Free Cool in Tucson by Elizabeth Gunn

humorously and said, “Well, what other occasions for merry-making are coming up, hmm?”
    “Actually, second floor’s thinking of working up a bash for Hallowe’en,” she said.  “You mind wearing a mask?”
    “Aren’t they kind of hard to drink through?”
    “Oh, we’ll have straws for the booze.”
    “That sounds good.  You mean I’m invited?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Terrific!  I’ll get my broom ready.” 
      She stood up while they were both still smiling, reached across the desk and shook his hand.  It felt just the way she’d expected, firm and dry.  She let the touch last one extra second before she said, “Thank you so much for coming in.”
    It occurred to her as he walked away that he had not needed to come up here to exchange this little bit of information, they could easily have handled it by phone and fax.  So when he turned at her doorway and nodded, she sent him a smile that said plainly, I wanted to see you too . 
    Sitting down when he was gone, unreasonably aglow, she began reviewing a shortlist of her best friends in the department.  Who could she get to stir up a Hallowe’en party?  What came over me?   She had no time to sort it out because her phone was ringing. 
    Phyllis said her warrant was ready, and she wanted to know, was Sarah working the Speedway holdup or the body by the Rillito?  Phyllis, like everybody in the system, got her jollies by being in the know about the stories behind the headlines.  Sarah fed her a few details, as much as she could within the bounds of discretion, because Phyllis had made a big difference by getting out this warrant so fast. 
    As soon as she was off the phone she stepped over to the half-wall that separated her cubicle from Eisenstaat’s.  “Am I talking,” she asked across the wall, “to that dashing Harry Eisenstaat who’s way past due for a breath of fresh air and would not mind driving to the courthouse to pick up a warrant at Judge Garrity’s office?”
    “Fresh air can wait.”  Eisenstaat, the graying, cynical, self-appointed time-server of the section looked up from his keyboard, wearing the trade-mark sneer with which he fended off work while he waited for retirement.  “But dashing Harry would sure like to dash over to Starbuck’s for a chocolate frappuccino.  Hurry up with it, will you?”
    “It’s ready now.  Get your frappo in a go-cup, will you?  I need that warrant back here ASAP.” 
    “Sure sure sure.”  He took his sweet time getting up, straightening his stiff knees.  “Relentless Ruthie’s in a hurry, what else is new?”  Somehow he’d learned that her middle name was Ruth, and begun using it to characterize her as a driven workaholic.  Sarah smiled as if she thought he’d paid her a compliment as she grabbed her once-again ringing phone and said, “Burke.”
    A voice she didn’t know said, “This is Tony Delarosa.  I’m downstairs.  You got a dead man you think is Ace Perkins?”
    “Yes.  Wow, that was quick.”
    “Dietz caught me in my car, a block away.  This a good time to talk?”  It wasn’t,  but he was here now, ready to do a favor.  She told him how to find her. 
    In two minutes he was standing in the door of her cubicle, a square-jawed, ruddy man with dark eyes and black hair curled tight against his skull, his shoulders bulging against his shirt.  Weight-lifter .  Showboat.  What else?   He said, “You pretty sure about this?”
    “We made him off his prints.”  She showed him the records.  
    “Son of a gun.”  He sat down and crossed his legs, put his blunt-fingered right hand on her desk and began tapping, some brisk rhythm he seemed to hear in his head.  All his movements had the heft and energy of over-abundant muscle.  “Where’d you find him?”
    Sarah described the scene in Rillito Park, and asked him, “Are you the one who sent him to Florence?”
    “No.  I busted him three months after he got out.  Bought half an ounce of coke off