt and brown high-heeled shoes with rows of small blue flowers on the sides. She wore a thin white-gold chain around her neck and small white-gold crucifix earrings. It was a conservative look, but a stylish one too, and, judging from the shoes, Max thought, one she'd tweaked to suit her more than her superiors. She was wearing very little make-up, but still looked stunning. In fact, she seemed to get more beautiful every time he saw her.

'There, see, you've lightened up. You know a person uses less muscles smiling than frowning.'

'Is that right?'

'That's what I read.'

'You read a lot?'

“Yeah, I do. I'm one of those people who, when they get

interested in something go out and find out everything there is to know about it. Do you read at all?'

'No. Well, outside police stuff and the papers, I don't get a lot of time, you know. Besides books ain't really my kind of thing, tell you the truth.'

'So, d'you follow sports?'

'I ain't a ball games kinda guy, but I keep up with boxing.

I told you I used to box, right?'

'Yeah, I looked you up.'

'No shit?'

'No shit.' She smiled, and told him his entire Golden Gloves record, significant titles he'd won and the dates of his first and last fights. He was impressed.

'You like boxing?' he asked.

'Not much. But I've seen Rocky and Rocky 2.'

'That wasn't boxing, that was ballet.'

'What about Raging Bull? Did you see that?'

'Nah.' Max shook his head. He'd heard about it but hadn't been curious enough to check it out. 'That's the one where De Niro got himself all fat for the part, right?'

'It's a great movie. Sad and disturbing.'

'You should see a real fight,' Max said. 'They're always sad and disturbing — for the loser.'

'Would you take me to one?'

'Any time.' He smiled, realizing he had an opening, the perfect opportunity to ask her out on a proper date.

But before he could suggest anything, she looked at her watch.

'I've gotta go,' she said.

'Too bad,' Max said. 'We never give each other enough lime, do we?'

She looked at him and held his stare. Some women he'd gone out with had told him they couldn't handle the look in his eyes, which they'd said, was somewhere between piercing and accusing and something like getting a light

shone into their souls. He'd made them feel like they'd done something wrong. Cop's eyes, in short. Sandra didn't seem to have that problem.

'When do you finish today?'

“Bout six 'You got any plans for the evening?'

Sure, Max thought. Going back to the garage and talking things through with Joe — zombies, missing babies and a guy called Solomon — and asking himself where this investigation of theirs was going, and how long they could hope to keep it a secret.

Want to get a drink? You look like you could use one,'

she suggested.

'Sure,' he said.

'I know a great spot - great drinks, great food, great music'

'Where?'

'Little Havana, real close to mi casa?

L'Alegria on South West nth Avenue was a bar-restaurant with a nightclub downstairs. Max had driven past it many times but had never gone in, hadn't even been tempted. The outside looked unprepossessing, the kind of place which probably framed its health code violations in the kitchen.