One Last Kiss. Mary Wilbon
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a mistake. You’re depending on me.”
“We’ll do it again. You’ll get it right next time.”
Laura, irritated with herself, kicked the package she had been practicing with. “Damn it! I haven’t gotten it right yet! Why do you keep saying I can do this?”
Slick came up behind her and encircled Laura in her arms. Laura’s head was a nice fit beneath her chin.
“Because you can, that’s why. You know the drill.”
Laura relaxed and pulled Slick’s arms tighter around her.
“I know it, but I’m worried I’ll screw it up,” she said softly. “This is a big deal with big consequences.”
“You’re just a little nervous.”
“Nervous! I’m scared stiff. I’ve got goose bumps the size of tomatoes.”
“You can do this, Laura.”
Laura sighed and tilted her head to look at Slick. “Why can’t you have a regular nine-to-five job?”
Slick laughed and pulled her closer. “Why did you leave your regular nine-to-five job to join me in this?” she asked.
Slick nuzzled and kissed her head, savoring the smell of the shampoo on Laura’s long blond hair, which tickled Slick’s nose.
Laura smiled. She sure hadn’t started out doing this line of work.
She looked out the window of the home her father had built. A sixty-two-room mansion on 30,000 acres in the sprawling Ramapo Mountains in New Jersey.
Laura’s father, Owen Charles, had left her independently wealthy. He had made a fortune in the 1950s in New Jersey’s clamming industry. Laura was his only child, and even though Owen could be a ruthless businessman and a philandering husband, he had worshipped Laura.
She grew up in this house, surrounded by all the things money could buy, and she inherited everything. She knew at an early age that she was gay, so she never married, never had children. She ran the business well and made some significant improvements. No one could accuse her of simply living on her father’s famous name.
She had been comfortable running the business she inherited and living the life of a wealthy socialite when she met and fell in love with Slick, a black female cop from Newark. The fact that they met, fell in love, and stayed there was a miracle.
Slick moved in, and after years of spirited and often loud debate, Laura finally convinced her to quit the police force and work at the clam company. This happened when a fellow officer took a bullet in the shoulder from a crack-crazed kid. That was the last straw for Laura. Slick eventually agreed, but she never lost her desire for police work.
A few years earlier, when Laura’s longtime butler, Judson, asked her for help in a murder case that involved his niece, Slick jumped at the chance to get back into detective work, and Laura joined her. They solved the case, and Laura never went back to work at the clam company.
“Okay,” Laura admitted, “I like working cases. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it until now. This one is different. This guy is dangerous. Very dangerous.”
“Dangerous, yes, but not unpredictable. He’s developed a pattern. He’s acted in a very specific and methodical way. And that is how we’re going to catch him.”
“What if he suspects something? He won’t show if he thinks it’s a trap.”
“Then we can always catch him another time. He’s good at what he does, Laura. He won’t quit. This won’t be the end for him if we don’t stop him now.”
Laura was thoughtful. “Is it wrong of me to wish he doesn’t show up?”
Slick laughed. “No, but I’d like to help get him. Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose, but…”
“Look, there’ll be protection everywhere on the street, and we’ll be in constant communication with them.”
“Accidents still happen. If anything happened to you…”
“I’ll be fine,” Slick assured her.
“You better. We’re going on vacation when this thing is over. We’ve earned it.”
“You know, I’m not the only one taking a risk here, Laura. What you’re doing in this operation is not without some danger.”
“Not like you.”
“We’ve run through every security threat possible. You know how people always say, ‘It’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be okay’? Well, this really is going to be okay.”
Slick wondered if her words sounded as hollow to Laura as they did to her. She believed what she was saying, but it did sound lame.
Laura looked at her and nodded. Without conviction, Slick thought.
“For you it’s just another day on the job. I’m a babe in the woods on this,” Laura said.
“You are a babe for sure, but you’re getting good at this detective stuff. Look at how far you’ve come since our first case. You have great instincts, and I need you.”
Laura leaned back against her. “Say it again and make me believe it.”
Slick turned her around and looked deeply in her eyes.
“I do need you. I work better with a partner. I was a good cop, but having Sam with me made me a better one. We were a team. Now you and I are the team.”
Laura seemed to brighten a little.
“Besides, Laura, I know you. You started this, and I know you want to see how it ends. Am I right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“We’re going to laugh about this when it’s over.”
“What if it turns out to be a disaster?”
Slick shrugged. “Then it was all your idea,” she said. “That’s the other good thing about having a partner—you can blame someone else.”
Laura punched her playfully.
“You know it’s a good plan. It will work.”
“Then we might as well see it through.”
“That’s my girl,” Slick said proudly.
They wouldn’t have to talk about it again.
Laura clapped her hands. Garbo sat at attention. Slick resumed practice mode.
“Okay, suit up, you two,” Laura said with renewed vigor. “We’re going in.”
2
Another Friday night was fast approaching on Halsey Street in Newark. The children of the night were busily preparing for the weekend sex trade. Strip club and XXX movie theater owners swept the floors and took cursory swipes at the mixture of dried bodily goop on the seats.
The massage parlors and the rent-by-the-hour motels doubled their staffs to cover the next forty-eight hours. The sex novelty store owners restocked their shelves with dildos, butt plugs, bondage supplies, edible undies, and the latest desensitizing lotions for the premature ejaculate/sore anus crowd.
As darkness fell, the prostitutes began to walk “the stroll” in timed strides. The air was filled with the rising sounds of whistles, catcalls, car horns, and giggles.
Variety is the spice of life, and the great variety of ages, races, body shapes, and specialty acts available on Halsey Street was more than enough to scratch any fantasy itch. Straight, gay, bi, or trans, there was ample outlet for anyone’s inner freak.
Sex was for sale every day of the week on Halsey Street, but the weekends brought more hustle and bustle, emphasis on the hustle.