Corpse Suzette

stand him.
The females had the hots for him, responding to that tough-guy-with-street-smarts
appeal, not to mention more than his share of brawn. But none had lasted longer
than a couple of days in the field with him... until Savannah.
    She didn’t care if he broke
a few rules. She bent plenty herself... especially those she considered stupid.
And so what if he leaned a little hard on a particularly unsavory suspect to
get to the truth? He had good instincts and didn’t “lean” unless he was sure
the guy was a bad one.
    Together they had taken a
lot of dangerous criminals off the streets and just as importantly, they had
brought justice and closure to a lot of victims. Savannah had decided long ago
that was a good way to spend a life. And she had also decided she could put up
with most of Dirk’s less pleasant habits to achieve that.
    She reminded herself of
that when she pulled into the pier parking lot and saw him sitting there in his
Buick, a nasty little smirk on his face.
    He had beaten her there.
    Big whoopty-do.
    The fact that she had lost
the unofficial race meant that she would have to join him, rather than vice
versa. Sitting in his grubby Buick was the price to pay for law-abiding
driving.
    But he had chosen the
parking space nearest the beach and the view today was great, so she didn’t
mind too much.
    The midmorning sun had
broken through the haze and Southern California’s idea of a winter day was
simply magnificent.
    She got into his car,
rolled down her window, turned her face toward the sun and closed her eyes,
letting it warm her soul. Palm trees rustled overhead in the onshore breeze. A
few seagulls cawed, some children laughed further down the beach, someone’s
boom box was playing “California Girls.” All was well with the world and—
    “Did you get a load of that
dumb broad back there? Boy, was she a piece of work or what?”
    Savannah tried not to let
his words or the grating tone of his voice pollute the purity of her perfect
California-Zen moment. “I beg your pardon?” she asked with all the tranquility
she could muster.
    “That stupid broad back at
Emerge. Talk about a brainless twit! Why she—”
    “Do you know,” she said,
eyes still closed, her voice a monotone, “that you are the only man left in the
world who still calls women ‘broads’?”
    “So, what’s your point?” he
snapped.
    “Point? My point?” Eyes still
closed. Still tranquil. Still in the serene consciousness of the moment. “No
point. I have no point. It was just a simple observation.”
    “No, you were bitching at
me. Criticizing my language, like you always do. I know when I’m being
criticized. If I wanted some br... woman to bitch at me, I’d get
married.”
    “If you could find some
broad who’d have you,” she muttered under her breath, losing the Zen.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” She opened her
eyes and shook herself back to reality, grim as it might be. “What were you
saying? You don’t like somebody. What else is new?”
    “I don’t like that gal
who’s the receptionist or secretary or whatever back there at that Emerge
place.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “She’s a bimbo. And worse
yet, an old bimbo.”
    “Young bimbos are somehow
better than old ones? Why? Because they’re easier on the eyes? You don’t mind a
woman being an ignoramus as long as she’s firm and perky?”
    “What?” He stared at her
for a long moment, obviously confused. “No, it’s not that. Firm and perky?
That’s stupid. It’s just that if a gal’s older, she’s had more time to figure
out how to smarten up. She doesn’t have any excuse for being a bimbo past...
oh, thirty-five or so. After that, she oughta be wiser.”
    Savannah studied her old
friend’s face and saw only sincerity. She gave him a sweet, warm smile. “I love
you,” she said.
    He looked pleased but
confused. “Okay. First you criticize me, then you say something like that.
You’re nuts.”
    “But not a bimbo?”
    He smiled back. “Not even
in the ballpark with bimbo.”
    “Tell me more about the
receptionist.”
    “She’s gotta be pushing
sixty, but she was flirting with me, actually coming on to me.” He shut his
eyes and shook his head as though trying to shake out the very thought. “Yuck.
She could almost be my mom. And that wouldn’t even matter, except that she’s
had a ton of bad plastic surgery. Her eyebrows are up to her hairline, her nose
is as pointed as a just-sharpened pencil, and her lips