"Easy," Brigit declared, sliding off her stool. "Toilet first, though," she added, heading immediately in that direction.
"...without arousing the curiosity Rabbit & Co outside," Kit finished.
"O'Malley?" Del placed her hand on Kit's arm and looked deep and seriously into her sparkling-greens.
"Del," Kit acknowledged.
"Are you assigning us distracting chores so we'll keep our noses out of your official detecting business?"
"Yes," Kit smiled, "and no. I'm delegating less risky tasks to you, your girlfriend and Angie, so that none of us get too involved in the heart of this murder investigation. The Rileys are not nice people Del. It's more than likely they did something extra nasty to another bad guy that resulted in the over-the-top death that was accorded Gerry Anders."
Angie screwed her nose up in frustrated anger. "But I didn't to anything to the Rileys, or their cohorts or enemies, so why did some psycho-crook dump this shit in my lap?"
Kit gave an expansive shrug. "That might not have been the intention, Angie; but there's a thought. Can you find out if your co-owners have any, even remote, unwelcome connections to any underworld types or, failing that, if they've been approached by anyone about selling."
"Is that my job?"
"Yes honey, that's your job," Kit said and then frowned. "But, as I said, please be careful because I've just thought of another less-likelihood, but one that indicates just how dangerous the Rileys can be. Gerry Anders himself may have done something so wrong or unacceptable in the eyes of his own family that they did this to him."
"Oh shit," Del grumbled. "I may have to lock Brigie in the pantry until this is over."
"Why would Queenie want to see where he was found, if they left him here?" Angie asked.
"You're the one who called them lunatics and perverts," Del reminded her.
Angie shook her head. "I was talking about the god-warblers and the journos. Marjorie Riley was polite and seemed pretty upset this morning."
"Yeah?" Kit huffed. "That woman has been conning people her entire life Angie; and she makes a hobby of lying to the cops."
Angie ducked her head in concession. "It could have been an act I suppose. But to me it looked more like an 'I'm gunna get the bastard that did this to my boy' kind of deal. What I want to know, Katy, is why the hell she wanted to talk to me."
"Coz you found him. Dealing with her, however, is going to be my job, or one of them; okay? I saw enough of everything to answer Queenie's questions. And I'll pay her a visit so she won't have any reason to come back here."
Are you completely mad? Kit's mind screamed. Don't even suggest that as a last resort.
"Are you mental?" Del was asking.
"You know I am," Kit smiled.
"Will she remember you were a cop?" Angie asked. "It might smooth the way."
Kit put on her best don't-be-ridiculous face. "Being a cop, even an ex, wouldn't smooth a bloody thing with the Rileys, Angie. Besides, I've actually never met the old tart. I saw her heaps, but never had a reason to talk to her, arrest her, interview her, or be introduced to her."
"And don't you dare do any of those things now either," Del pronounced. "I mean not on you own, O'Malley. Don't call on her without company or back up, without being wired or watched, or without telling us when and where you're going to do such a stupid thing."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Kit grinned, thankful that Del at least seemed to understand the seriousness of their collective situation. She hoped that would also translate into Brigie-speak so they'd be able to keep her out of any trouble-making too.
"So Kit," asked the devil-herself, back from the loo, "what are you going to do?"
Kit started counting off on her fingers. "I'm going to try wangling more info from Detective Cathy, talk to Scooter when you find her and, right now, I'm going outside to interrogate the shit out of Carrie McThing and find out who her alleged sources are."
Del snorted. "She's a journo. If she's remotely worth her salt she won't divulge that info."
"Not even if I threaten to tell the other reporters out there that she and herself were two of her own quoted witnesses?" Kit proposed.
"You cannot out her, Katy O'Malley," Angie stated. "No matter what she's written."
"Unless she is a heterospy of course," Brigit allowed. "Then you can do anything you like to her. I'll help."
"Hey you guys," Kit raised her hands in surrender. "If she is gay I'd never out her - but she doesn't know that. So if she is, but I can't get her on side, then I'll just make noise."
"And if she isn't gay?" Del asked.
"Then I'll make a lot more noise."
"What if she is but you scare her back into the terrible darkness of denial?" Angie asked.
"That's too bad," Kit said. "It'll be her own fault for smudging our rules anyway."
"We have rules?" Del asked.
"Of course we have rules," Kit said.
"What are they?" Angie queried.
Kit ran her right hand through her hair; then did the same on the other side with her left hand. "They're unspoken rules," she proclaimed.
"Ah," Del nodded. "That explains every-McThing."
"No," Kit said, sliding off her stool to pose with her hands on her hips. "It explains why she only smudged the rules. I am now going outside to set her straight."
"O'Malley," Del warned.
"Not that kind of straight, Del."
"Speaking of O'Malley, O'Malley," Brigit began... and then continued because everyone including Kit looked at her blankly. "How come Detective Cathy calls you O'Malley and not Kit or Ms O'Malley or Katherine?"
Kit shrugged. "Why shouldn't she? You guys do sometimes."
"Yeah, but only if we're trying to get your attention when you've vagued-off; or because we're mad at you. Not that we're ever mad mad at you, Kit, but you know what I mean."
Kit pondered the original question for a moment, then shrugged. "Obviously my old habits have a resurrection tendency," she said. "I always preferred fellow officers to call me O'Malley because, in my callow youth, I thought it sounded tougher than Kit. But it seems that, without even thinking, I also ask it of new cops I meet; like Cathy, yesterday. Marek was the only one who ever, sometimes, called me Kit; though more often it was Kitty - which was mildly annoying then, but kinda nice now."
"Interesting," Brigie noted, as if it really was, while she poked the pile of pictures that Angie had pushed aside when they arrived. "What's with the pics?" she asked.
"Julia, Gwen and I have been discussing the theme for a new feature wall."
Kit glanced over Brigit's shoulder at the photos, before grinning at Angie.
"I knew you'd approve Katy," Angie said, spreading the photos out. "We agreed, a process no doubt clinched by the masculine infringements of the past twenty-four hours, that the time has come for bit of myth making and a pictorial tribute to our favourite butt-kicking icons."
"It's about time," exclaimed Kit, who had groaned a year ago when the partners had finally given in to the sporty-dykes in the community and begun the Athletes Wall - still a work in progress - behind the pool tables. In the end of course, she had to admit that Cathy, Tatianna, Yvonne, Dawn, Susie and all the other splendid bods she didn't know from Eve, looked pretty spiffy up there. This, however, was her idea of the woman as hero and a perfect extension of the bar's other collages which featured the world's oestrogen-powered movers and shakers.
Angie