Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) (2 page)

The receptionist answered with a pleasant smile. “I know; this place is a little hard to find.”

“Hard to find?” Cassandra said. “The cab driver drove past it four times. Honey, this place is a friggin’ mirage. I think Bin Laden hid here.”

The receptionist’s eyes grew wide. “Please have a seat,” she said. “I’ll get you in as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, sweetie, I’ve got a mani and pedi in forty-five minutes; see what you can do.”

Cassandra waddled away and sat down next to me. “Waiting long, honey?” she asked.

“Just sat down,” I replied.

Cassandra opened her purse, took out her compact, and blotted her nose. “Jesus Christ, these
f-ing
hormones. I’m sweating like a pig. Do you sweat a lot?”

“Sometimes. Not now, thank God.”

Cassandra glanced up at me. “You’re hardly showing.”

“It’s pretty early on.”

“You’re a big girl. You’re going to need custom made bras before this is over.”

I shrugged. I mean we were hardly BFFs, and I wasn’t sure Cassandra was the kind of girl I wanted to bond with.

“It’s okay, don’t be modest. Honey, I’d kill for boobs like that. Me—” She lifted her butt out of the chair and patted her rump. “I’ve got it all in the ass. My husband loves it, thank God.” Cassandra laughed. It sounded like someone was strangling a chicken. “I can’t pry him off with a crowbar.”

O-M-G, T-M-I.

“My husband’s a DJ. He spins at all of the hottest clubs in the city. Maybe you’ve heard of him—he calls himself DJ Sammy Stash,” she said proudly.

Once again, O-M-G. When did DJ become an official title? No disrespect to the profession, and maybe I’m a little old-fashioned, but since when did the designation DJ rise to the level of the more commonly heralded titles like: Doctor, Father, and Officer? “Sorry, no, I haven’t had the pleasure.” DJ Sammy Stash for God’s sake—was he a disc jockey or a drug dealer? I guarantee this guy had a rap sheet.

The baby being nursed let out a loud burp. Her mother smiled. “You’re such a little piggy,” she said playfully. She tickled her little girl, eliciting a contented
coo
. She put her daughter on her shoulder and began to rub her back. “She’s got
such
an appetite.”

“God bless her, she’s a big girl,” Cassandra commented as she continued to check her face. “Maybe your diet is too rich. Do you eat a lot of fatty foods?”

From the look of disbelief on her face, I understood that the nursing mom was uncomfortable. I think she was torn about her choice of responses, perhaps straddling the fence between a polite “what do you mean?” and “fuck off!”

I smiled at the nursing mom to draw her attention and spare her the task of having to respond to Cassandra. “She’s adorable. How old is she?” I asked.

“Eleven months.” Her eyes said,
Thank you
.

“She’s such a big, beautiful girl.”

“Eighty-fifth percentile for height and weight,” she said proudly. “Her father’s tall.” She took her baby off her shoulder and wiped her mouth. “You’re a big girl, aren’t you, aren’t you, a big, beautiful girl?” Her baby smiled and clicked her tongue. “Your first?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yup, number one.”

“You must be so excited,” she said, happy to convey the blessing of expectant motherhood.

The receptionist opened her window. “Sophia Farrell.”

“That’s me,” the nursing mom said. She fixed her blouse and gathered up a huge shoulder bag, which was filled to the brim with baby fixings. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to her little girl. “It’s mommy’s turn. Nice chatting with you,” she said to me. She glared at Cassandra as she stood, but the gesture went unnoticed.

“Same here.” I waved to her baby. “Nice to meet you.” Sophia walked through the inner doorway to the examination rooms.

“
You’re
nice,” Cassandra said to me as she closed her compact.

“What do you mean?”

“You said her baby was adorable.”

“She is adorable. She’s got such big cheeks.”

“For real? Did you get a good look at the kisser on that baby?”

“Yes!”

“You really think that kid’s adorable?”

“Yes,”
I said in an incredulous tone.

“Honey, that kid’s a Cabbage Patch doll. Are you kidding me or what? It’s a good thing that kid’s too young to tell time because that face could stop a clock.”

I glared at her. “That’s really rude.”

“Yeah, yeah, look, I know what you’re going to say: ‘all babies are beautiful.’ Eleven months old, and she’s ready to pop out another one. Christ, the city ought to declare an ordinance on having too many homely kids.”

“Stephanie Chalice.” The receptionist was standing by the open door waiting for me.
Oh, thank God.
I got up immediately. I should’ve put Cassandra in her place, but I didn’t. I walked away without responding to her. There are some people that just aren’t worth the effort.
I hope she catches a toe fungus at the nail salon.
I couldn’t imagine how
her
child was going to turn out.

The entrance door opened, and Gus Lido bolted through. He caught up with me.

“You’re just in time, daddy.”

Gus smiled at his newly earned title. “I couldn’t find a parking spot; finally threw it into a parking lot.”

“No problem—they just called me in
.”

We followed the doctor’s assistant to the examination room. She took my vitals and handed me a gown. “Dr. Kranston will be in to see you in just a few minutes.” She stepped out and closed the door.

“Want to help me change?” I asked Gus. I unfolded the boxy gown and held it up for him to see. “Pretty sexy, huh?”

Gus put his arms around me and gave me a kiss. “You look incredible. There’s something about you that’s just driving me crazy.”

“Ma says that I’ve got
the glow
.”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “How much longer did you say it was okay for us to do it?”

“Do it?”

Gus smiled knowingly. “Yeah, do it.”

“Don’t fret, Romeo. We’re good in the sack until at least the seventh month. I’ll let you know when you need to begin the cold shower routine.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you want to check with the doctor.”

“
No
. I don’t have to ask the doctor. I know what I’m talking about. There’s a lot of material on the subject. Maybe you should read a book about it too.” Gus had some misplaced concern that his doodad might accidently damage the baby.
I mean Gus is a real man, but let’s not get ridiculous.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll trust you on it.” He kissed me on the nape of the neck.

I pushed him away. “
No
,
absolutely not
. There’s a commandment about not getting busy in the baby doctor’s office.” I pulled my blouse off over my head.

“Oh dear God,” he whined. “Look at you—how many more months?”

“You sound like you’re going through withdrawal. What’s up? I haven’t kicked you out of the bed yet.”

I kicked off my shoes and had begun to take off my slacks before I remembered there would be no stirrups today.
Thank God.
We were only there for a follow-up sonogram.

I zipped my slacks back up. Gus whined again.

Down boy.
I stuck my butt out and smacked it. “Does our baby make my ass look fat?” Gus looked perplexed—his expression slowly changed into a smile.

I quickly slipped into the examination gown.

Dr. Kranston knocked on the door. “Are you ready?” He had been practicing for decades and yet still seemed embarrassed when he entered the examination room.

“Ready,” I replied.

Dr. Kranston entered, sporting a big smile. “Hi, Stephanie.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek.” He blushed before he turned toward Gus. “Great to see you again, Gus.”

Kranston gestured to the examination table. “Assume the position,” he said with a silly chuckle.

I slid onto the table while Kranston entered data into the computer. “Do you say that to all of your patients or just the lady cops?”

“You’re so silly, Stephanie,” he snickered. He approached me with a bottle of ultrasound-sound gel and the transducer thingamabob. “Such a joyful occasion; I love delivering babies for two people who are so in love,” Kranston said. “Are we hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“I’ll take whatever the good Lord is handing out.” The truth was that all I wanted was a happy and healthy baby. The rest didn’t matter.

Kranston squeezed the lube on my belly. He began to move the ultra-sound doohickey around, and then of all the comments that could have possibly come out of his mouth: “It’s okay for the two of you to enjoy each other during the pregnancy.”

My mouth dropped. “Excuse me?”

“It’s okay for the two of you to continue having sex,” Kranston said. “There are lots of preconceived notions about harming the baby, but none of it is true.” He was focused on the monitor as he spoke. He was in his own world and completely oblivious to the fact that he was torturing me with embarrassment. “Although,” he continued, “anal sex is not a good idea.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, did he just say “anal sex?”
I was mortified. I looked at Kranston; he was clueless. He had no idea I was dying a thousand deaths.

“For how long?” Gus asked eagerly.

My God, does it get any worse? I can’t believe this conversation.
It was a good thing Gus was so hot because I was seriously considering shutting my doors for the duration.

I glared at Gus.
Could this conversation possibly be any more inappropriate?
“What makes you so sure I’ll even want to?”

“But, but . . .” Gus actually began to stammer.

Kranston finally looked up from the sonogram monitor. “Yup,” he said, “Everything looks good.”

Anya
Kozakova sat at her kitchen table staring at the envelope that had been delivered by messenger almost an hour earlier. She glanced up at the wall clock: 3:50 p.m.; she had ten minutes to make up her mind.

In or out?
She drummed her fingers on the tabletop while she pondered her decision. She was stuck. She glanced at the clock again: 3:55 p.m. “In or out?” she grumbled, “In or out?” She had performed services like this before—illegal services. The money was good, but the anxiety was terrible, and she worried about getting caught and deported. She had worked steadily since coming to the United States but always as a consultant and never as an employee. She worked off the books to avoid paying taxes.

She heard her neighbors moaning through the paper-thin walls of her Brooklyn apartment. They were always home, either drunk or going at it—this time both. “Shut up!” she yelled in a voice loud enough to be heard through the wall. She hated having to shout, but her neighbors were inconsiderate. Their selfish and incessant cavorting made it easy for her to absolve herself of any guilt.

“I’ve got to get out of this rat hole.” In the next instant, she grabbed the envelope, tore it open, and turned it upside down. A cell phone tumbled out. It was a throw-away phone, a phone with no contract, which had been preloaded with minutes. It was a phone that could not be traced—or so she had been told. She switched it on and waited for it to boot.

A solitary phone number was already saved as a Favorite. She looked up at the clock; it was 4:00 p.m., and the second hand had just swept past numeral twelve. She pressed her finger on the highlighted number—the call connected.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

She hesitated a moment and then realized her throat was too dry to speak. She took a quick sip of water. “I’ll do it.”

No
one likes paperwork, especially me. Lieutenant Pamela Shearson was my new boss. She had been treating me differently ever since Gus and I officially declared our relationship and my pregnancy. She assigned me fewer cases, which meant that I had to spend more workdays in the squad room and fewer days out in the field. I was not good at the administrative part of the job. I found it tedious and boring. I preferred to work outdoors and get my hands dirty. For me, dirty hands equaled happy girl.

Shearson was a tough one. She had high aspirations and was not the type to let anyone get in her way, least of all me. I believed Shearson saw me as a threat, because I was younger and better liked. I might have been the happiest pregnant woman of all times, and I wouldn’t have done anything differently, but by becoming pregnant, I had played right into her hands. So there I was in the squad room, doing paperwork, away from the action, just where Shearson wanted me.

I saw Gus running around the office. It gave me a chance to study him in a new light. I watched the way he walked and went about his activities. I thought about our baby as an adult and wondered if he or she would move around as Gus does. Gus walked in long strides, catlike, almost like a panther. He was powerful and purposeful. If those traits found their way to our child, well then, we had better have a boy. A girl who walked like that would look absolutely goofy.