It’s only been two days, but I’m missing Jessie.

It’s the first time we’ve spent time apart since we’ve been a couple. At least that’s true to the best of my recollection, but my recollections really aren’t anywhere near the “best.”

I order coffee from room service and call her, and it’s nice to hear her voice. “Have we ever been apart?” I ask. “I mean since we’ve been together?”

“You went on that white-water rafting trip in Maine,” she says. “And then there was the time that I went to Bermuda with my girlfriends.”

“Right. I mean except for those times.”

“You don’t remember them? Well, just so you’ll know, you loved white-water rafting. We said we were going to go together.”

“Sounds like fun.” I don’t know why I always get embarrassed by my inability to remember events. I obviously know intellectually that it was the result of a physical injury and it’s not my fault, but I can’t seem to wrap my defective head around that fact.

“I’ve got some good news on the investigation,” she said. “The judge approved everything, and we’re moving ahead. I’m even going to have the first look at Lewinsky’s emails tomorrow.”

“Great.”

“In addition to his private line in his office, there are two cell phone numbers in his name, his and his wife’s. Because he’s listed for each of them, I’ve included them both. Of course, it would be nice to know exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Well, first choice would be an email to Joey Silva saying ‘now that we’ve kidnapped Rita Carlisle, we can keep stealing drugs.’”

She laughs. “Got it. Anything else?”

“Anything related to the drug situation at the hospital would be ideal,” I say. “And certainly anything related to Carlisle or Silva. But it’s a long shot.”

“I’ll do my best. When are you coming home?”

“We’re going to talk to Tartaro in a little while, so maybe I can get a late-afternoon flight.”

“Will you come straight here? Bobo and I miss you.”

“Try and stop me,” I say.

I place a call to Nate, but he’s not in, so I leave a message that I’ll call him later. Then I go down to the buffet in the hotel, which is not remotely the rip-off that Roberts said it was. There is enough food there to feed the Russian Army, and not a single one of them would say nyet when presented with the chance to eat here.

As soon as I’m finished I head outside, and five minutes later Roberts pulls up. “Big day today,” he says. “Just so you’ll know, when we see Tartaro, it’s okay with me if you shoot the son of a bitch.”

We head for the Aria Hotel, and on the way I suggest that Roberts take a look at Harriman Hospital in terms of whether the same kind of drug thefts are taking place there that we think are going on at Bergen Hospital in New Jersey.

“Way ahead of you,” he says, meaning that they’re already on it. Roberts is a smart cop.

We get to the Aria and take the elevator to the top floor. According to Roberts, Tartaro has a home in Vegas but lives in the hotel almost exclusively. He has half a floor, and when we get off the elevator, we see one of Tartaro’s men acting as a security guard/bouncer.

Roberts shows his badge to the guy and says, “You’re doing a hell of a job.” We then just walk by him, and he doesn’t try to impede us.

“They know we’re coming?” I ask.

He nods. “I called and spoke to Dominic Romano; he’s Tartaro’s number two. He wasn’t happy about it, but he’d never say no.”

“Why not?”

“He knows I’d find an excuse to bring Tartaro down to the precinct and ask the questions there. The hotel is more to his liking.” Then, “This is not our first rodeo.”

As we approach the door, it opens and a man lets us in to what looks like a den. I suspect it’s just one room in a multi-room suite. “Hello, Dominic,” Roberts says. “Where’s your boss?”

“Right here.” It’s a man I assume to be Tartaro who has just entered from another room. Nobody really seems into doing introductions. “Lieutenant Roberts, always a pleasure to see you. This the Jersey cop?” Then, to me, “I was there about thirty years ago, did I forget to pay a parking ticket?”

I turn to Roberts. “You were right. He’s hilarious.”

“So what do you want, Jersey cop? I’m busy.”

This guy immediately gets on my nerves, as does Dominic, who stands to the side with a practiced sneer on his face. I shoot a glance to the terrace outside the sliding doors, and momentarily picture myself throwing them both over the rail and down to the street. It’s an impulse I probably should control.

“First let me tell you what I know. Then I’ll tell you what I want.” I sit down on the couch and make myself comfortable, even though I wasn’t invited to do so. Roberts goes to a refrigerator and takes out two Diet Cokes and hands me one.

“Make yourself at home,” Dominic says, insincerely.

“I know about Joey Silva ordering the hit on Shawn, I know about the drug thefts from the hospitals, I know about the business you’re doing with Silva, I know about Rita Carlisle, and I know about Janine Seraphin.”

Tartaro turns to Dominic. “What the hell is the Jersey cop talking about?”

Dominic shrugs and fakes a derisive laugh. “Beats the shit out of me.”

“I can’t prove any of it yet, at least not enough to take to a jury, but I’m getting close. What I care about, and what I want from you, is Silva.”

“Silva,” Tartaro says, not as a question, but as a statement. “I don’t believe I know a Silva.”

“Google him,” I say. “Then get me the proof I need, without implicating yourself. That’s what I want. I want Silva, not you.”

He points to Roberts. “What about you? What do you want?”

Roberts shrugs. “It’s his show.”

Tartaro says, “I give you Silva, and you leave me alone?”

I nod. “Right.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

“You won’t get another chance,” I say.

“You heard him, Jersey cop,” is Dominic’s response.

So we start to leave, and on the way out, Dominic comes up to me and says, “You’re a bigger asshole than Roberts.”

I feel an anger probably greater than any I’ve felt since I was shot. I grab Dominic by the shirt. Then I let my arms move to his sides, and I lift him up and half throw-half push him over a chair and onto the floor.

He jumps up and makes a motion to come toward me, but doesn’t. Not doing so is the smart move for him to make, because the next thing I’m going to throw him over is the terrace railing.

When we get on the elevator, Roberts smiles and says, “We have self-control issues, have we?”

I nod. “So I’m told.”