Hold of the Bone Read Online Free Page B

violence, influenza. The board is sterile, completely professional; there’s not one badly printed sign announcing in bold letters, “ WHEN YOU CHECK OUT, WE CHECK IN ” or a bloody smiley face instructing “ HAVE A GREAT DAY—IT MIGHT BE YOUR LAST !”. There are no photos of Lewis superimposed over Brandi Chastain’s classic victory pose. No pictures of departmental brass sprouting red horns and forked tails. Not even a crude hot sheet of one of the squad members, wanted for a lewd and lascivious, or worse, an “LOA” implying a detective wasn’t working a case hard enough.
    She considers making a “lack of activity” poster with Lewis’ picture of Tatum, but surely someone will be offended and kick a complaint up the ladder. In the old days Frank wouldn’t have cared, it would have been worth it for the morale of the squad. Now the squad finds its morale at home with family and kids, instead of at work with hijinks and after-hour highballs.
    Back in her office she rummages in her top drawer and finds a crinkled pack of cigarettes. She shakes one loose and settles into her hard, wooden chair. She’s had it so long the seat has worn into the shape of her ass. Every couple years an ergonomics expert comes along and tries to throw the chair away, and every couple years she hides it until the new chair arrives and they leave her alone.
    One-handed, she opens the cover of a matchbook and bends amatch to the striker plate. The head spits and flares and she is glad for the quick, hot smell of sulfur. After lighting a cigarette, she shakes the match out, and twists it loose. She lets the hot end sizzle on her tongue, making sure it is dead before dropping it in the trash. She blows smoke toward the detector, hoping to set it off. She doubts the damn thing even works.
    She reflects that cops today are different but in a good way. They don’t smoke, for one, and if they did they certainly wouldn’t in their offices. They are healthier and more balanced. They talk things out and exorcise with weights instead of alcohol. They seem purposeful and driven to succeed. She is sure most of them find the work satisfying, but wonders if it is fun . Frank loved her work for a long time. It was hard, but it was fun outsmarting and outplaying the bad guys. Even the desperate drudgery of back-to-back cases and three-day shifts had been play. She’d had a good crew back then, and they had played beside her.
    Now all her playmates are gone. Crossing her ankles on the desk, she thinks how nice a glass of Scotch would taste with the cigarette. That’s a bad thought for an alcoholic and Frank concentrates on the flavor of the stale tobacco. Its weight is a comfort in her chest and she recalls the heat of Marguerite’s palm between her breasts.
    Dropping her feet, she spins to dial the landline on her desk.
    â€œWell, hiya,” her sponsor answers. “Whatcha up to?”
    â€œSitting alone in my office, thinking bad thoughts.”
    â€œWhy don’t cha come over? I’m just folding laundry and watching Dancing with the Stars re-runs. That Kurt Warner, he’s cute!”
    Frank grins. Mary is in her seventies but hasn’t lost her eye for a handsome man. “Better not let Ed hear you say that.”
    â€œAw, he’s off golfing. Besides, he couldn’t hear me anyway.”
    â€œCan I bring you a Frappuccino?”
    â€œOoh, I’d love one. With extra whipped cream.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    Frank switches off the office light and shuts the door. Her steps echo in the squad room. She pauses near the hall, tempted to look back, but afraid all she’ll see are ghosts.

Chapter 5
    â€œHey.” She pecks Mary’s cheek and hands her the sticky drink.
    â€œThanks, you’re a doll. Whadda I owe ya?”
    Like Frank, Mary is from New York. Unlike Frank, she has retained much of her accent.
    â€œNothing. My