"I hope so. Dead bodies are disgusting. And Bannister is very disgusting."
"Once you make Chief..."
"If I make Chief..."
"Once you make Chief," Janey said emphatically, non-verbally reminding Flak of the self-actualization seminar she'd sent him to last year, the one on how visualizing the impossible is the key to achieving the impossible. "Once you make Chief, you'll have detectives to see them for you."
"Damn right!" Flak said, and raised his glass, a Manhattan, to his publicist. He winced and tottered slightly on the bar stool.
"So," Janey said, waving to the waitress and holding up two fingers. "Any leads yet on poor Lane?"
"Hmp. Are you kidding? I delegated. The officers are doing the interviews. The labs are analyzing fingerprints and stuff. The ghouls are cutting into what's left of him to determine cause of death. I'll get a report in the morning. I'm sure they'll come up with something."
"I'm sure you will, Super Cop!" Janey flashed a wide smile.
"Janey, you've got a little smear of lipstick on your teeth."
"Where?"
"Right there," Flak pointed to the top of her left front incisor, and helpfully offered the corner of his napkin. She leaned forward and he gently cleaned the stain. She leaned forward a little more.
"Peter, I..."
Flak's phone rang. "Excuse me, Janey. Duty calls." He flashed his own smile, confident in his teeth's perfection. He flipped open the phone, and lowered his voice an octave.
"Detective Peter Flak speaking!"
"Flak! It's AK. There's something funny in the photos."
"The photos?"
"Of Bannister. You need to come down to the lab."
"It's kind of late, isn't it?""
"Just get down here. It'll be worth your while. I think I know who killed Bannister," AK said impatiently.
"AK, just tell me now...I trust you," Flak said, winking at Janey. He and Janey had worked on that line. It was useful for building confidence in subordinates and building their respect for him...and for avoiding the more unpleasant aspects of his job.
"I can't. You have to see this. Just get the hell down here, OK?"
"All right. I'll be there in 30 minutes." Flak flipped his phone closed and sighed. "I interrupted you, didn't I Janey?"
"The media plans. You want me to call the night desk now?" Janey said from behind a compact mirror. "Otherwise," she sniffed, "We can go over it tomorrow."
"I guess we better do that, Janey," Flak said. "Probably a little early to call the press tonight. I'll let you know what we have first thing."
"You got it, Petey!" Janey said, her smile now perfect. She was cute, Flak thought, in her own officious way. A little too short, a little too pushy and a little older than he usually liked, but she did the best with what she had. They hugged and pecked each others' cheeks. The valet drove up with her BMW 9000i and she smiled and waved. Waiting for his own used Audi to arrive, he admired Janey's car as it drove down the block and rounded the corner onto 7th Street.
Love that car. I should get into PR, he thought.
That's when he saw the explosion.
Flak backed up into the glass door of Marty's, and then experienced one of those rare moments in his life when fight overcame flight, and he ran toward 7th Street. The smoke was thick and the fire hot. He heard a crack under his feet -- a familiar pink compact, covered in black soot -- Janey's.
The BMW was a smoking ruin, and Flak shook his head at the waste. He tried to see whether anyone was inside the car, but the smoke made his eyes water. Then through the smoke he saw a gnarled, charred arm rise out of the window, as if waving, and then fall limp. Flak covered his eyes.
What a way to go. Maybe I'll stick to police work," Flak thought, looked around, and, with sirens approaching quickly, more familiar instincts took over and he backed up to the entrance of Marty's, took the keys, tipped the valet five bucks, made a hasty U-turn and headed for the crime lab.
# # #
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