Spiral

young?”
    Pintana seemed to relax a little. ”I worked hard, got my degree in criminal justice, then a master’s. Scored the highest on every test the department gave.” Almost a smile. ”As a detective in Homicide, I also cleared most of my cases, which mattered a little more.”
    ”Still, there had to be barriers.”
    Another glance, but kind of quizzical this time. ‘Tour people are from Ireland originally?”
    ”Yes.”
    ”And you’re which generation?”
    ”The second born here.”
    ”Maybe that explains it.”
    ”Explains what?”
    ”How you could have forgotten what it takes to get ahead in this country.”
    My turn to look at her. ”I’ll try to remember that in the future.”
    Almost a smile again. ”Even through the... concussion?”
    I smiled for real. ”That supposedly affects just short-term stuff.”
    I felt a tingle at the back of my head. Something that wouldn’t quite...
    ”Mr. Cuddy?”
    ”Sorry.”
    ”Before you banged your head, did you space out like that?”
    I stared at her, the expression so like Nancy’s, even the head canted the...
    Pintana glanced at me again. ”You all right?”
    ”No, but at least I know why.”
    A pause before, ”You enjoy the barhopping with Mitch Eisen?”
    ”Yes,” I said, surprising myself before I realized it was true.
    ”Where did he take you?”
    I named the places.
    ”Which O’Hara’s?”
    ”The new operation in Hollywood.”
    ”You should go to the one on Las Olas, too.”
    ”I’ll make a note of it.”
    ”They’re having a great jazz group tonight, as a matter of fact.” We pulled into my hotel complex, Pintana taking the circular drive to the main entrance. She said, ”Sax and guitar. I was planning on getting there around ten, myself.”
    ”Sergeant—”
    ”If you stop by, fine. If not, fine, too.”
    ”Sergeant, there have been only two women in my life-Both died young, one two weeks ago.”
    Lourdes Pintana leveled those amber eyes on me. ”I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she said, flicking her wrist at my passenger’s side door.

    Upstairs, I lifted the not-so-new-day’s Sun-Sentinel in its plastic bag off the room handle and went inside. Everything looked undisturbed, including the photo of Nancy and me on the bureau.
    I stripped and took a shower, being careful to keep my bandaged arm above the stream of water. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I downed one of the painkillers, then walked to the bedside phone. The little dome light said I’d had callers, but I dialed room service first, since I hadn’t eaten since the prior night’s dinner at Coconuts. After ordering a sandwich plate, I checked my voice mail, finding three messages in my electronic box.
    Duy Tranh with, ”Please call me regarding a certain hospital bill.”
    Justo Vega with, ”John, I am in Miami, but the people at the hospital said you had been discharged, and I did not want to drive a fool’s errand up there. Please return my call to say how you feel and if you are in need of Pepe or me.” Mitch Eisen with, ”Don’t forget what I said last night.”
    I felt vaguely disappointed, but whatever it was wouldn’t come consciously to mind. Depressing the plunger, I returned the calls in the order they appeared, getting an outgoing announcement for Tranh and a secretary for Justo. After leaving messages with both, I tried Eisen’s number. ”M. Eisen, Limited, please hold.”
    A poorly disguised version of his voice, then a click. After three minutes, ”Mitch Eisen.”
    ”Mitch, John Cuddy.”
    ”You found out something?”
    ”Not exactly.”
    A hesitation. ”Then why are you calling me?”
    ”I’m returning yours, Mitch.”
    ”Yeah, but all I said was don’t forget to tell me if you had anything about the band being on or off the hook.”
    ”And I don’t.”
    Another hesitation. ”Hey, Cuddy, you okay?”
    ”No. After you dropped me off last night, somebody tried to stick a knife in me.”
    ”What?”
    ”In the pool garden. Which I had to cross because you let me out by the garage.”
    A third hesitation, much longer than the first two. ”The fuck are you implying here?”
    ”When we were leaving O’Hara’s, you made a call.”
    ”Yeah. To be sure that the right group was playing at September’s.”
    ”You sure that was the only one you made, Mitch?”
    ”Who the fuck else would I call?”
    ”How about a guy named Ford Walton?”
    ”Sounds like somebody off that stupid TV show with