Angel of Mercy Read Online Free PDF

mentality seemed to permeate the very air and infect every visitor with the same sense of relaxation. Here and there he spotted young lovers walking arm and arm, window shopping and giggling. People sat out on the sidewalks casually dipping plastic spoons into cups of frozen yogurt or ate salads and burgers under the protection of cool mists that emanated from the edges of the ceilings and awnings.
    Frankie recalled how he and Jennie had first met in Palm Springs. They were both from larger cities, he from Los Angeles and she from San Diego. It had been something of a family foregone conclusion that he would work for his uncle in his uncle’s import-export business, but Frankie was always fascinated with police work. He had started with the LAPD as a foot pa patrolman, graduated to a black-and-white, and then quickly moved into plainclothes before he met Jennie while vacationing in Palm Springs with a few of his policemen buddies. She had come to live with her aunt and worked as a receptionist in the hotel where he and his friends were staying.
    It wasn’t love at first sight for Jennie, but it was for him. He pursued her relentlessly until she agreed to the first date and then, as she revealed later, she saw a side of him that wasn’t visible until she had spent some time with him. He was soft, gentle, and compassionate just under that crust of granite he dressed himself in every morning in order to function as a big-city policeman.
    Once they became serious, it was her decision that they live in Palm Springs.
    “I’ll marry a policeman,” she told him, “but not one who works in a big city.”
    At the time Palm Springs didn’t suffer from the same sort of criminal epidemic most of the bigger urban areas were experiencing. It was still small-time.
    Lately, however, with the growing population and the influx of poorer people, those old distinctions were fading quickly.
    But despite its coming-of-age problems, Palm Springs still had a fresh new face, at least on the main drag. There was a jewellike glitter to the sunlight that reflected off window panes, sidewalks, and expensive automobiles. Absent were the urban buildings defaced with the graffiti of madness sprayed in a frenzy by children of the ghetto searching for a way to achieve notoriety and meaning. There was little or no litter on the walks and streets. Some of the policemen wore shorts and rode bikes. Music emanated from sidewalk coffee bars, and the Plaza Theater at the center of town announced a follies review featuring a number of oldtime performers coaxed out of retirement.
    The traffic picked up toward the south end of town and Frankie accelerated down Palm Canyon Boulevard South into what was called the Indian Canyons, where they had their three-bedroom hacienda-style home with its lemon, orange, and grapefruit trees. It was located on the west end in an area adjacent to a plush new eighteen-hole golf course.
    A condo development had been constructed right beside them. It was a gated development of blue-roof-tiled structures with two swimming pools, carpetlike lawns and colorful gardens, four tennis courts and quaint walkways that wove from one end to the other. Lately Jennie had been verbalizing a desire to give up the house and move into one of those units, but up to now Frankie resisted anything that smacked of retirement.
    “I’m not old enough for golf yet,” Frankie had quipped. Now he seriously wondered if golf would be considered too strenuous for a man with his condition.
    They drove into their garage and entered the house through the kitchen.
    “Why don’t you just relax in the den, Frankie, and I’ll make us some lunch,” Jennie suggested the moment they had walked through the door.
    He scowled.
    “Don’t make me into a couch potato immediately, Jen,” he said.
    “I’m not. I just…”
    “I’ll be all right,” he assured her. She nodded and bit down on her lower lip as if to keep herself from saying another word.
    Frankie