Kay doesn't tell John this, but the lunkhead she captures on the Eastern Shore is fucking beautiful.Like, a seedy drug-addicted cross between Rob Lowe, back when Kay and millions of other young girls got their panties wet for Rob Lowe, and that blue-eyed actor from "The Practice" that Ed Danvers never really understood why she watched. In some ways, Munch is right. Ed Danvers was smart enough to be almost stupid.
Kay, herself, though, is smart enough not to give off any signals where John can read them, because, like it or not, she has found herself keeper of all good cheer in Munchkinland, and it's a role, like many others, she doesn't take lightly.She just uses her Irish gift of gab to make it seem like she does. So far, he seems to believe her, and their times together have proven to be sweet and surprisingly addictive, although she never has the animal urges for him that this suspect brings out with his never-again, perfect, mid-twenties body.
In some porno movie in her mind, she wouldn't care if all she knew was some statistics on a rap sheet. She'd bring out some expensive yuppie jam and lick it off in the poolhouse, threatening to drop the dime instantly if he said anything...she shook her head to clear it, knowing she couldn't be that corrupt any more than she could be like those female cops that piss her off so much in movies, the ones that can't do their jobs because they're in dumb thrall to some suspect someplace.
Maybe it was the costume...the tiny skirt she was almost wearing, and the way having it hug her hips was making her walk, was making it hard to keep her mind on her business...she was even starting to notice that the perp's sister was beautiful, too, big worried brown eyes over naturally full lips...she'd gotten some female attention from those few brave recruits in her class, and she still sometimes wondered if she still had what it took to catch a young girl's eye. John never got tired of those stories, of course, and she's embroidered them sufficiently that she's no longer sure how much is true.
Not that whether she still had it goin' on was exactly the people's business, nor even the train to New York she was missing as she was dragging this coke-dealer criminal mastermind out from under his mama's queen-sized bed. As quickly as it came over her, the spell is broken.
The boy(for, in Kay's restored mind, that's what he is) knows the damage he could do with a crooked smile, and he aimed one at Kay, as if she would melt like every other woman he has ever met. The central truth of Kay Howard's life is that she can't really melt for a dude she doesn't respect.
Even by Kay's standards, the capture that follows is uniquely ferocious.