Inside Passage. Burt Weissbourd

twice. Why, he wondered, was he actually looking forward to dinner? Jesse, he realized, raised the bar, kept him on his toes. She played people like finely tuned instruments, and in her world she had perfect pitch. He was catching on, sure, but no one could make music like Jesse. And he was seeing how her world stretched from New York City to L.A. to D. C. to every damned Democrat who counted. Nick was thinking he would like to fish that big pond, too, when he heard Lester’s cane.

      Before he could turn around, Lester chimed in. “On her way. She’ll slip into Canada at night on her boat.”

      “Good.” Nick waited.

      “I got a guy she’ll check in with in Vancouver. I gave her three days to see him. Then I call Jensen, her PO, tell him she’s skipped. He reports it, the door is locked. She comes back, she goes down.”

      This could work, Nick was thinking.

      Lester went on, “Say we bust the kid. We bust the kid, what can she do?”

      Nick touched his fingertips together, considering how to explain this. “In a good deal, one that works, one that lasts, all the parties walk away with something. You take away everything, there’s always a risk.” Even the meddlers—like environmentalists—you had to at least recognize them, give them a nod, or they’d find a way to queer your deal. He had learned that early on, and unionized workers all over the state had benefited from his understanding. He also knew that Lester liked to humiliate people, make them feel powerless. It made him good at certain things, not so good at others.

      Nick watched him. He knew his answer wasn’t working for Lester. Lester understood power, not relationships. Lester had no interest in relationships. “What do we gain?” he asked, patient.

      “We own her. She knows it.”

      She knows it already, Nick wanted to say. Instead, he watched Lester’s impassive face. If he told him to, Lester would walk right through that window. He deserved an answer he could work with. “Look at it this way…we bust the kid, he does hard time. She won’t just let that happen. No, she’ll come back at us. Somehow, somewhere, wanting to trade for her son. And the woman is no fool. The kid goes, we’re done. We let her have the kid, she never bothers us again. You said as much.”

      In response, Lester took his cane, turned toward the door. As he was leaving, Nick heard him mutter, “Weak as water.” And shaking his head…“fuckin’ henhussy.”

      Jesse chose one of her favorite perfumes, a Bond No. 9, Eau de New York. It was insolent. Nice, she thought, for dinner with Nick. She felt a subtle stirring, both sweet and carnal. She sat down in front of her dressing room mirror. Feelings like these were uncommon for her, and she wanted to linger a moment with them. What was it about Nick? There was something intriguing behind those beautiful black eyes. It wasn’t coarse, no, it was something she didn’t recognize. And it touched her in a way that she barely remembered. Interesting. Jesse dabbed the Bond No. 9 on her wrist, her neck, between her breasts.

      The only police officer Abe knew on a first-name basis was Detective Lou Ballard. He and Lou helped each other occasionally, though they rarely agreed on anything. Tonight he was having a drink with Lou at the Queen City Grill, a Belltown bar and restaurant. Though the neighborhood had become a trendy, singles destination, Abe still came when he could; he thought the Queen City Grill was among the most beautiful rooms in the city. Something about the dark woods, the muted colors, and the organization of the space and the light gave the busy restaurant an aura all its own, a warm, welcoming glow.

      The detective slid into the dark wood booth. Lou was built like a pear. He always wore a tie, and every hair on his head stayed in place. “Doc,” he offered, unenthusiastic.