Leave it to a fucking lawyer to order a vodka martini. Jesus God, man. That comes as close to sacrilege as a priest buggering an altar boy.”
Commissioner Mathis Cross grinned at the annoyed police chief. “Now, now, Garrett, be careful how you insult our righteous district attorney—who is rumored to be a good Catholic boy.”
“If getting my law degree from Loyola Marymount makes me a good Catholic boy, so be it.” Cole Hunter lifted a dismissive shoulder. “But you’re right, Mathis. If preferring a vodka martini to one made with gin is the biggest sin I commit in my life, someone’s not keeping score. As for those priests I used to tussle with, particularly John Paul Hunter, my twin brother, I can testify to their righteous, if peculiar, preference for abstinence. By the way, Chief Drake, you need to update your insults. Only antiquated misogynists don’t know that altar boys also include girls.”
Mathis Cross winked at the slender, gray-haired bartender and owner of the Olive or Twist bar, the preferred hangout of anyone remotely associated with law enforcement in their Southwestern city. “C’mon, Oliver, give us the lowdown on gin versus vodka martinis. Is it true, as our irreverent police chief claims, that a vodka martini is nothing more than diluted vermouth?”
Oliver laughed. “No, Commissioner Cross, I wouldn’t go that far. Particularly if said dirty vodka martini sports Karlsson vodka and Dirty Sue premium juice, as District Attorney Hunter’s does.”
Garrett Drake snorted. “An even more egregious crime. It’s bad enough that you insist on three olives, Cole, but olive juice is a deviation too far.”
“Now, now, Garrett, remember H. L. Mencken called the martini ‘the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.’ And you’ll note he didn’t specify as to the particular alcohol it features.”
“Humph. That’s because he never dreamed anyone would bastardize his favorite drink with liquor made from potatoes.”
Mathis stepped in between the irascible police chief and the more laid-back DA. “You have to give it to Mencken, who was almost as acerbic as you, Garrett. Not to wax too poetic, but my preferred accolade to the righteous martini was E. B. White’s, who called our libation ‘the elixir of quietude.’ But then, he never had to drink his martini with three hard-asses like us.”
“I dunno, Mathis. Even though you once were on the force, it’s hard to believe that a cultivated Frenchman who quotes E. B. White ever walked a beat.”
“Hey, I not only walked a beat but was a fierce, no-nonsense detective with more collars in five years than many old-timers accrued in thirty.”
“Make that a fierce and feared detective. Let me tell you, Mr. DA, the only way a cop could have risen to the top of the heap as our colleague did is not just through his Hollywood-handsome looks but also his talent and grit. Quite a combination if I do say so. And as you know, compliments don’t flow easily from my lips.”
“An understatement, Chief. But seriously, Mathis, how does it feel to be the most prominent—and popular—public official this teeming city of ours has? The latest approval polls I saw indicate that you have thirty points on our mayor, the poor sap who appointed you.”
Garrett Drake snorted. “Which, given what a sycophant he is, must burn Clarence Robertson’s ass. I’m telling you, if sucking the dick of every media commentator would reap him an inch of positive press, good ole Clarence would never get up off his knees.”
Mathis laughed along with his two colleagues, then debated whether to refer to the controversy surrounding the mayor. Even though it was a given that word of his indiscretions had reached the connected chief, he wasn’t sure if the district attorney had heard the rumors.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when the chief intoned with a grunt, “Christ, wouldn’t you think poor ole Clarence could keep his pants zipped or at least not pay to get off. But Holy Christ, to shack up with not one or two, but three of the district’s most loquacious ladies of the night is a bridge too far even for Robertson. It’s bad enough that he’s running for office again, all the while making a joke of the office of mayor.”
Cole sighed. “I assumed you both knew about the mayor’s indiscretions. Unfortunately, none of his ‘companions’ would confirm that he paid for their company, so we weren’t able to bring charges. Although my young ADA, Zoe Hamilton, was champing at the bit to do exactly that. It wasn’t easy,