Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [123]
He had driven down to pick her up in front of her office building and taken her over the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge to a favorite Long Island City hangout, where they had feasted on southern Italian specialties prepared to heavenly perfection by the proprietor and his wife. During the course of the three-hour meal, they talked, laughed, easily broke down the barriers thrown between them by their work. They even joined Vincent, a retired cop from Naples, in an off-key rendition of “Amore Mio.” Boomer introduced Carolyn to Fernet Branca, an after-dinner digestive with the smoothness of lighter fluid, and he watched with mild wonder as she shot back the drink in one gulp and was able to name three of the herbs used in its making.
They drove back into Manhattan in comfortable silence and she seemed amenable when he suggested that they park the car and walk for a bit. He curbed up next to a fire hydrant, tossed an NYPD permit across the dash, and walked over to hold her door open.
“Are you still allowed to have one of those?” she asked, pointing to the permit.
“No,” Boomer said.
“Do you follow the rules on anything?” Carolyn asked.
“No.”
Carolyn slid a hand under his arm and moved herself closer to his side. “I’m glad you called.”
“I owed you,” Boomer said. “I ran a little rough on you about Jenny. Wrote you off as another bleeding heart. I should have known better.”
“Is that an apology?” she asked.
“It’s as close as I get to one,” Boomer said. His eyes locked on Carolyn. “But don’t go getting used to it.”
“I won’t.”
“You know, I talked to Jenny’s dad the other night,” Boomer said. “He told me she’s starting to come around and that you’ve been a big help to her and the family. I appreciate that.”
“Is that the only reason you asked me out?” Carolyn said, stopping in front of her brownstone.
“No, that wasn’t the reason,” Boomer said, turning to face her. “That was just a damn good excuse.”
“What other reason, then, would you have to ask me out, Detective?” Carolyn asked, running a soft hand against the hard features of Boomer’s face.
“Would you buy it if I said I didn’t want to eat alone?” Boomer asked.
“No,” Carolyn said.
“How about if I told you I wanted free medical advice?” Boomer said. “Would that one work?”
“No,” Carolyn said.
“How about if I told you I’ve thought about you every day since we met?” Boomer said, leaning closer to Carolyn. “And that I picked up the phone a dozen times to call you but didn’t because I’d’ve bet money you’d say no. Would you believe any of that?”
“There’s a good chance on that one,” Carolyn said.
Boomer leaned closer and kissed her, holding Carolyn tightly in his arms, her hair brushing against his face. Her lips were soft and her breath was as warm as the light wind coming up off the East River. He held on to her for as long as he could, engulfed by the peaceful night and the passion of her kiss. They stood under the streetlight, the pains and fears of their jobs shoved aside for this brief moment.
“Now you know my real reason,” Boomer whispered, sliding his face alongside Carolyn’s, his strong arms still holding her slight frame.
“And now you know why I said yes,” Carolyn whispered in his ear.
“I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Boomer said, forgetting what lay ahead, concerned only with the present. “A very long time.”
Carolyn lifted her head to look at Boomer, cupping her hands around his face. “Come up with me,” she said. “But there’s something you should know before you do.”
“You’re married,” Boomer said. “And your husband’s asleep on the couch with a gun in his hand.”
“Besides that,” she said, laughing and leading him up the brownstone steps.
“You don’t have any Fernet Branca,” Boomer said, following her.
“And I never will either,” Carolyn said, reaching into her shoulder bag for the key to