The Disciple by Steven Dunne Page B

her coffee mornings.’
    ‘Sounds kinky.’
    ‘Well, if you ever get a hankering to wear a poncho I’ll hook you up.’ McQuarry eyed her partner before taking another long pull on her cigarette and twisted her mouth to exhale the smoke away from the other tables. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned sisters.’
    Drexler looked up. ‘Ed, it’s been ten years now. I’m over it.’
    ‘Glad to hear it. So how’d it go last week?’
    ‘How’d what go?’
    McQuarry raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s October, Mike. And I’m your partner.’
    Drexler smiled bleakly into the distance. ‘How do these things usually go? You place the flowers, wipe the dirt off the headstone, say a few words. “Hey, sis, let me tell you about my year.”’ He smiled at his partner. ‘Gotta keep busy standing over the dead.’
    ‘You visit your mother?’
    Drexler’s smile was a mask behind which words were carefully selected. ‘What’s the point? She doesn’t know who I am. I barely know myself. Since Kerry died…’ He shrugged. What else was there to say?
    Opposite McQuarry, a large woman sitting next to her even larger husband and two grossly overweight boys, caught her eye to purse her lips in disapproval, before opening them to fork in a mouthful of syrupy pancakes.
    Drexler followed McQuarry’s gaze to their table. ‘If anyone complains I’m going to have to arrest you.’
    ‘We’re outside, goddamn it, Mike. What more do they want?’
    ‘It’s a public place. There are laws.’ Drexler tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t maintain it.
    ‘My first smoke of the day ruined.’ McQuarry stubbed out her cigarette, then briefly examined her left hand.
    ‘How is it?’ asked Drexler.
    She grinned at him, then flexed her hand more vigorously, trying not to wince at the discomfort from the scar tissue. ‘Good as new, Mike.’
    Drexler nodded. A tension rose within him and McQuarry knew what was coming. ‘Listen, Ed…’
    ‘If you’re gonna start that crap again, Mike, we’re gonna have a problem. You’re my partner. You saved my life. I got cut ’cos I got careless, and if it hadn’t been for you I could’ve been filleted by that piece of shit. End of story.’
    Drexler managed a smile. ‘Okay. You won’t hear me mention it again. But I never got to say thanks, you know, for still wanting to saddle up with me and backing me in front of the Board. I owe you.’
    ‘You don’t owe me shit, Mike, it was a good shoot. Just how many more times aren’t you ever gonna mention it?’
    Drexler returned her grin. ‘Coupla hundred.’
    McQuarry drained her coffee and they both stood inunison. Drexler counted out a few dollars and dropped them on the table. She eyed the morbidly obese family as they passed their table. ‘You know, I don’t complain about lardasses encouraging me to weigh my heart down with fat,’ she said, a little more loudly than was necessary, as she stalked away from the restaurant.
    They walked down Placerville Main Street through the morning sunshine, back to their dark blue Chevy. They’d been partners in the FBI for nearly three years and were comfortable in each other’s company. Drexler was thirty-three, slender and tall with curly brown hair, a handsome face and a lopsided smile.
    McQuarry was thirty-eight and two years away from being a fifteen-year veteran. She looked younger, or so Drexler always told her, and despite his occasional teasing she saw no reason to disbelieve him. Her hair was also brown, but darker and shinier, and she tied it in a ponytail when on duty. She was a foot shorter than Drexler and full-figured, though she tended to think she was overweight and had been ‘careful’ with her diet for most of her adult life.
    ‘Nice place, this,’ said Drexler.
    ‘You’re kidding, right?’
    ‘No. I can see myself living in a place like this in a few years. It’s safe, got great fishing…’
    ‘Safe,’ sneered McQuarry. ‘Sacramento’s not safe enough for you?