THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 32

"Really weird," Ginger said, looking at the paper and waiting for her coffee to drip through the filter. "Half the people there will know that The Don's still alive."

"Modern times," Mary said. "Like being in church with a bunch of people who know God's dead. But they go through the motions. Except he's probably blackmailing half of them— that makes it even weirder."

"I asked Dad if he wanted me to go to the service and he looked at me like I was nuts. 'With that hair?' he said. He'll probably have The Glacier on his arm: close friend comforts the grieving widow, backed by the majestic Teton Range. Whitney's not coming. Actually, quite a few people aren't, who were supposed to be tight with the Don."

"No surprise. Where's it going to be?"

"On the polo thing by the Golf Course. The grass won't be green yet, so they're laying down AstroTurf and putting up a big tent and stuff. Lots of private security guards. The parking lot will be closed— just in case you need to get groceries or something."

Gris barked. Someone knocked at the door of the yurt and they both started.

"No sweat— only me," Slim called.

"Go away," Mary said, as Ginger snickered and opened the door.

A hand thrust in, with a single red rose.

Mary reached out and took it. Slim followed, blushing.

"Didn't know you were here," he said to Ginger. "Or I'd have brought two."

"I'll go to the biffy, so you two can kiss." Ginger hauled herself up and marched out. They kissed until she came back, then surfaced. Mary poured him a mug of coffee and he sat at the table, scratching Gris behind the ears.

"Moderately big-ass news," he said.

Mary laughed. "You busted the Don last night, diving dumpsters at the Park Café."

"Related to that— I got fired."

"No shit?"

"Shank called me in and said there'd been complaints. How come I was working a closed case?"

"What did you say?"

"That I didn't think it ought to be."

"And?"

"He said to shut the hell up, turn in my badge and sidearm, haul my sorry ass out of his department, and good luck finding another job around here."

"Poor baby." Mary took off his cap and stroked his hair. "I'll feed you."

"Me and the dog." There were tears at the corner of his eyes. "I'm just— disgusted. That's all."

"Disgusted? I'd be, like, raging."

"Being a cop, you're exposed to all sorts of things. Babies killed in wrecks, people hurt or dead for no particular reason. Besides the lying, cheating, stealing, all the things people can't admit to themselves they do. Or are."

"So now you get a holiday from all that," Ginger said.

"Well, yes and no. I admired old Shank— thought he was a good cop: decent, staunch, clean. But he's down there swimming in the shit with all the ones we're supposed to. . ." His voice trailed off.

"You mean the blackhearted bastards. Like the Don. Like my Dad."

"Yeah, well I might think that— about your father. But I wouldn't say it—"