Sacred Sins

munch a date. “People in love tend to be corny.”
    “I didn't say I was in love.” That came out quickly, the reflex action on the trap door. “I just mean she's special.”
    “Certain people have difficulty admitting to emotional commitment because they fear failing in the long haul. The word love becomes a stumbling block that once uttered is like a lock, blocking off their privacy, their singleness, and obliging them to perceive themselves as one half of a couple.”
    Ben tossed the candy wrapper on the floor. “Redbook?”
    “No, I made it up. Maybe I should write an article.”
    “Look, if I was in love with Tess, with anybody, I wouldn't have any trouble saying it.”
    “So? Are you?”
    “I care about her. A lot.”
    “Euphemism.”
    “She's important to me.”
    “Evasions.”
    “Okay, I'm crazy about her.”
    “Not quite there, Paris.”
    This time he did crack the window and pull out a cigarette. “All right, so I'm in love with her. Happy now?”

    “Have a date. You'll feel better.”
    He swore, then heard himself laugh. Tossing out the cigarette, he bit into the date Ed handed him. “You're worse than my mother.”
    “That's what partners are for.”

    I NSIDE Tess's apartment time went just as slowly. At seven she and Lowenstein shared a supper of canned soup and roast beef sandwiches. For all her talk about not being worried, Tess managed to do little more than stir the chunks of beef and vegetables around in her bowl. It was a cold, miserable night. No one who didn't have to would want to be out in it. But the fact that she couldn't move beyond her own door left her with a feeling of being caged.
    “You play canasta?” Lowenstein asked.
    “I'm sorry, what?”
    “Canasta.” Lowenstein glanced at her own watch and figured her husband would be giving their youngest a bath. Roderick would be in position out front, Ben and Ed would be sweeping the area before they returned to the station, and her oldest daughter would be complaining about being stuck with the dishes.
    “I'm being lousy company.”
    Lowenstein set half a sandwich back on the pale green glass plate she'd admired. “You're not supposed to entertain me, Dr. Court.”
    But Tess pushed her plate aside and made the effort. “You have a family, don't you?”
    “A mob, actually.”
    “It's not easy, is it, managing a demanding career and taking care of a family?”
    “I've always thrived on complications.”
    “I admire that. I've always avoided them. Can I ask you a personal question?”

    “Okay, if I can ask you one afterward.”
    “Fair enough.” With her elbows on the table, Tess leaned forward. “Does your husband find it difficult being married to someone whose job is not only demanding, but potentially dangerous?”
    “I guess it's not easy. I know it's not,” Lowenstein corrected. She took a pull from the Diet Pepsi Tess had served in thin, scrolled glasses Lowenstein would have kept on display. “We've had to work through a lot of it. A couple of years ago we had a trial separation. It lasted thirty-four-and-a-half hours. The bottom line is, we're nuts about each other. That usually cuts through everything else.”
    “You're lucky.”
    “I know. Even when I feel like pushing his head in the toilet, I know. My turn.”
    “All right.”
    Lowenstein gave her a long, measuring look. “Where do you get your clothes?”
    She was only too surprised to laugh for a few seconds. For the first time all day, Tess relaxed.

    O UTSIDE , Roderick and a stocky black detective known as Pudge shared a thermos of coffee. A bit cranky with a head cold, Pudge shifted every few minutes and complained.
    “I don't think we're going to see a sign of this dude. Mullendore's got the late shift. If anyone makes the collar, it'll be him. We'll just sit here freezing our asses off.”
    “It has to be tonight.” Roderick poured Pudge another cup of coffee before going back to study Tess's windows.
    “Why?” Pudge let out a huge yawn and cursed the antihistamines that left his nose and his mind clogged.

    “Because it was meant to be tonight.”
    “Christ, Roderick, no matter what shit-shoveling duty you pull, you never complain.” On another yawn, Pudge slumped against the door. “God, I can hardly keep my eyes open. Goddamn medication whips you.”
    Roderick took another sweep of the street, up, then down. No one stirred. “Why don't you sleep awhile? I'll watch.”
    “'Preciate it.” Already half there, Pudge