All the women you meet. And you've been married a long time, right? How long?"
"Long enough."
"Happily?"
"Are you a wanna-be marriage counselor, or what?" "Don't get pissed," Mac said, sounding wounded."I was only asking."
"Well, don't ask. We're here to work, not to ogle the dancers and not to discuss our private lives. A good way to get killed is to stop thinking about the job and " "Our guy just came in," Mac said, interrupting. He was still looking at Burke, still smiling. Maybe he was a better cop than Burke gave him credit for."He's moving this way. Ass-ugly yellow sport coat." Burke didn't turn around, but he felt the familiar adrenaline rush he experienced before every arrest. An undercover cop had been buying from this guy for months. His name was Roland Sachel. He was a nickel-bag dealer, but only quality stuff, and there appeared to be no shortage of his supply. It was believed his drug trade was more for the thrill than for the income it provided.
He owned a legitimate business, a handbag factory that produced designer knockoffs that sold to discount stores.
Sachel's turf wasn't the streets, but the trendy clubs. He liked to rub elbows with celebrities, professional jocks, and their groupies.
He enjoyed the good life and moved in a circle of acquaintances that availed themselves of it.
Narcotics was operating under the theory that if they could bring Sachel in, even on a petty charge, he might hand over Duvall. The undercover cop working the case had supplied them with information during a secret meeting that morning.
"Sachel is ambitious and greedy. He's all the time grumbling about the boss," and since he's the boss at his factory, I figure he's referring to the boss of his drug business. I think Sachel would hand the boss to us if we offered him a deal."
"Has he given you a name?" Burke had asked.
"Never. Just the boss."
" "But I'd wager my left nut it's Duvall," Mac said.
Pat asked, "You're sure Sachel would go for a deal?"
"He's got a kid who plays football," the undercover cop explained.
"Sachel's crazy about him, bragging always. He's going to LSU next year, and naturally Sachel wants to see him play. It would be hard for him to make the games if he's doing time, even for a chickenshit dealing rap."
Burke hated the whole concept of making deals with people who broke the law. It was a cop-out in the strictest meaning of the term. Sachel would come back to haunt them. As soon as he was free, he'd get right back into business.
But Burke wanted Duvall. He was willing to sacrifice a sleazoid like Sachel in exchange for Duvall.
They had concluded the meeting with the narc telling them that this club was one of Sachel's favorite haunts, which stood to reason since the dancing girls were gorgeous and the crowd upscale. And since one of Pinkie Duvall's dummy corporations owned it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Burke saw Sachel pause to light a cigarette while watching the featured dancer massage her crotch against a vertical brass pole. He seemed totally captivated by her act.
After the dancer's simulated orgasm, he applauded enthusiastically, then moved on, wending his way through the smoky room, gladhanding and calling out greetings, seemingly in search of someone, whom he ultimately found occupying a table in a dim corner.
His first customer of the evening was a well-dressed yuppie who was lean to the point of emaciation. His quick motions and darting eyes made him look long overdue for a snort of coke. Sachel signaled a cocktail waitress and ordered a round of drinks.
"Damn!" McCuen exclaimed, coming to his feet."She was something else, wasn't she? I've never seen anything like that. There's something about a shaved pussy that drives me crazy. I got to go to the can."
He left the table he'd been sharing with Burke and headed for the rest room at the rear of the club. Burke also came to his feet and pretended to review the tab the chesty cocktail waitress had handed him.
When McCuen reached