The Man Who Loved Women to Death by David Handler Page A

list.”
    “Why settle for mainstream success when you can enjoy the comforts of a small, nongrowing cult?”
    “I give up,” she said wearily. “What do you want? Talk to me.”
    “I want you to tell me how you found out.”
    “That’s easy.” She got up and went over to the window, not that it’s far. She got a good view of the courtyard, not that it’s much. “It got leaked.”
    “By who?”
    “I got my sources at One Police Plaza.”
    “Feldman?”
    She turned to face me. “The Human Hemorrhoid? Yech, no way. He’s too busy telling everyone what a fucking genius he is. Nah, some deputy commish. Cost me a lousy hand job in his car. And he didn’t even deliver his payload, the old fat fuck. All he—”
    “I don’t need to hear this part.”
    “And now they are sooo desperate to keep a lid on it,” she went on, her eyes bright with excitement. “I mean, you wouldn’t believe the ’tude I got from some butthead named Romaine Very on the phone this morning.”
    “Yes, I would.”
    “This guy was nasty. He even accused me of making the whole thing up just to further my career, that scumbag, that dick, that—”
    “The lieutenant’s a huge fan of yours, Cassandra. In fact, he thinks you’re the second-best-looking woman on television.”
    “Who’s better looking?” she demanded angrily. “Little Courteney Fucking Cox? Who?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    She softened slightly. “Is he cute?”
    “Very.”
    “That’s who I’m talking about. Is he?”
    “In my opinion, he’s a stud muffin.”
    “Will you introduce me?”
    “No.”
    “Why not? You ashamed of me?”
    “I have my reasons.”
    She heaved a huge sigh. “Gawd, I’d give anything to get with someone.”
    “Hold it. This sounds like a personal problem.”
    “Night after night I rattle around in my house … Did I tell you I got my own friggin’ brownstone on West Tenth?”
    “That must be nice.”
    “It sucks. I’m so lonesome I’m ready to go out the window. I ain’t asking for the moon anymore, either. I’ve lowered my sights. All I ask is he’s got a fresh, unused brain and a good sense of direction.”
    “Direction?”
    “As in he knows the southern route,” she explained, with a flirty glint in her eyes.
    Lulu grunted sourly. Cassandra’s a bit unrefined for her.
    Now Cassandra came over and stood before me, rested her hands on my shoulders, which got a low growl from Lulu. She removed them. “Talk to me, Hoagy. Who is he? Who is the answer man?”
    “I don’t know, Cassandra.”
    “Okay, okay, how about this: Do you deny receiving two detailed accounts of his murders from the answer man? I’m talking on the record now.”
    “I have no comment.”
    She rolled her eyes. “But I thought we were going to deal.”
    “We did. You told me how you found out, in exchange for which I’m not going to call Lieutenant Very and have him arrest you for breaking and entering.”
    She peered down at me. “You’ve changed, y’know that? You’ve gotten … respectable.”
    “That would be this whole fatherhood thing. Do you see me in a homburg?”
    “Honey, I see you naked on my kitchen floor, slathered in peanut butter.”
    “Smooth or crunchy?”
    She ran her finger along my chin. “So, what, you’re a family man now?”
    “I’m a family man. Me and Charlie Manson.”
    “Gonna show me a baby pitcha or you gonna make me beg?”
    “Do I honestly look like one of those boring fathers who carries around baby pictures?”
    She just stared at me.
    “Well, if you’re going to insist …” I pulled out my wallet and opened it for her.
    “Geez, you got a whole friggin’ portfolio here.” She started leafing through it. “Ain’t her head a little large?”
    “It is not.” I snatched it back from her.
    “You and that green-eyed goody-goody still getting along?”
    “If by that you mean Merilee, the answer is yes.”
    “Me, I keep thinking one day you’ll wake up and realize you want a real