Hot Fudge (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Read online

  Hot Fudge © 2000, 2008, 2010 by Anthony Bruno. All Rights Reserved

  For my in-house sex yenta

  whose healing powers are legend

  1

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Loretta Kovacs said.

  “I do,” Frank Marvelli said, and he kissed her again.

  She didn’t object. In fact, she might have been holding him a little tighter than he was holding her, but it was hard to tell. They were sitting on the lone hard bench inside one of the holding cells at the rear of the offices of the Parole Violators Search Unit—better known as the Jump Squad—where they both worked as parole officers. The Jump Squad picked up parolees who had violated the conditions of their parole and stopped reporting to their assigned POs. The walls of the cell were Pepto-Bismol pink, and the bars weren’t bars at all. It was cyclone fencing. But the decor didn’t matter to either of them. They were what mattered.

  “Marvelli,” Loretta mumbled, her lips mashed against his, “it’s getting late. People will be getting here soon.”

  Marvelli brought his wristwatch to his face without disengaging from Loretta’s lips. “It’s ten to eight,” he said. “We’ve got time.”

  “Julius usually gets here early,” she said. Julius was their boss, Julius Monroe.

  “Not this early,” he said.

  “Okay. You’re right.”

  Loretta felt like a shaken-up can of Coke. She couldn’t believe they were doing this. She couldn’t believe she was here with Marvelli, necking. But she was, and it was pretty freakin’ wonderful.

  Despite some of her best fantasies, she’d never in a million years thought they would get this far. The cards were stacked against them: First of all, they worked in the same office. Second, Marvelli was not her type because he was a greaser—not the trendy retro kind but the real item, like a T. rex that had somehow survived the Ice Age on some uncharted tropical island. And last of all, Loretta had been absolutely convinced that Marvelli would never get over his late wife, Rene, who had lost her battle with breast cancer a little over a year ago. But finally Marvelli made his peace with it and decided it was time to move on. And Loretta had been there waiting for him at the side of life’s highway, her thumb out, praying that he’d give her a lift.

  Not that she was desperate. Not at all. She’d gotten used to celibacy … so used to it, it was scary. But she could’ve managed just fine without a man. Not happily, but she could have done it. Fortunately she was now out of the running for a Guinness Book of World Records citation.

  Marvelli squeezed her closer to him, and she held the back of his neck, feeling the goop he put in his hair between her fingers. That didn’t bother her anymore. But as their tongues wrestled, she had to admit that the constant taste of chocolate was beginning to bother her. It had been nice at first, but here it was—eight o’clock in the morning—and he was already eating ice cream. He seemed to be eating ice cream all the time. This couldn’t be good for his health, she thought. And if he dropped dead and left her all alone, that would be disastrous for her health, too.

  She glanced down at the empty pint of Arnie and Barry’s Elmer Fudge Whirl sitting on the floor next to Marvelli’s pointy, black, imitation-alligator shoe, and she just couldn’t contain herself.

  “Marvelli,” she said, pulling away from his lips, “we have to talk.”

  He looked startled. “About what?”

  “Your eating.”

  He shrugged, puzzled. “What about it?”

  “Ice cream in the morning? What is it? Are you pregnant or PMSing?”

  “Loretta,” he said. “You know I have a problem with low blood sugar.”

  “But you eat constantly.” And you don’t gain an ounce, she thought jealously.

  “This isn’t news, Loretta. I’ve always eaten like this.”

  “I realize that, but this ice-cream obsession is something new. I don’t want you keeling over with a heart attack before you’re forty.”

  Marvelli looked a little embarrassed. “C’mon, I wouldn’t call it an obsession.”

  “No? What would you call it?”

  “I just love the taste. I mean, this Elmer Fudge Whirl stuff is out of this world. Arnie and Barry’s has Ben and Jerry’s beat by a mile, at least with this flavor. Their other flavors aren’t nearly as good, but this stuff … ” Marvelli kissed the tips of his fingers like a French gourmet.

  Loretta just gave him a look. “Shut up and kiss me,” she said.

  “Isn’t that a song?”

  She grabbed his lapels and pulled him closer, grinding her lips into his. Their tongues said hi, and it was like live wires touching. Bam! She was back in heaven.

  • • •

  Marvelli moved Loretta’s hair away from her cheek as he tilted his head the other way, rubbing noses with her as he continued to kiss her. He just couldn’t get enough of her these days, and he’d be perfectly happy to stay right here, locked up in this cell, the two of them making out like teenagers for a long, long time, just the two of them …

  And maybe a freezer full of Elmer Fudge Whirl, in case they got hungry.

  He strained an eyeball to catch a glimpse of the empty pint container on the floor, and suddenly he felt guilty for thinking about ice cream when he was kissing Loretta. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was getting a little obsessed with this stuff.

  He glanced down at the carton again, remembering the fudgy taste. Nah, he thought. I’m not obsessed. It’s just good stuff, that’s all She’s just a little upset because of her weight, maybe.

  Of course, Loretta hadn’t been as crazy about her weight lately, not since they’d started going out. It used to be her number-one hot button, but she’d calmed down about it … a little. She didn’t exactly welcome the topic if it came up, but she didn’t go ballistic either. He’d noticed that the little markers on her bathroom scale hadn’t moved in quite a while. When he’d first started staying at her place, the sliding plastic markers were always set back to zero, even after he’d set one for himself. Then one day while he was brushing his teeth, he looked down and saw that one of the markers was on 178 pounds. She had to have put it there because that wasn’t his weight, but she hadn’t bothered to set it back. He didn’t say anything, of course—he wasn’t that stupid—but he kept checking it whenever he was in the bathroom, and it stayed there. He figured she’d forgotten about it because she wasn’t weighing herself anymore. The old Loretta would never have left evidence like that behind.

  He was glad that she’d come to terms with her looks. She still had a bit of a self-image problem, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. He thought she looked great. Thick, wavy, naturally dirty-blond hair that hung just below her shoulders. Peachy skin. Green eyes that sparkled like jewels. And a body that made him feel like Columbus sailing the seven seas, discovering new worlds all the time. In fact, at this very moment he had an incredible urge to unbutton her jade silk blouse and go exploring. Maybe he’d discover America.

  His hands slowly slid up the satiny material along her sides as they continued to kiss. He was heading for land, his main mast at full sail.

  Suddenly he thought back to their first time, which wasn’t all that long ago. Five and a half weeks, to be exact. She’d been wearing this same blouse that night. They were on a stakeout, sitting in an unmarked Department of Parole Chevy Cavalier, watching a two-family brownstone on a quiet street in Hoboken. They’d gotten a tip that a seventy-three-year-old minor-league wiseguy named Carlo Carlucci was visiting his longtime goomah who lived in that house. Carlucci hadn’t reported to his PO in over eight months, and Loretta and Marvelli had been assigned to his case. Even though Carlucci was re
latively harmless, he was still a made man, which made him a priority. But Marvelli sort of knew the old guy, and he didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his lady friend. Instead of banging on the door to make the arrest, Marvelli had convinced Loretta to wait until Carlucci came out of the house and went to his burgundy red Lincoln Continental so they could take him quietly out on the street. It was after one A.M., and they had already been waiting in the Cavalier for three and a half hours.

  Marvelli had been going crazy, trying to keep his eyes on the building when the only thing his little pupils wanted to do was look at Loretta. He’d been thinking about nothing but her for months. He was going wacky thinking about her. But he hadn’t dared do anything about it. He didn’t know exactly what was stopping him, but he was afraid it wouldn’t work out—afraid that it hadn’t been long enough since Rene had died, afraid of what his mother-in-law would say, afraid that he’d wouldn’t know what to do with a woman who wasn’t Rene, afraid that he’d blow it with Loretta and just end up humiliating himself. But sitting in that car with Loretta right next to him—their shoulders practically touching—he was going out of his mind. The sexual tension in the car was so thick, he could have made sandwiches.

  Finally at 1:21 A.M.—he knew because he’d been checking his watch all night for want of something better to do—he turned to her and said, “Loretta—?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately. It wasn’t a “Yes, what is it, Marvelli?” kind of yes. It was more like a “Yes, of course, definitely” yes.

  “Yes, what?” he said, playing dumb. “You don’t know what I’m gonna ask.”

  “You’re right. That’s why I’m answering in case you don’t ask the question I want you to ask.” Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight. She was leaning toward him. He could smell her shampoo, they were so close.

  “Oh … ” he said, wondering if he should keep going. “And what is it you want me to ask?”

  “I want you to ask me what I’ve been dying to ask you.”

  “And what’s that?” He leaned closer to her.

  “Don’t play dumb, Marvelli.” She took his hand.

  He felt as if he were going to burst. His heart was thumping like mad, and he felt light-headed. Somehow his other hand had found its way to her thigh, and when he realized it was there, his palm started to tingle. “Loretta”—he cleared his throat—“Loretta? Can I—?”

  “Yes!”

  But his hand was already on the back of her neck before he’d even started to ask if he could kiss her. He pulled her closer and put his lips to hers, and pretty soon their hands were everywhere, and their tongues were doing a slow tango, and one thing led to another and then another and then something else, and it was almost four o’clock before he realized that they were in the backseat and his pants were down around his knees and Carlo Carlucci’s burgundy Lincoln was gone. Carlucci had gotten away. But neither of them cared.

  Oh, Loretta, Loretta, Marvelli thought in a dizzy haze. Physically he was in the Pepto-Bismol cell, but in his head he was in the backseat of that Cavalier. His hands were sliding under Loretta’s blouse, heading north along her ribs. I want you so bad, he thought. Right here, right now—

  Suddenly her elbows clamped down on his hands like twin rattraps.

  “What?” he said, breathing hard, blinking his eyes, not entirely sure where he was.

  “Not here,” she whispered urgently. “What if Julius catches us? He—”

  “And what if I do catch you?”

  “Jesus!” Marvelli flinched, snatching his hands back. He looked through the cyclone fence and saw his boss staring in at them, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. Julius Monroe was short and stout with a pointed goatee and penetrating eyes. His dark skin reflected the dim light of the naked forty-watt lightbulb inside the cell. He was wearing black slacks, a gray dress shirt, a black-and-white silk tie with piano keys running down the length of it, and his ever-present skullcap.

  “Must be mating season at the zoo,” Julius said, stepping into the open doorway.

  Loretta was blushing through her scalp. Marvelli felt plain stupid for getting caught like this. Loretta was right. A cell wasn’t the place for this.

  “Julius,” she said, as she quickly checked the buttons of her blouse, “this isn’t what you think.”

  “Oh, yes, it is!” His belly laugh bounced off the cinder-block walls as he looked from one parole officer to the other. “Mizz Kovacs! Marvelli the marvelous! You two are fooling no one.”

  Marvelli caught Loretta’s eye, looking for some help. Should he fess up or deny, deny, deny?

  “Let me explain,” Loretta said.

  “No need, my dear,” Julius said, cutting her off. “It’s plain as day and as dark as night. You two have been skulking around here for weeks, thinking no one knows. But love is blind, and you two need radar if you think people haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “What do you mean?” Marvelli said, trying to sound indignant.

  “Please, Marvelli, spare the DeNiro routine. It’s not your trip.”

  Marvelli looked at Loretta. There was no explaining their way out of it now, and they both knew it. “So now what?” he said to Julius. “You want one of us to quit?”

  Loretta sighed. “No one has to quit. I’ll put in for a transfer if that’s what you want, Julius.”

  But Julius just scowled at them both. “Are you out of your minds? It’s hard enough getting people to work in the Jump Squad. I don’t want either of you going anywhere.”

  “But you don’t mind that we’re—?” Marvelli didn’t exactly know how to phrase it.

  Julius cocked an eyebrow, and lines appeared on his forehead like Venetian blinds. “Yes, I very much do mind, Marvelli. Take the slap-and-tickle act somewhere else. You can be in love on your own time, not the state’s.”

  “I’m sorry,” Loretta said, frowning. “We’ll try to control ourselves in the future.”

  “How about controlling yourselves right now?” Julius said. “Look, people, I don’t want to be the love cop, but this goo-goo eyes stuff is bad for morale. The other POs have been talking. It looks like I’m running a sloppy operation around here. That ain’t good, people. Not for vous or moi.”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Marvelli said. A sinkhole was opening up in the pit of his stomach. This was just what he didn’t want to happen.

  “I hope you hear what I’m saying,” Julius said, “because I’m not so sure your ears are tuned in to my melody. We haven’t been playing in the same key lately.”

  Marvelli got defensive. “What do you mean? I’ve been getting my work done.”

  Julius pointed at the empty Arnie and Barry’s container on the floor. “It’s things like this that make me go atonal, Marvelli. What’s a jumper supposed to think when he gets locked up with your designer ice-cream trash? Our clients already have an acute sense of the have/have-not scene. They don’t need us rubbing their noses in it.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave it in here,” Marvelli said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Julius shot back. “This stuff’s all over the office. In the refrigerator, the wastepaper baskets, on the windowsills, on top of your desk. If you’re gonna OD on ice cream, can’t you do it just as well with the store brand?”

  Marvelli’s face started to get hot. He hadn’t been eating that much Arnie and Barry’s.

  “Look, you know I don’t like being the finger-wagger,” Julius said. “I’m a man of peace and beauty. This authority stuff goes against my grain. All I’m saying is shape up and do your jobs the way you used to so that we don’t have to have this little chat again. You picking up on what I’m putting down?”

  Marvelli and Loretta nodded glumly.

  “Now don’t go acting like Adam and Eve getting the big eviction notice. I’m not mad at either of you. I’m just giving you a heads up before I have to get mad.”

  “Got’cha,” Marvelli said.

  “We’ll behave,” Loretta said.


  “Amen then,” Julius said. “No more needs to be said.”

  A woman’s voice gradually drifted into the holding cells from the next room. She was singing, but there were no words, just dodos and dah-dahs. Still, Marvelli recognized the song right away—“Viva Las Vegas.” But when he suddenly realized who the husky mezzo was, his face sagged.

  “Julius!” the woman called out. “You back there, my man?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I got a jumper for you, J. A good one. And that ain’t all I got.”

  “Who’s that?” Loretta mouthed to Marvelli.

  “You don’t want to know,” he muttered.

  “Where are you, Julius? I got a lot to tell you.”

  Julius rolled his eyes. “I’m coming, Vissa, my sweet.”

  “Thankyouverymuch,” the woman said, drawling it out to make it sound like one word. It was actually a pretty good Elvis imitation.

  Too good, Marvelli thought.

  2

  Marvelli, Loretta, and Julius filed out of the holding pens and into the bright fluorescent lights of the main office like moles coming out of the ground. This was where the POs’ desks were lined up in two straight rows surrounded by dozens of file cabinets pushed up against the walls, each one bulging with case files. No one else had arrived for work yet. The only people in the office were this woman, who had just called out for Julius, and a tall skinny guy with his wrists cuffed in front of him. Loretta didn’t recognize either of them, though it was clear that the woman had apprehended the man. But the woman didn’t look like she was in law enforcement. She looked more like a lounge act.

  Loretta tried not to stare at her, but it was hard not to. The woman’s hair was jet black and voluminous—gravity-defying mounds of it encased her head and shoulders like whipped cream. Her lipstick was a shimmery pale pink, and it looked like she’d used a felt-tip pen for eyeliner. Her fingernails matched her lipstick, and the extensive collection of bracelets on both wrists jingled whenever she made the slightest movement. She was wearing black patent leather boots, skintight bell-bottom jeans, a hip-length black leather jacket, and a red velveteen scoop-neck top that showed off some considerable cleavage. But the odd thing about her was that the sum was greater than the garish parts. Somehow it all fell together and produced a very attractive person—even if she was a bit on the slutty side.