Chapter 170

word count 1296

Tiffany Yoo walked through the door of the pizza shop and into another world profoundly different from her own. A whiff of marinara tickled her nose while at the same time the stench of cheeses sickened her. These westerners eat such heavy food, she mused while walking to the spot where she always met Steve. A tiny, wooden table and two chairs were set off in a distinctive corner, making it seem a special setting and not open to everyday customers. On the dingy wall above, a photo of Sinatra hung, dangling there like a patron saint while diners ate.

She nodded to a black-haired Italiano twirling pizza dough before seating herself at the table. He smiled back as though she were a regular. The girl sat facing the dining area which was sparsely populated at this time of day. The front door opened and Steve walked in. He saw her and shot Tiffany a lascivious grin, striding over to sit opposite her.

“Hi doll!” he said, grasping one of her hands in his. “You ready?”

“I'm always ready.”

He jumped out of the chair and pulled her along to a door in the back. Once through it, they ran up skinny steps to arrive on the second floor. Doors with numbers lined each side of the hallway. The couple fumbled down the hall while clawing and kissing, falling through door number six.

They hurled across the room, pouncing on the bed. His tongue pushed between her teeth and met hers to mingle in passion while his hands tore at the lady's clothes, pulling her tiny black dress off her shoulders revealing a black lace bra. By this time, she'd clawed his shirt off him, and they were on their way.

They did this every chance they got—stole away to the crazy Italian restaurant where he rented the room just for their trysts. There was nothing in number six but the furniture that came with it. No one lived here. It was simply their meeting place, the hideaway they'd come to for the last year after first meeting in her father's tea room. He'd come in alone and Tiffany served him tea. And at his request, she read his tea leaves, an extra gimmick they offered in the tea room. Once seated so close to him, their hands touching, she couldn't resist his charms.

She had no romantic notions about love at first sight, but lust at first sight was another matter. What was not to lust? Tall, rugged, dark-haired and blue-eyed with a chest so wide she couldn't help wanting to fall into it. Steve was nothing like the short, frail, Asian men her father tried to match her up with. So many meals with dates arranged by her parents when she was in high school--it practically gave her a complex. Then she got older and took control of her life. Father wasn't pleased, but he gave up trying to match up his renegade daughter. Nonethless, if she brought a non-Asian home, she knew her father would probably kill him. And Mr. Yoo of Chinatown was not someone to anger. There was no choice but clandestine affairs. No problem, she loved the danger.

They finished and held each other in a blissful silence until his cell phone rang. He lifted it to view caller ID, then hesitated.

“Go ahead and answer,” she said. “You know we don't stick to formalities.”

Steve nodded and put it to his ear.

“Shingle.” He said it without his usual bark, still feeling the calming after effects of Tiffany. “Hi, Gil. What can I do for you?”

He paused and listened. “Diana diamond? Yeah, I've heard of it. Didn't I read it's gone missing?...Uh huh...Uh huh...”

As soon as he said “diamond” Tiffany sat up at attention, clinging to his every word.

“Sure, Gil. Count me in. When and where do you want to meet?...good, okay, see you then.” Steve hung up and turned to the hovering girl, arching one eyebrow at her sudden interest. “What's up, babe?” he asked.

“I think I know where the “Diana diamond” is. My father has it.”

“What? Are you shittin' me?”

“No, I saw him with it this morning. Oh Steve, it's huge, very valuable.”

“Well, the cops are looking for it. That guy I was talking to is ...”

Tiffany broke in before he could finish. “Steve, if we had that diamond, we could go wherever we wanted. Just the two of us. It would give us freedom at last.”

“Honey, I'm already free. And what is this? You've never expressed interest in that kind of relationship before. I thought we just have sex, shake hands, and go our separate ways.”

“Yeah, right,” she replied. Shit, she thought. What was I thinking? I don't even need him. I could take the diamond from the safe and head out on my own. But you fool, she thought. You've already told him you have it. He'll tell someone, or maybe even try to take it for himself. You know what you have to do now.

She got up and pulled her dress on, then crossed the room to pick up her tiny, sequined bag off the floor. It landed there, tossed aside when they rushed in the room.

She reached in the purse and turned to Steve. Before he knew what happened, he had a bullet in his skull.

* * *

Gil was back at the precinct, but he wasn't happy about it. He'd tried to nap, but after decking Hank, his nerves were on edge. How in the hell had things come to this? The guy had saved his life more times than he could count, and vice versa. And now, they no longer trusted each other and had come to blows. Well, that was life. Piss on Hank Bower as far as he was concerned.

Hank's desk was empty. Thank Gawd for that, Gil mused. He no longer had made the observation when Hank stepped off the elevator, an angry red bruise on his chin. He spied Gil and turned away, heading for his cubicle.

“Suits me fine,” Gil mumbled, noticing his aloofness. He hit a few keys on the computer and quickly realized he couldn't concentrate. He heard a shuffle and looked up to see Buzz who had been behind closed doors in his office. Now he poked his head out.

“Gil, I just got word there's been a homicide in little Italy. Get on it!” He paused with a thoughtful expression. “Hank, you go with him!” he said. Before anyone could object, he closed the door.

“I'll drive,” Hank said without making eye contact. “Wouldn't want a hot head like you behind the wheel.”

Gil stared him down but didn't reply. They loaded up the car in silence while Gil felt relief it was only a short trip to the Italian neighborhood. Sitting in the car with Hank took everything he had. The tension within the tin can of an auto was unbearable. No one dared speak or even look in the other guy's direction, and yet they sat so close they practically touched one another. Gil knew he couldn't work like this, and felt determined to get assigned to a new partner as soon as they got back.

The throngs of people clustered in front of the restaurant pushed that thought from his mind as his cop persona went into full gear. He and Hank rushed in, flashing badges and headed up the back stairs to the second floor. When they saw what was in room number six, it blew Gil away. Dead on floor with blood draining out of him was Steve Shingle. The same Steve Shingle he arranged to work with not an hour before.