“Linda seemed a little bit more worldly than the other farmer gals I’ve seen. More at ease with city life. I don’t know what her life experiences were, but I can tell you one thing. She wanted a baby. And now…she’s…Jesus, I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this anymore. It’s really upsetting my psychic balance. I’ve had a stillborn this week and an anencephalic, and I can’t take any more bad news. I’ll be happy to talk with you later, Sergeant. But right now, I’d prefer to be alone.”

Stanford Meecham was genuinely hurting. He looked as if he was going to do more pills or booze as soon as Decker walked out the door. Decker thought of Meecham’s patients, those six pregnant women, a couple of them looking as though they were ready to drop any second.

“You on call tonight?” Decker asked.

“Yeah,” Meecham answered. “Why?”

Decker did an impulsive thing. He stood up, went over to Meecham’s side of the desk, and yanked open his drawer.

“What the hell are you doing!” Meecham screamed.

Decker pulled out a vial of pills—Valium—and a package of breath mints. Sure sign he had something more. He pocketed the pills and mints, and as long as he’d gone this far, he opened his bottom file and took out the expected metal flask.

Meecham regarded him, his face registering both anger and embarrassment. Finally, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. Take it all. I can dope myself up tomorrow night, when no one’s depending on me. My ladies and I thank you, Sergeant.”

Decker told him, “Don’t mention it.”

21

The fifteen hundred dollars were burning a hole in Abel’s pocket. He thought of all the things he could do with it—new clothes, new set of wheels for his bike, food and lodging in Sin City itself—a quick trip to Lost Wages. He could book a room at the Palace, or maybe the MGM Grand—Monday nights were generally slow—and pick up a couple of whores. Some things were just meant to be done in groups of threes. Fifteen C’s and he could purchase himself one truly unforgettable evening.

As he approached Decker’s ranch, he reluctantly let go of his fantasies. He parked in the driveway, hoping that Doc would be home, so the girl wouldn’t think that he was trying to make time with her. Of course, if he had to talk to the girl again, it wouldn’t be the worst sentence in the world. The thought of her gave him goose bumps in 100-degree weather. Limping up to the door, he gave the rapper a hard knock and waited. His luck: The girl answered with a sweet “Who is it?” Abel drank in her voice.