A Body to die for

store,” I said. They each guzzled a Rolling Rock. “So the Ergort you know was a real wimp?” I asked again. I found it hard to believe that there could be two ex-cops from Brooklyn named Ergort.
    “You got any pretzels?” Frankie asked. I shook my head. He then thumped Hairy in the chest and said, “Nothing here.” He turned to me. “We’re not going far, so if Watson comes over here, he’s dead.” Then they left without thanking us for our hospitality. Well, they simply will not be invited again.
    Max locked the door behind them. He seemed distracted. “Let’s go to bed,” he said. We counted two cats and then went back into the bedroom. Knowing that the cops had picked through our stuff made me slightly queasy. Or maybe I really was getting cramps. While we were undressing, Max said, “Break-ins. Visits from the police in the middle of the night. Is this what it’s always going to be like?”
    “I saw your cute sign in the closet.”
    “I hung it up there two days ago, Wanda.” We slid under the covers. Max’s skin was soft and warm, as usual. We spooned.
    Max rolled away from me and onto his back. “So Watson busted out of jail and the cops came over here to look for him.”
    “I honestly have no clue where he is.” Max sighed and put his hands behind his head. He didn’t look sleepy. “You hate me,” I said. He didn’t say anything. “Just like you to not comfort me in my time of need.”
    He laughed at that. “Comfort is the last thing you need, Wanda.”
    “Are you saying I’m fat?” I asked.
    Max rolled over to face me. He smoothed down my hair and kissed my forehead. “Jack ran because he’s a murderer. Why else would anyone run? Find him and turn him in. This whole case is making me nervous. And now you’ve got innocent bystanders involved.”
    “Leeza,” I hissed. I got a flash: Leeza strapped in a rack. I was standing in front of her, slapping her rosy cheeks over and over. I smiled.
    Max watched me. He asked suddenly, “What’s the name of the big account I’m working on?” I had no fucking idea. I felt a wave of guilt, which was exactly what Max wanted.
    “The Isaacson account?” I tried. I remembered that it sounded Biblical.
    Max smiled and hugged me. He said, “I want you to start unpacking this shit tomorrow. And this weekend, we’re going away together. I don’t care what reason you come up with to stay in New York. If I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you, I will.” I got another flash: Max, carting me like a sack of svelte potatoes, and throwing me down on a grassy knoll somewhere in New England. I kissed him on the knuckles.
    He said, “By the way—it’s the Jacoby account.” We were quiet for a few minutes. Max started to snore in his familiar wheeze. I lay awake feeling like a heel. So I can be self-absorbed. But Max’s banking stuff was a killer to feign interest in. I vowed to get up in the morning when Max did. I wanted to shower him with love and affection. And I needed an early start at finding Jack. I had no intention of turning him in. If he was guilty, I wanted to hear it from him. And then I’d skin him with a grapefruit spoon.

    I woke up when Otis and Syd had a claw fight on my chest. I was happy to see that Syd was getting out of the bathroom more. Max’s side of the bed was already cold. As cold as anything gets in June without airconditioning. Time check: 10:30 A.M., Thursday morning. Shit, I thought. I missed cuddling Max by two hours. I tried to cuddle Otis, but she’d have none of it, being busy terrorizing Syd.
    I took the cordless into the bathroom and called the precinct. I couldn’t reach Falcone, but whoever answered the phone said she left a message for me: Watson was still at large. She also wanted me to come to the station by the end of the day or she’ll hunt me down, too. Syd jumped in the sink while I brushed my teeth. I felt a kinship with her suddenly. I bent to kiss her little head, but got a blast of her breath. Have I mentioned that Syd has chronic gingivitis? Her mouth was ghastly. I wondered if it’d be better after a little Colgate brushing, so I dabbed some toothpaste on her orange gums.
    She hissed, spit and scrambled out of the sink like her tongue was on fire. She darted under the couch in the living room. I found a flashlight and turned it on her. Her little orange lips were foaming with white lather. I would have laughed, except she took a swipe at me and caught me on the tip of my