Dearly Devoted Dexter (Vintage Crime

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Hey! he yelled at me. You can t leave yet, the strippers are coming!
I ll be right back, I called. Fix me another drink!
Right! he said with his phony smile. Ha! Banzai! And he went back in to the party with a cheery
wave. I turned to look for Doakes.
He had been parked right across the street from wherever I was for so long that I should have spotted
him immediately, but I didn t. When I finally saw the familiar maroon Taurus, I realized what a clever
thing he had done. He was parked up the street under a large tree, which blocked any light from the
streetlights. It was the kind of thing a man trying to hide might do, but at the same time it would allow
Dr. Danco to feel confident that he could get close without being seen.
I walked over to the car and as I approached the window slid down. He s not here yet, Doakes said.
You re supposed to come in for a drink, I said.
I don t drink.
You obviously don t go to parties, either, or you would know that you can t do them properly sitting
across the street in your car.
Sergeant Doakes didn t say anything, but the window rolled up and then the door opened and he
stepped out. What re you gonna do if he comes now? he asked me.
Count on my charm to save me, I said. Now come on in while there s still someone conscious in
there.
We crossed the street together, not actually holding hands, but it seemed so odd under the
circumstances that we might as well have. Halfway across a car turned the corner and came down the
street toward us. I wanted to run and dive into a row of oleanders, but was very proud of my icy
control when instead I merely glanced at the oncoming car. It cruised slowly along, and Sergeant
Doakes and I were all the way across the street by the time it got to us.
Doakes turned to look at the car, and I did, too. A row of five sullen teen faces looked out at us. One
of them turned his head and said something to the others, and they laughed. The car rolled on by.
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We better get inside, I said. They looked dangerous.
Doakes didn t respond. He watched the car turn around at the end of the street and then continued on
his way to Vince s front door. I followed along behind, catching up with him just in time to open the
front door for him.
I had only been outside for a few minutes, but the body count had grown impressively. Two of the
cops beside the fountain were stretched out on the floor, and one of the South Beach refugees was
throwing up into a Tupperware container that had held Jell-O salad a few minutes ago. The music was
pounding louder than ever, and from the kitchen I heard Vince yelling, Banzai! joined by a ragged
chorus of other voices. Abandon all hope, I said to Sergeant Doakes, and he mumbled something
that sounded like, Sick motherfuckers. He shook his head and went in.
Doakes did not take a drink and he didn t dance, either. He found a corner of the room with no
unconscious body in it and just stood there, looking like a cut-rate Grim Reaper at a frat party. I
wondered if I should help him get into the spirit of the thing. Perhaps I could send Camilla Figg over to
seduce him.
I watched the good sergeant stand in his corner and look around him, and I wondered what he was
thinking. It was a lovely metaphor: Doakes standing silent and alone in a corner while all around him
human life raged riotously on. I probably would have felt a wellspring of sympathy for him bubbling
up, if only I could feel. He seemed completely unaffected by the whole thing, not even reacting when
two of the South Beach gang ran past him naked. His eyes fell on the nearest monitor, which was
portraying some rather startling and original images involving animals. Doakes looked at it without
interest or emotion of any kind; just a look, then his gaze moved on to the cops on the floor, Angel
under the table, and Vince leading a conga line in from the kitchen. His gaze traveled all the way over
to me and he looked at me with the exact same lack of expression. He crossed the room and stood in
front of me.
How long we got to stay? he asked.
I gave him my very best smile. It is a bit much, isn t it? All this happiness and fun it must make you
nervous.
Makes me want to wash my hands, he said. I ll wait outside.
Is that really a good idea? I asked.
He tilted his head at Vince s conga line, which was collapsing in a heap of spastic hilarity. Is that? he
said. And of course he had a point, although in terms of sheer lethal pain and terror a conga line on the
floor couldn t really compete with Dr. Danco. Still, I suppose one has to consider human dignity, if it
truly exists somewhere. At the moment, looking around the room, that didn t seem possible.
The front door swung open. Both Doakes and I turned to face it, all our reflexes up on tiptoe, and it
was a good thing we were ready for danger because otherwise we might have been ambushed by two
half-naked women carrying a boom box. Hello? they called out, and were rewarded with a ragged
high-pitched roar of WHOOOO! from the conga line on the floor. Vince struggled out from under
the pile of bodies and swayed to his feet. Hey! he shouted. Hey everybody! Strippers are here!
Banzai! There was an even louder WHOOOO! and one of the cops on the floor struggled to his
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knees, swaying gently and staring as he mouthed the word, Strippers . . .
Doakes looked around the room and back at me. I ll be outside, he said, and turned for the door.
Doakes, I said, thinking it really wasn t a good idea. But I got no more than one step after him when
once again I was savagely ambushed.
Gotcha! Vince roared out, holding me in a clumsy bear hug.
Vince, let me go, I said.
No way! he chortled. Hey, everybody! Help me out with the blushing bridegroom! There was a
surge of ex conga liners from the floor and the last standing cop by the fountain and I was suddenly at
the center of a mini mosh pit, the press of bodies heaving me toward the chair where Camilla Figg had
passed out and rolled onto the floor. I struggled to get away, but it was no use. There were too many
of them, too filled with Vince s rocket juice. I could do nothing but watch as Sergeant Doakes, with a
last molten-stone glare, went through the front door and out into the night.
They levered me into the chair and stood around me in a tight half-circle and it was obvious that I was
going nowhere. I hoped Doakes was as good as he thought he was, because he was clearly on his own
for a while.
The music stopped, and I heard a familiar sound that made the hairs on my arms stand up straight: it
was the ratchet of duct tape spooling off the roll, my own favorite prelude to a Concerto for Knife
Blade. Someone held my arms and Vince wrapped three big loops of tape around me, fastening me to
the chair. It was not tight enough to hold me, but it would certainly slow me enough to allow the
crowd to keep me in the chair.
All righty then! Vince called out, and one of the strippers turned on her boom box and the show
began. The first stripper, a sullen-looking black woman, began to undulate in front of me while [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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