winked and cried, "Surprise!"
Some of his rowdier friends at NASA stumbled from their hiding places in his yard, weak with laughter. They had brought with them enough liquor and food to create an instant party. The cop, who was in on the joke, told them before he left to have a good time but to keep the noise at a tolerable level. The girl, an exotic dancer by trade, stayed to give the birthday boy an extraordinary lap dance and to entertain the rest of the troops for as long as they were sober enough to appreciate her talents.
Chief never saw the fourth quarter of that game and didn't learn the outcome until the following day.
Now his first thought was that this was the same kind of practical joke. He and his circle of friends were always trying to outdo one another, devising pranks that made the butt of the joke look like a complete fool or worse. This one was pretty damn good. He had to hand it to the jokesters. This one was going to be hard to top. This one might even make the Guinness Book .
Except that his birthday wasn't for another six months.
A surprise retirement party? Not when retirement was still weeks away. Besides, they wouldn't hold a party outside Houston, where most of his friends and associates lived.
And this cop, this Lawson, looked like he'd never quite grasped the concept of humor.
Suddenly he wished he could call back his spontaneous laugh, because he realized now that it was inappropriate. "I'll be right with you."
He turned to extend his apologies to Longtree and Abbott, but they had moved away and were already at the exit. Long-tree looked hard at Chief just before stepping through the door.
"Looks like your friends have deserted you."
Chief came back around to the detective, put off by his heavy sarcasm specifically and this crappy morning in general. Assuming his commander's stance and his most brusque military tone, he said, "What's this about? I don't know any- thing about a homicide."
"Gentlemen, perhaps you'd like to move to a more private area?" The hotel manager had replaced the maître d'. Discretion and the hotel's reputation being his uppermost concerns, he motioned them toward the exit.
Chief followed the hotel manager into an office, where he was left alone with Lawson. Were the uniforms guarding the door from the outside in case he decided to bolt?
He launched an offensive. "You want to tell me what the hell this is about?"
"The murder of Gillian Lloyd."
"Yeah, you said that. I never heard of her, and I resent like hell the Dallas Police Department for needlessly embarrassing me in public."
"You never heard of—"
"Isn't that what I just said? And—" He broke off, suddenly realizing how imprudent it was to be talking to a cop about a murder without a lawyer on hand. "Maybe I should call my office."
"What for?"
"Advice."
"Legal advice? Are you going to need a lawyer, Colonel Hart? Have you got something to hide?"
Chief ground his teeth in order to avoid telling Lawson to go fuck himself, which, until he could correct the mistake that obviously had been made, would be imprudent and inflammatory.
"NASA wouldn't approve of my being questioned about something as serious as a murder without having an attorney present, which doesn't indicate guilt or even knowledge of the crime. It simply makes good sense. NASA is very touchy about the public image of its astronauts."
"I'm sure," Lawson said drolly. "Go ahead, then, call."
Chief reconsidered. Maybe he was overreacting. He'd started off this day in a sulk because he'd awakened alone. Compound that with his breakfast appointment with Longtree. Thank God their business had been concluded. Longtree and Abbott were out of his life forever. But their final meeting had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't exactly say why. Then he'd been harassed and publicly embarrassed by a cop wearing a jacket that didn't fit. No wonder he was edgy.
Forcing some nonchalance into his posture, he propped his hips against the hotel
Some of his rowdier friends at NASA stumbled from their hiding places in his yard, weak with laughter. They had brought with them enough liquor and food to create an instant party. The cop, who was in on the joke, told them before he left to have a good time but to keep the noise at a tolerable level. The girl, an exotic dancer by trade, stayed to give the birthday boy an extraordinary lap dance and to entertain the rest of the troops for as long as they were sober enough to appreciate her talents.
Chief never saw the fourth quarter of that game and didn't learn the outcome until the following day.
Now his first thought was that this was the same kind of practical joke. He and his circle of friends were always trying to outdo one another, devising pranks that made the butt of the joke look like a complete fool or worse. This one was pretty damn good. He had to hand it to the jokesters. This one was going to be hard to top. This one might even make the Guinness Book .
Except that his birthday wasn't for another six months.
A surprise retirement party? Not when retirement was still weeks away. Besides, they wouldn't hold a party outside Houston, where most of his friends and associates lived.
And this cop, this Lawson, looked like he'd never quite grasped the concept of humor.
Suddenly he wished he could call back his spontaneous laugh, because he realized now that it was inappropriate. "I'll be right with you."
He turned to extend his apologies to Longtree and Abbott, but they had moved away and were already at the exit. Long-tree looked hard at Chief just before stepping through the door.
"Looks like your friends have deserted you."
Chief came back around to the detective, put off by his heavy sarcasm specifically and this crappy morning in general. Assuming his commander's stance and his most brusque military tone, he said, "What's this about? I don't know any- thing about a homicide."
"Gentlemen, perhaps you'd like to move to a more private area?" The hotel manager had replaced the maître d'. Discretion and the hotel's reputation being his uppermost concerns, he motioned them toward the exit.
Chief followed the hotel manager into an office, where he was left alone with Lawson. Were the uniforms guarding the door from the outside in case he decided to bolt?
He launched an offensive. "You want to tell me what the hell this is about?"
"The murder of Gillian Lloyd."
"Yeah, you said that. I never heard of her, and I resent like hell the Dallas Police Department for needlessly embarrassing me in public."
"You never heard of—"
"Isn't that what I just said? And—" He broke off, suddenly realizing how imprudent it was to be talking to a cop about a murder without a lawyer on hand. "Maybe I should call my office."
"What for?"
"Advice."
"Legal advice? Are you going to need a lawyer, Colonel Hart? Have you got something to hide?"
Chief ground his teeth in order to avoid telling Lawson to go fuck himself, which, until he could correct the mistake that obviously had been made, would be imprudent and inflammatory.
"NASA wouldn't approve of my being questioned about something as serious as a murder without having an attorney present, which doesn't indicate guilt or even knowledge of the crime. It simply makes good sense. NASA is very touchy about the public image of its astronauts."
"I'm sure," Lawson said drolly. "Go ahead, then, call."
Chief reconsidered. Maybe he was overreacting. He'd started off this day in a sulk because he'd awakened alone. Compound that with his breakfast appointment with Longtree. Thank God their business had been concluded. Longtree and Abbott were out of his life forever. But their final meeting had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't exactly say why. Then he'd been harassed and publicly embarrassed by a cop wearing a jacket that didn't fit. No wonder he was edgy.
Forcing some nonchalance into his posture, he propped his hips against the hotel
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