Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Valenti knew the picture they must present to anyone passing by the big glass window of Harris’s office -- the dark head and the light, closer than they ought to be if you listened to the dictates of a homophobic society, which he and O’Brian never did. Coming from a large, affectionate Irish family, O’Brian was a touchy-feely guy. He was comfortable displaying affection and always had been, ever since the two men had met in the LAPD Police Academy and become instant friends.
Valenti had come to California on his own private exodus. He had been trying to get away from his controlling father, who couldn’t believe his son would rather be a cop than a doctor or a lawyer or a broker or any of the other “respectable” professions that his family’s wealth and privilege demanded. O’Brian had been a smart-mouthed Irish kid fresh out of the army.
They had been a perfect match right from the start, complementing each other’s strengths and shoring up each other’s weaknesses. The Ivy-League-educated Valenti had been top of their class academically, while O’Brian had led in physical aptitude and was a deadly marksman. They had become inseparable, dubbed “The Mick and the Spic,” and the gag at the academy was that they were only one ethnic group away from a pretty good joke. But the way Captain Harris was looking at them now, Valenti tended to think that the case he was about to assign was no laughing matter.
“Yeah,” Harris said shortly, finally acknowledging O’Brian’s one-word question. He was playing with a yellow number-two pencil nervously, moving it between his fingers and thumbs as he spoke. “Something from Narcotics, actually, but there’s nobody in their department can handle it. You guys heard about the kid who OD’d down at the Dancing Queen last week?”
“On coke, right?” Valenti asked. The Dancing Queen was a notorious gay night spot downtown that was constantly being raided for illegal drugs and yet somehow still managed to stay open. The overdose Harris was talking about was the fourth one that month, and every one had involved large doses of cocaine.
“Uh-huh. A shitload of it, cut with something toxic -- possibly rat poison. Heavy-duty stuff and very dangerous. We raided the place again last night and got a supplier. He agreed to talk in return for immunity, so we cut a deal. Now we know where the stuff is coming from, and we have an idea who the guy behind it is. Name is Vincent Conrad, and he’s been in the drug scene a long time.”
“So you need someone to go undercover and make the bust,” O’Brian finished for him. “But why us, Cap’n? Ain’t Narc got enough guys without draggin’ our asses outta Homicide? Valenti an’ me were getting’ so comfortable.” He gave his partner’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. Valenti smiled humorlessly. He’d been anything but comfortable around his partner lately, and what department he was in had nothing to do with it.
“Well, yes, but I don’t think any of them is as qualified to handle the situation as you two are.” Harris looked distinctly ill at ease, and the pencil he had been playing with suddenly snapped in his hands. “You see ...” He studied the two pencil halves carefully, as though thinking of gluing them back together, before placing them on his desk. “The guy we want has his headquarters in ’Frisco.”
“Ah, good ol’ San Fran, city of brotherly love.” O’Brian grinned at his partner, and Valenti grinned back uneasily, wondering where this was headed.
“Uh, I think that’s Philadelphia you’re thinking of, O’Brian,” he said.
“Nope, Philly don’t have nothin’ on the City by the Bay when it comes to that kind of action -- or so I hear,” his partner said, looking back at their captain. “So, he’s in ’Frisco and you want us to make the bust. But you still didn’t say why us.”
Valenti was already beginning to get a bad feeling, and it only deepened when Harris cleared his throat and said, “Conrad has his headquarters at a resort he owns -- the RamJack.”
“What?” Valenti couldn’t keep the apprehension out of his voice. “You’re saying you want us to go undercover at the biggest gay resort in the country?” The RamJack was so notorious that even outside the gay community it had a reputation for decadence and corruption.
He half expected his partner to explode at the suggestion, but O’Brian just lay even further back on the arm of his partner’s chair. There was a dangerous glint in his sea-green eyes, and Valenti watched them change to a flat, hard emerald when he addressed their captain.
“And what makes you think Valenti and I would be so good at this assignment, Cap’n?” he asked, his voice dangerously low and cool. “You sayin’ Valenti and I are gay?”