The St. Paul Conspiracy by Roger Stelljes Page B

seen first hand in the past two days—Flanagan ran his department his way, politics be damned. She rather liked it, too—doing the right thing as opposed to the politically expedient one. If the chief thought McRyan was right for the case, so be it. Nonetheless, she needed to keep her boss informed. “I assume I can reach you at home tonight.”
    “No,” Helen answered. “Call me on my cell.”
    “What, a hot date?”
    “No,” Anderson replied coolly. “Fundraiser.”

    * * * * *

    Mac was late. He’d stopped for a workout at a buddy’s gym. He’d finished by 6:30 p.m., but then his buddy, Joe Ball, went into his stand-up routine. Joe was a classic, ten jokes at the drop of a hat. Mac couldn’t tell a joke to save his life. Joe’s stand-up routine caused Mac to lose track of time and suddenly it was 6:50. Mac rushed out of the club, got in the Explorer and raced for his place. He pulled in right at 7:00 p.m. and ran up to his third-floor apartment. He got in and threw his gym bag in the spare bedroom when the doorbell rang. Sally.
    Mac hit the buzzer to let her up. He needed to take a quick shower. But first he ran into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers, Grain Belts. As he was walking back in with the beers, there was a knock on the door. He opened it up. Whoa .

    * * * * *

    Since Lich was not going to be at the meeting, Sally had decided a quick shower and change of clothes would be in order. She was attracted to McRyan and thought maybe it was time he saw her in something a little different than her business suits.
    After her shower, she took a look in her closet and tried on a few different ensembles, settling on a pair of tight tan suede pants and a body-forming white-ribbed turtleneck. The outfit would allow appreciation of her figure. She let her fiery red hair down to its regular shoulder length, and put a little curl in it so it fell just over her right eye. Leaving her glasses behind, she popped in her contacts. The outfit was completed with some silver hoop earrings, soft red lipstick and makeup, a bit more than she normally put on. Her mirror confirmed it—she looked good.
    McRyan apparently thought so as well.

    * * * * *

    Mac’s heart skipped a beat, and he did a double take. He almost didn’t recognize her. She looked fantastic. “Come in.” He said, trying to be cool.
    Sally gave him a little smile and walked by him and took off her coat. Mac finally remembered to speak. “I’m sorry. I went to work out. I just got home. I need to hop in the shower quick.”
    “No problem,” replied Sally.
    “Before I do that, I should order. Pizza okay?”
    “Yeah, great.”
    Mac asked, “Pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, what do you like?”
    “I love garbage pizzas.”
    Mac grinned. A woman after his own heart. “I’m on it. By the way, I grabbed a couple of Grain Belts out of the fridge.”
    “Great. I could use a beer.”
    “I’m... ah... going to hit the shower,” he waved his arm around his apartment. “What’s mine is yours.”

    * * * * *

    Sally walked around while Mac showered. She was pleased her outfit seemed to have had the desired effect. Of course, this was a strictly professional meeting, and they needed to prepare for the senator. Nonetheless, she was having some fun again.
    Mac had the whole third floor of the Summit Avenue mansion. It was a large space. She was a bit surprised that it was tastefully appointed with a large black leather couch with a matching love seat and two chairs. A big, weathered, antique trunk served as the coffee table. She perused a book shelf. He had a collection of mystery and military thrillers and was obviously a fan of John Sandford and Vince Flynn. Next to the bookshelf were two large, framed, autographed posters. One was of Kirby Puckett, pumping his fist, having just hit the winning homer in the eleventh inning of Game Six of the 1991 World Series. The other was Bruce Springsteen, the best ever.
    At the end of the living room on the right