Fat Tuesday Read Online Free Page B

circular structure, she leaned into one of the support posts, practically hugging it while resting her cheek against the cold metal. She was still embarrassed over what Pinkie had insinuated in front of his guests. Comments like that underscored what everyone already believed about her, that she was a pampered trophy wife, with limited intelligence and trivial opinions, whose only purpose in life was to accessorize her flamboyant husband in public and satisfy him in bed.
    It also appeared they thought she had no feelings, that their subtle insults bounced off her without leaving a mark. They thought she was happy with the sheltered life she led and had everything her heart desired.
    They were wrong.
    Wild horses couldn't have kept him away.
    Burke Basile acknowledged that being here was inadvisable.
    Inadvisable, my ass, he thought. It was downright stupid that he was lurking in the shadows of a hedge of tall, dense azalea bushes, glaring malevolently at Pinkie Duvall's Garden District mansion.
    The house was as fancy and white as a wedding cake, gaudy as hell in Basile s estimation. Golden light from the tall windows spilled onto the lawn, which was as perfectly tailored as a green carpet. Music and laughter wafted from the shimmering rooms.
    Burke hugged his elbows to ward off the cool evening air. He hadn't even thought to wear a jacket. Autumn had come and gone. The holidays had passed virtually unnoticed. New Orleans' mild winter was on the wane, but the changing seasons and encroaching spring were the last things on Burke's mind.
    Kev Stuart's death eight months ago had consumed him, immobilized him, and anesthetized him to his environment.
    Barbara had been the first to notice his preoccupation, but then she would because she lived with him. When his grief evolved into obsession, she had lodged a legitimate complaint. And then another.
    And another, until she exhausted herself with nagging. Her attitude of late had been indifference.
    As Wayne Bardo's trial date approached, it became obvious to everyone within his division that Burke's heart was no longer in his work.
    He couldn't concentrate on present cases because he was still hung up on the case that had taken him and Kev to that warehouse.
    For more than a year prior to that night, they'd been shrinking the size of that particular operation, chipping away at it bit by bit by taking out key dealers one by one. But the really big players had continued to elude them, and were probably laughing their asses off at the bungling and self-defeating efforts of the authorities, local and federal.
    To frustrate the division further, their success rate dwindled into nonexistence. Each time a raid was organized, it was foiled. No matter how tight the security, how secret the bust, the criminals were always tipped off beforehand. Drug labs were deserted with the chemicals still cooking. Huge inventories were abandoned moments before the squad arrived for the takedown. These were sacrifices the dealers could afford to make, they simply factored in the loss as a cost of doing business. The next day, they relocated to a new place of operation.
    The sons of bitches scattered quicker than roaches when the lights went on. Cops were made to look like fools. After each failed raid, the division was forced back to square one, and the painstaking procedure of rooting out the suppliers started all over again.
    Having worked Narcotics for years, Burke knew the drill. He knew to expect setbacks and delays. He knew it took months to build a case.
    He knew the undercover guys had to cultivate relationships and that these matters took time and patience. He knew the odds against success were overwhelming, and that even when they did succeed, the rewards were few.
    But knowing all that and accepting it were miles apart.
    Patience wasn't one of Burke's virtues. Frankly, he didn't even look upon patience as a virtue. In his opinion, time equated failure.
    Because for every day it took to do his job