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Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 01

By: jezzaz



Hey Folks. A darker story for April this time. I wanted to try a BTB story, but with a twist. Where the hero doesn't magically write a best seller or turn his life around after being dumped on. It's about you and me, and what happens to us when we are shat on from a great height. There's sex, but it's more about the story than that.

Again, thanks to PennLady for the editing and pointing out where I suck. And there's a lot of that;)




He died in her arms, and she was shaking and crying frantically. She didn't even know his name, only that she owed him her life. She sat on the ground, clutching at his body, holding him, as she felt the warmth leave his body, with him staring up at her, trying to speak and only bloody foam leaving his mouth.

April had never seen anyone die before. She'd never watched the life leave the eyes, the face go slack and realize that this person, this set of memories and experiences and reactions would be gone forever.

It was cold, it was dark and it was a back alley. It probably wasn't the worst place to die, but it was probably up there in the top five.

That's where the EMTs found her: sitting on the ground, hunched over him, clutching at him desperately, crying and shaking. The attended to her, dragging her away from the body, and then attended to the other two people lying on the wet ground – it had rained earlier that day, before the sun went down, and the alley was still slick from it.

The alley itself was nothing special. Back doors to businesses, all mismatched, brick walls with graffiti on them, large garbage cans, cabling overhead. Exactly what you'd expect to find in a back alley way in any city in the world. Anonymous. Unspecial. And for one man, deadly.

The EMT's took April to the back of one of their red ambulances, to wait for the police to arrive. They gave her coffee and a blanket and recognized the onset of shock. She didn't stop shaking and asking inane questions. The EMT's were used to that – it didn't phase them at all.

Eventually the cops arrived, and with it, Detective Ambrose Hillier. Ambrose was thirty-seven, looked forty-five, was tired and grouchy and didn't want to be in a dark alleyway with a dead John Doe. He'd gone through a nasty divorce the year before and he'd only just started out dating again, and on the second date, the call had come through and here he was. 

He was probably never going to see Mercy again – she'd made it clear were she thought his priorities should be – and in some ways, it was a good thing, because the life of a homicide detective meant there would be lots of missed nights, so better to find out she had no stomach for that now than later.

He pulled up his pants again –in the last year he'd lost thirty pounds and none of his clothes fit properly any more, but he was damned if he was going to wear suspenders like his colleagues. He knew he looked slovenly enough, with adding to the impression.

Looking around, he saw the EMT's helping one man who was just recovering consciousness. He looked over at one of the other bodies and caught the eye of the EMT trying to help him – it was Harry Smiles. Harry looked up, saw Hillier looking at him and shook his head. No chance there then.

Hillier looked over at the other body, the one where the girl had been found. The EMT there was still working on the body, so Hillier walked over. He put his hand on the EMT's shoulder and startled her. She looked up, not stopping what she was doing with chest compression. There was no hope in her eyes; she was doing what all EMT's are duty bound to do, just in case. In this case, there was no just in case, but she was contentious and so she was doing it anyway. He noticed her eyes were extremely blue and she had blond hair coming out of her cap that was jammed on her head. It was strange, the things you noticed in these circumstances – what leapt out at you.

He looked around and saw the girl, the victim, sitting over at the edge of one of the ambulances. She was pretty. Tall, slim, well dressed, blond short hair, cut in a page boy style. Diamond earrings, expensive shoes. Blanket that had been put around her shoulders that was now sitting on the floor. Very out of her element, he judged. He headed towards her, being stopped on the way by one of the uniforms swarming around. 

"Hey, Detective," he said. It was Paul Savage. Good cop. Did the whole Blue Knight thing, knew everyone in the neighborhood and they knew him. It was nice but it didn't mean squat. No one around this particular part of the neighborhood would talk to him about things they didn't want to talk about, regardless of how he swung his truncheon. This was 2015, not 1956. Still, he was solid. If he told you something, it was so.

"What do we have, Paul? First impressions?" asked Hillier.

"Looks fairly open and shut, Detective. She," he gestured to where April was taking another sip of coffee and looking right at him, "was mugged by three ne'er-do wells. Two of them are still here, but one got away. I haven't got out of her what she was doing in an alleyway like this – rich girl like her – but according to her, these three jumped her. 

"She takes some kind of martial arts and was fighting back. She took out one guy and was about to deal with another when our John Doe back there appeared. From what she says, even though she dealt with one, and was facing off against another, the third managed to get behind her, and was armed with a knife. She didn't know. 

"This guy," he gestured to the body on the ground, "appeared, jumped on the guy with the knife and took him to the ground. He dropped something, and we picked it up; it's in my squad car. Just a bag of old clothes. Anyway, she belted the other guy, and kicked him the nuts. By then, our perp with the knife was up and had already stabbed this guy twice. Somehow he managed to get the knife away from him – we found it in the corner, and the guy with the knife then did a runner. 

"Our John Doe tried to get the girl out of the alley and collapsed on the way. He died in her arms. She has no clue who he is. She says he just appeared and saved her life. She's pretty shaken up; obviously. That's how it's reported and frankly, it looks that way. She broke the other guy's neck, by the way. He's alive but he'll never walk again. And the other guy is protesting about how he was attacked out of the blue. 

"But we've got video from two different angles," Savage pointed out two different cameras mounted on the walls, "and what's more, one of them is even an infrared camera. It's all exactly as she said. There's no incitement here; it's a clear case of stand-your-ground. We still don't know why she was here or why they jumped her, but in terms of events, it's exactly as she said," Savage finished.

"Witnesses?" asked Hillier.

"None yet. And I don't really expect any. It's late and it's a dark alley and most of these business are shut anyway. I think that's why they tried it on in the first place."

Hillier nodded. 

"Well, time to talk to the lady then. What's her name?"

"She is one April Carlisle. Thirty-two years old. Works as a clinical psychologist for some think tank downtown. Single."

Savage suppressed a small smile at that last statement. Hillier saw it and didn't respond. He knew his fledgling dating efforts were watched with great amusement by the department, but right now he didn't care. This was a murder scene. Time enough for the funnies later. He just looked at Savage with a hard stare and Savage looked away.

He walked over to April, aware that she was studying him.

"Miss Carlisle?" he said.

She nodded and looked around for somewhere to put down the now-cold coffee. She couldn't find anywhere to hand, and just put it on the ground, by the Ambulance wheels.

She looked back at Hillier and he was aware of how good-looking she was. Groomed was the word. Hair perfect. Perfect application of makeup, apart from the ugly bruise on her cheek and the marks on her neck.

"Can you tell me what happened here please, Miss?" asked Hillier. At times like this, you used as little words as you could. Let them fill in the blanks and the silences. Often they said more than they meant to.

She said nothing, tilted her head and studied him. A full minute passed.

"Miss?" he prompted.

"Does it still hurt? Being dumped?" she asked out of the blue. "You aren't over it yet, are you?"

Ambrose Hillier stood stock still, not knowing what to do or respond.

"It's ok. It's a bit obvious. Your friend over there looks over at me, has a little smirk and you have a face like stone. Obviously something going on there. Then there's your clothes. They don't fit, so obviously something changed recently. But no woman would allow you out looking like that, so there's no woman. But at your age, no woman? Good looking man like you? There had to be a woman. So something happened, you lost weight, you are dressing like a bum. Obvious really."

Hillier took a deep breath and buried his initial response. "Be that as it may, Miss, we need to talk about what happened here."

"Yes, of course," said April. She also took a deep breath. "As I said to the other guy, I got jumped by those delightful gentlemen."

Hillier could see she was getting herself under control. Just in the few short minutes he'd been on the scene, she'd stopped shivering and was breathing easier and the color was returning to her cheeks. 'This was a tough one,' he thought.

"What were you doing in this alley anyway? This time of night? Hardly a time for window shopping."

She smiled at that. It was an alluring and wicked smile and he could see how this woman could incite men.

"I was buying crack. What do you think I was doing here?" she answered sarcastically.

"For all I know, you were buying crack. Look at yourself. You don't belong here. So I ask again. What were you doing here?"

She sighed and nodded at a door two buildings down. A red door.

"That's the back of the Mongolian Palace. I have a deal with one of the cooks there. I like my Mongolian beef made a certain way, they do it for me. I pick it up at the back. The boss there doesn't like them to do anything special for customers, so we have to indulge in the cloak and dagger for me to get it. The cook's name is Peng Lo. By all means go and check into it."

She was relaxed as she said it, and didn't look up while recalling the details, only meeting his eyes once she was done. It was either true or she was one hell of a liar. 

Hillier didn't like the way she was looking at him. More like looking right through him.

Hillier made a show of looking around. "Where's your car?"

"Round the corner. It's a late model Nissan Z Convertible. There is no way I am leaving it running in an alleyway like this. I left it on the street. Your guys have already gone to look at it," she replied. She was amused. No, she was impatient. She knew he had to go through all this, and she just wanted to get on with it and get to what she wanted to talk about. He could tell. She was good at not showing what she was thinking but she wasn't that good. Not the kind of good you need to be to hide from an observant man who'd spent almost eighteen years as a cop.

"Ok," said Hillier, noting down a few things. He still used a notebook, even though his iPhone in his pocket was recording everything anyway. He liked to give them impression he was old-fashioned even though he loved new technology. Anything for people to underestimate you. "So, walk me through it."

April got up and walked to the entrance of the alley, which was still wet enough to reflect light off the ground from the yellow sodium street lights of the main street.

"I walked in from here. I got to about here,.." she walked a few steps, "and they came out from behind that dumpster over there." She gestured to a group of three dumpsters, arranged in a quad.

"They surrounded me, giving me all that 'Hey babe' shit. I mean, it's like it was the start of one of those super hero movies, where the girl gets mugged and the superhero shows himself for the first time. I half expected to see Batman or the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles show up."

She was making quips. She was even more composed than he had thought. An hour ago she'd watched a man die in her arms, and now she was making witticisms. This girl was tough.

"Anyway, I took my heels off – when you are in a fight, you don't want heels on. Trust me on this."

She had been trained then. People don't know stuff like that just naturally. They have to be told and they have to be told repeatedly so they remember in the heat of the situation.

"One of them got behind me, and jumped on me from behind. He got his arm around my neck – you can see the bruises. The other one tried to get my bag, and I let him, just so I could get him in the right position. He grabbed the bag, fell a bit backward since he thought I'd be holding on to it tight, and was in the perfect position, so I kicked him the in balls. Hard. Fucking hurt my toes, let me tell you, but it was a perfect kick. Very squishy." April smiled ghoulishly and Hillier couldn't help grimacing and feeling the need to adjust his balls. 

"He went down like the sack of shit he is," she continued, "and then I dealt with the guy behind. I pushed up, which made him push down, and I went down with him and stamped on his instep. That made he let go, and I turned on my toe and then punched him as hard as I could. The guy literally flew. I turned back again, to see where the other guy was and saw he was coming right at me, running full tilt. I just got out of the way in time – he connected with a flailing arm – you can see the bruise here, and then ran full tilt into the brick wall. I think he broke his neck when he hit. The EMT's say he broke it. Too fucking bad. Don't run at people with intent to harm, you know?"

She stopped talking for a second, looking at the wall and the small blood splat which indicated where the hapless mugger had run himself into paralysis. She also seemed aware she was babbling a bit. Hillier noted that she was still rattled and her calm was only on the surface. .

After taking another breath, she said, "That's when my hero jumped in. The guy I'd kicked in the balls was just starting to get up, but the other guy, who I punched, was already up and ready to get back in the game. I didn't even know it – he was behind me and I was looking at the guy on the floor. Next thing I know there's a thump and a feeling of wind behind me and the John Doe was on top of the guy with the knife. I turned to help and got tripped by Mr. Happy Sacks over there, who grabbed my foot. I could see my guy on top of the guy with the knife, and the guy stabbing him, repeatedly, in the side. I think he was being stabbed in the lungs. I kicked Mr. Scrotum in the face and he went out, and got up and scrambled over to where my guy had been pushed off the guy with the knife, who'd managed to get to his feet. He just stood there, looking at the scene, looked at me and took off. I think my guy got his knife – something clattered over in the corner there."

She stopped again and bit her thumbnail. In any other situation it would have been adorable. In this one it just made her look young and small and frightened, and with good reason.

"The guy, John Doe, tried to get up. For Christ's sake, the guy had been stabbed, repeatedly, and he tried to get up and help me! Fuck. Where do they make men like that? I wanna go there. He was almost dead and all he could think of was to help me? Jesus Christ."

She was starting to lose it. Hillier had to do something.

"Miss Carlisle. Lets take a second. I have some questions and we can get back to it in a second, ok? Take a breath."

April was breathing heavily and couldn't take her eyes off where the body was being loaded into a body bag and onto a gurney by the morgue staff, who'd finally turned up and been granted access by the forensic guys.

She nodded and her breathing slowed.

"Sorry. It's just..."

"Yeah, I know. It's a heavy thing. It really is. Take your time." Hillier had no idea what he was saying, he just wanted, - no needed -, her to calm down. In the interim he took notes, jotting down random words of his impression of the moment.



April opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, then said, "Why are you doing that? Why bother? You're recording it all anyway."

He stopped writing and looked over the notebook at her and said, "What makes you say that?"

She looked away and said, "Either you were playing with yourself before you came over to talk to me, or you were fiddling with some thing in your pocket. If I had to guess, it was a recording device. Certainly fits, because the amount I've said and the amount you've written down is not even remotely comparable. Ergo, must be a recorder."

He closed the notebook and smiled tightly at her. Way too smart for her own good.

"So, what do you think they wanted?" he asked her.

"I dunno. Money? Me? Both? Who the hell knows? They aren't going to say, are they?"

"No, perhaps not."

They just stood and stared at each other for a moment.

"You got any idea who he is?"

"Nope. And neither do you, or you wouldn't be asking."

"He had no ID. No wallet, no dog tags. Nothing."

"Well, shit," said April, realizing how rattled she really was by using so many swear words in one go, "there's a lot we can tell."

"Oh really?" he answered sarcastically. "OK then, Sherlock, you tell me what you see. I'm all ears. Us idiot cops can use all the help we can get, so we can." 

She looked at him strangely, and then said, "Ok, you wanna be a dick about it, fine. Firstly, he's single. He's a mess – he has no one to impress or dress for. Like you, for that matter. Secondly, he's not trained to fight hand to hand in this kind of situation, or at least not recently anyway, but he has courage. He just jumped in there with no second thoughts. Another reason to believe he's single. It's unlikely someone with a woman or family at home would do that. Thirdly, a man who feels a social conscience like he did had to be involved in other things. Helping people out, donations, something like that. This is a man who threw himself in to save me..." she faltered for a second and then continued, "even when it cost him his life. A man like that helps people. I'll put even money that when you find out who he is, you'll find a history of him helping people."

She looked defiantly at Hillier, who stared back. He agreed with most of what she said and some of it he'd not actually thought of himself.

"So, you've been trained, right? What kind of psychologist are you?" he asked.

She smiled back at him. There was no humor in it, just satisfaction. "It's a personal thing. My dad, well, Uncle, well, Dad – it's complicated - made me take aikido and karate as a kid. I still run and play volleyball and I do katas occasionally. This is the first time I've ever used it. It's good to know it works."

"Mostly," said Hillier, nodding at the hearse, which was just leaving.

April bit her lip and looked down. And then said sharply, "MOTHERFUCKER..." and held her hand up to her lip. There was blood when she moved her fingers away and looked at them. "I knew he hit me, but damn..."

Hillier didn't smile, but turned and indicated for one of the EMT's to come over and help out.

April was taken over to the ambulance and breathed a sigh of relief that the nosey cop wasn't asking more questions. She'd been extremely pleased that she'd almost not lied at all to him about the events of the evening. Given what she did for a living, it was almost impossible that the situations of the night had nothing to do with what she did, but in this case, implausibly, they hadn't. It had been exactly as she had described it. She wasn't on a case, she was on vacation. The guys had come out of nowhere and she'd just reacted. And someone had died over it.


Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 01



She put her hand in her pocket and twisted on the key she had in there. As the man was dying, he'd put the key in her hand. She'd take the last moments of his life with her to her death, she knew. She'd run over to him, dropped onto the ground, not heeding what it did to her expensive skirt and gathered him up on her lap, trying to talk to him and keep him with her. She'd grabbed her cell phone and made a very fast 911 call, and then just sat there, talking to him. He tried to talk to her, looking her in the eye, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was thin bubbly blood, and she could see him trying to take breaths that didn't seem to work.

She just sat there, talking to him, telling him it was going to be all right, that he wasn't alone, that she wasn't going anywhere, that she was so thankful for her life, that he had intervened, and then she watched the light go out of his eyes and she felt such grief, such pain, and such numbness, all at the same time.

And then the cops and EMT's were there and she was sitting on the back of an ambulance, wondering what her rescuer's name was, and whether he had someone. She would find out. She was good at that.

The EMT took her back to the ambulance and took a look at her lip, giving her some small slurry that would encourage healing or, as he put it, "Frankly, your saliva has more stuff in it that will promote healing than this shit has. But it'll stop you bleeding now, and that's good enough."

Once he was done, Hillier was hovering again.

"Ok, Detective, what else can I tell you?" she said, exasperation starting to show through.

He held up his hands in supplication. "Questions are over for now. We'll need you to come down and give us an official statement some time in the next couple of days, but right now, I think we have all we need."

He looked at her closer and said, "Do you have a friends? Local? Who might be in the same game you are?"

She looked at him and nodded.

"Ok," he continued, "here's what I want you to do. Pull out your phone and call me right now."

She smiled at that. A transparent ploy to ensure he had her number. She couldn't blame him. 

"Yeah, ok. I don't date cops though," she retorted drily. But then she tapped in his number and heard his pocket trill. So it was a smart phone recording not an actual recorder.

"Yeah, like I'd to date you. Or you me. Waking up with you would be like a full on analysis of which side of the bed I was on. I'd be afraid to sneeze around you, for what you'd read into it. Right, now call that friend. Right now. In front of me."

April started to protest when he said, "Or I can just recommend you be taken to the hospital for observation, and then insist you come down to the station right now. Your choice."

April narrowed her eyes at him and said, "Really?"

Hillier smiled a wry smile and said, "Look, if you are anything like any other profession, now that you need your own services, you'll dither, make excuses and generally fuck up your own diagnosis. They say the lawyer who represents himself has an idiot for a client. So call."

April could see the logic. She didn't like it, but she could see it. She looked through her list of contacts, and selected Desirea McGee. She wanted Megan, but she was currently out in the field. Desirea would do. She was less of a friend and more of a boss, but she was also a PhD in clinical psychology, and as such, probably the best person to call. 

She dialed and after four rings, Desirea answered.

"Hey Des," she said, "look, something has come up here, I kinda need to talk to someone...yeah. Is there any chance... yeah, my place. Sure? That's ok? I'm not taking you away from anything...?"

The moment she started talking, Hillier snapped his fingers at her, gesturing for the phone. April kept staring at him as she continued the conversation.

"Give me the phone please," he said firmly.

April looked at him, debating, until she just gave it to him.

He held it up to his ear and said, "Hello Ma'am. This is Detective Ambrose Hillier of the 17th precinct. I'm really sorry to barge in on this conversation like this. Am I right in understanding you work for the same outfit as our Ms. Carlisle here?...Yes?...Good. I don't want to alarm you, but you should have some background, because unless I miss my guess when you come over, Miss Carlisle will feed you some rubbish and send you on your way. 

"Miss Carlisle was the victim of an attempted mugging and potential homicide attempt tonight...no, she's fine. The muggers aren't though, and neither is a bystander who attempted to defend her. No, he's dead I'm afraid.... Yes, you can imagine. I need to be sure there is someone with her tonight. She'll need it later. Yes, thanks. Here she is."

He handed the phone back to April, who was extremely pissed.

She took the phone and said, "Sure, yeah, I'm fine Des. Yeah, I'll see you in fifteen. I'll be there. Yes." She ended the call, then hissed at Hillier, "You did NOT have to do that."

He just looked at her. "Sure I did. And tomorrow you'll understand that I did. Hell, if you were thinking and not emoting right now, you'd see it now. Right now though, Miss Carlisle, you need to go home, take a long shower, have a hell of a drink and talk to your friend. I'll be in touch. Now go home. And be grateful. You are still here. This poor bastard is not. Don't blame yourself, you didn't ask him to get involved. He decided to do that, for better or worse. Be grateful and do not feel guilty. Easier said that done, but it's the truth and you are smart enough to know that. Either way, here is my card. My info is on there if you remember anything else."

He offered the card to April, who just stared at him for a moment, before snatching it out of his hand and then pushing off and walking off towards the entrance to the alley and her car.

She didn't look back. Hillier stared after her, appreciating her lines, but then shook his head and turned away and called for Savage.

*****

I don't know why I am still writing this. Marianne said it would help, but that was years ago. I mean, who the hell is going to read this? Who cares? The daily doings of a man's wasted life. If this is helping though, I have to wonder how bad would it be if I wasn't doing this?

I suppose it's therapeutic. Not really sure, but it's like a habit now. It's funny though, when I write the events of my life in here, it makes it less...pointless? Wasted? I dunno what the word is. Tara would have known. She always knew the right word.

It's funny to think that this document is probably going to end up being the only proof that I even existed and no one will ever read it. No kids, two failed marriages, bankrupt business. I don't have any friends, apart from Mr. Beam and Mr. Daniels, and Maximum the Dog. It's weird to go through life knowing that no one gives a shit if you live or die. That your presence here has so not influenced anyone or anything. I can't decide if I should be thankful or depressed. Well, that's what Jim Beam is for.

So I need to go into town today. It's Donnelly day. They should have some more stuff I can pass onto the Salvation Army group. I may have been vilified for that days work, but not by everyone. And my luck is their luck I guess. Have to have something good come out of it. Silver linings and all that. Maximum will be fine while I am gone. He's a good mutt, I've said it before. I don't think I'd manage to continue without him. He keeps looking at me and coming to get affection. It's weird, but hey, when someone loves you and wants you to love them, well, that's about the best thing in the world. You don't look that horse in the mouth. God knows, my life is the poster child for that.

*****

Desirea was already waiting outside April's apartment complex when she got there, fifteen minutes later. She drove a red Lexus, and April could see it parked right in front. She drove into the parking garage under the building and walked up to let Desirea in.

"You ok?" were Desirea's first words.

"What do you think?" answered April, more testily than she intended.

"I think you need a stiff drink. Hell, I need a stiff drink. You need to tell me what happened and we both know you need to talk about how you feel about it, whether you want to or not."

So that's how it was. Professional Desirea made an appearance. It was hard for April to blame her – it's exactly what she would have said had the positions been reversed, but it wasn't and she didn't want to talk. Which probably meant she really needed to. Or something. It was complicated. April was smart enough to know she probably wasn't making terrific decisions right now. Time to trust someone, and Desirea was elected.

They both went inside, and Desirea went straight to the drinks cabinet, not even bothering to ask April what she wanted. She fixed her a Jameson on the rocks – a double – and made herself one at the same time.

She took it over to where April was sitting on the couch, trying very hard to make herself as small as possible and handed it to her. April looked up and said, "Thanks."

Desirea could see that April was heading into the first stages of post shock, and needed to keep her both warm and coherent. "Got a blanket?" she asked.

April nodded at a large wooden bench that opened, and Desirea found two quilts inside. She took them both out and gave one to April, who wrapped herself in it, staring in front of her at nothing.

"Ok, work shit first. What did you tell the cops about what you do?"

This was a big question. April worked for Ingrams & Associates, a semi-secret organization that provided clandestine therapy, usually sexual in nature. They had field agents – almost all PhD's in psychology and psychotherapy, who were also sexually trained. 

They went in to fix marital problems, relationship problems and situations where the recipients of the therapy would never either allow it or acknowledge it, but needed to be 'fixed', because of work or personal connections that wanted them to get treatment. Ingrams was good, very expensive, and used by governments and large business all over the world. They did a huge amount of research, formed a treatment plan, then sent in field agents to effect change on the part of the targets.

What they did was pretty much illegal, but that didn't stop almost every government employing them at some point or another.

April was a field agent for Ingrams, and had been for the past three years. She'd helped put marriages back together, or – in one case – ensuring a marriage dissolved. She'd helped people overcome infidelity, betrayal, manipulation, facing their fantasies, and in the process she'd stopped one government being toppled, helped several treaties get written and in her favorite case, taken down a bank robber who was masquerading as a stripper. She had access to a state-of-the-art Research department, and several of the more esoteric spy gadgets. She was trained to defend herself, as was evidenced by her ability that evening.

What the police was told in any official capacity needed to be reported to Ingrams, so they could prepare a cover story to cope with it. It was standard procedure to report any official organization contact, just so Ingrams could watch for fall out.

"I gave them the standard story. Head shrinker for a think tank." This was the standard response to official enquiries. Some truth mixed in with omission. 

"Ok, good. Now, are you on mission?" asked Desirea. "Was this blowback from a mission?"

"I doubt it. I've just gotten back from Baton Rouge. Jessica asked me to look over a potential recruit who is publishing papers there. I am officially on vacation. This event this evening did not have any relation to any mission I'm aware of. It's just bad luck," April responded, tossing down the rest of her drink.

"Well, that makes it easier to deal with officially. Ok. So not work related. What's the word on the recruit?"

"Not going to fly. It's not one person, it's a group of them publishing this under the name of a student there that was drummed out last semester. Unless we hire all of them – and I don't think any of them are Ingrams material – then we are out of luck."

Desirea nodded at that. Ninety percent of the investigations they did into potential recruits came back as 'no hires'. This particular situation was no surprise.

"So. How are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm fine," said April.

"No, you aren't. A man died in your arms tonight, April. You know as well as any the kind of emotional and mental damage that can do to you," Desirea replied calmly.

"I know. I don't even know his name. He died for me, and I don't even know his name."

"OK, I'm going to recommend a couple of weeks off for you over and above the vacation time, ok? Full pay. I want you to come in and see Dermott and probably me, on a two-day basis. We need to talk this through. This could come out in a very sticky situation in the field, and we need some degree of closure on this. You can see that, right?"

April wasn't listening. "I didn't even know his name. But I will." April hunched forward on the couch and stared into Desirea's eyes. "I will know everything about this man. And I will find someone of his. Some relative. And I will help them. And I will find the man who killed him and I will make him pay. I owe this man my life and by God, I pay my debts."

Desirea pursed her lips and considered what April was saying. She was displaying some degree of mania, but she was also in shock. Having a project like this could well be what she needed. Something to focus on, but something that was related to the reason for obsession. It was probably better than having her sit at home, moping. And April was a capable field agent. If she said she was going to find out about this man, she would.

"Ok. I can see how you'd need this – I know I would. I'm giving you Ingrams' support if you need it. You have two weeks. But no collaboration with the local cops, ok? I don't want awkward questions about where you are getting your information."

April looked at Desirea as though hearing her for the first time, and then nodded. "Understood."

"I still want you to stop by in a couple of days to talk to Dermot and me, ok? Now. One more drink, then you need to take a shower. Do you want me to stay?"

April understood what was being asked. If an Ingrams' agent asked if you wanted them to stay, what they were really asking was 'Do you want to cum repeatedly this evening under my extremely trained hands?' Due to what they did, most of the agents found external relationships almost impossible to pursue while they were still field agents. Aprl had first hand experience of that. They could never explain themselves and if some of their professional work was discovered, there was no chance of a relationship surviving that. So they tended to date among themselves in a very casual way. Sharing sex, to them, was like bringing a potluck meal to a party.

April was no stranger to female love, but that night, she just wasn't in the mood. "Thanks, but no. I appreciate the offer, but I can't get into that mindset."

Desirea nodded. "Ok. Drink. Then shower. Then bed. Alone, if you must," she pouted, in a faked way.

April smiled, for the first time that night.

"Next time, I promise."

*****

The next day, April woke late, having had many small minor nightmares, all involving a man with no face being shot in front of her. She'd got up, had some hot milk, gone back to bed and had another one. Eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep. She had no idea why he was being shot – her man had been stabbed. She was aware enough that the dreams were just that, dreams. The confused ramblings of a tired mind that pieced together random events and tried to construct narrative around them. Not something to pay too much attention to unless they were repeated.

At eleven, she got a text from Hillier, asking her to drop by so she could give an official statement. She arrived at midday, and spent an hour going over her statement in a witness room.

After she finished, Hillier invited her to lunch. As they exited the station, Hillier saw her Nissan Z Convertible and raised his eyebrows. "So the head shrinking game pays well then? How small do you shrink the heads to get paid like that?" 

April just smiled back and said facetiously, "I'm just that good." 

Hillier took her to a local ribs place, and studied her as they waited for their orders. This was a very different woman from last night. April was composed, well made up, calm and curious about him.

"So, lets get straight into it," Hillier said. "The likelihood of us finding the guy that killed this man is very low. We have a good idea who it is – the other two always traveled with a third guy, Hector Gonzales. But we asked around today, and he's gone. Long gone. Took off last night. We think he's either in Mexico by now, or Paraguay. Finding the details on our John Doe might also be hard—"

Their order arrived and Hillier stopped while the food was put on the table. When the waiter left, he hesitated after seeing the expression on April's face.

"So that's it? He died, case closed? What the fuck, Ambrose?" It was the first time she'd used his first name, and he liked it. After a second he shook himself mentally. He could not get involved, and he also judged she wouldn't want to.

He sighed. "The thing is April, it's not about desire. It's about resources. This guy is dead. Yeah, it sucks what happened to him, but he put himself in that situation. Sure, we could throw resources at him, but if we find out who he is, then what? Did we solve anything? Is anyone better off? For the cost of all that effort? The bottom line here is that my captain, who is trying to make lieutenant just doesn't see this as a priority. Sure, finding murderers is what we do, but the bottom line here is that it's just very unlikely we'll find the guy who did it. He's long gone and he won't be back."

April couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"This man saved my life. What does it take for a little justice for him? A blowjob? Is that what it takes?" April was being deliberately crass, but she didn't care. She was pissed.

Hillier ate some of his ribs and wiped his mouth. "Chance would be a fine thing, but my dick would likely drop off if you tackled it. Look, April. I didn't say we weren't going to try. I am just trying to let you know that there's a good chance we won't resolve it, at least to your satisfaction."

"I think you need to do better than that. What if there is a wife waiting for him? Fucking. Do. Your. Job" she said, poking at him with a rib, that she then ate.

"Well, I can tell you something," said Hillier, "he was military at some point. He has a tattoo that we think is from an artillery group from back in the '90s. We're hoping that will lead us somewhere."

Now it was April's turn to think. She had the key, and hadn't mentioned it yet. She had a lead, and now he had his. She wanted to know what he discovered, but she was also mindful of the warning from Desirea, so she just nodded.

"If we find out anything, I promise to let you know, ok?"

April just nodded at him again, not trusting herself to speak again. They finished their ribs in silence.

*****

I got a note from Old Man Donnelly a couple of days ago, via the P.O. box at the post office in town. He asked me to stop by and said he was sorry things had worked out the way they had. His kid had no ill feelings towards me – as such he shouldn't I would have thought - he's still breathing because of me - but I just didn't say anything. No point in getting belligerent. Been there, done that, got me nowhere.

Anyway, upshot was that he runs a bunch of dry cleaners in town. He says that people leave their clothes there all the time, and they usually just throw them out. I could see he was groping for words. Upshot was that he offered me everything that was over six weeks old, left at their stores. I could see he thought that I needed this charity. I don't, but there are plenty of people who do, so I said yes. I'd pick them up once a month and then run them around to the various Salvation Army outlets and battered wives shelters. He doesn't need to know where they are going, and they'll be grateful for whatever is given.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 01



*****

It was the next day. April was up early and touring the soup kitchens and homeless shelters in a five mile radius of where her John Doe had been murdered. She had a plan and she was going to execute it.

She'd already driven around, looking for a likely car that the key she was given would fit in, but found one multi-story parking lot and two flat lot car parks full of cars within walking distance. She could try going back, day to day, to see which cars had not moved, but that would take too long. She had a plan to figure out which one it was much faster. The key she had wasn't a remote, so she couldn't just drive around clicking it, although it did mean the car was older. But given the sheer number of cars in the lots, it was just too much.

She'd seen the package that her guy had dropped when Hillier had been told about it, and she knew what it was for. She also knew she couldn't talk to the place where her John Doe sprung from in the alley, since Hillier would be doing that, and she didn't want to tip her hand – even though once it was understood what the clothes were, it was obvious where he'd come from. Besides, she had another clue, in the key in her pocket. Her hand kept popping into her pocket and gripping it, to be sure she still had it.

She was on homeless shelter number four when she came up with the goods. It was a Salvation Army shelter, with some nuns in attendance. It was full of mostly women, some well dressed, some not. All had that pinched face look that comes from worry and not enough to eat. There was that strained vibe that comes from people who don't trust others much being forced together. Lots of stolen glances and people looking straight ahead. It had taken everything April had to smile and walk in and engage people in conversation.

Eventually she'd found a nun who knew who she was referring to – the mountain man, who dropped off clothes and blankets once a month to them.

"Oh yes, Joe!" the nun had exclaimed, a big smile on her face. "Such a nice man. So quiet, but always here. He drops off clothes and usually works with us doing odd jobs here in the shelter. He's one of the few men we allow in here – he's just so sad around women and he doesn't speak. He just fixes what we ask him to fix, doesn't talk to anyone, and leaves."

"Let me be sure we are speaking of the same person, Sister. Large man. Beard? Wearing flannel?"

"Oh yes, that's Joe. Very quiet, which is a shame. He has a lyrical voice. He told me he sang once."

April thought about how to ask the next question. "Sister, I hate to be nosey, but I'm a lawyer, and we have reason to believe this man might be someone we are looking for. A relative has died and we need to be sure we are looking for a man of this description. Can you tell me his last name? Where he might be living?"

The sister stopped ladling soup into waiting bowls and wrinkled her brow. "You know dear, I don't think I ever heard his last name? As you can imagine, last names are not used a whole lot here. Joe just showed up, helped and left. As to where he lived, I think he said something about living in the woods. I know it was out of the city. He always drove that beat up truck and it's always covered in mud. I think that must mean he lives somewhere muddy? Is that ok, dear? We don't tend to keep detailed records here."

April hesitated and said, "Anything more than that? I really need to locate him as soon as possible. What kind of truck does he drive?"

The nun poured soup into one more outstretched bowl and said, "No, I don't think so. It's a brown truck, at least I think it is, under all that mud. It's an older model – manual windows and so on. I honestly don't know more than that – just that he's a blessing in disguise for us here. When I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him. Although I'm not sure this is the man you are looking for."

"Why do you say that?" asked April, curiously. 

"Well, you mentioned relatives? Joe was alone in the world. He mentioned it a couple of times – that he was alone; no siblings or parents."

April could have kicked herself. Her story wasn't panning out. This was what happened when you went in unprepared. However, it had opened the door to find out more about him.

"So Joe wasn't married?" she asked, plunging on.

"No, not that I'm aware of. He once had dinner here with us and someone asked him about that. He gave them a stare that said a lot. He said something about 'Not again.' No, I don't think there was anyone at home waiting for him."

April smiled tightly and said, "Well, I won't keep you, sister. Keep up the good work," and got out of the shelter as fast as she could, before the nun asked for a business card or something to pass on.

*****

Two hours later she was standing in front of a battered old Ford pickup truck. It was in the corner of the second ground parking lot. It was, as reported, spattered with mud. So much so that the front windshield showed only clear glass where the wipers had been employed.

She stood, looking at it for a moment, trying to imagine the man who used this truck. It was at least thirty years old, before fuel injection and plastic bumpers. This one had chrome bumpers, or would have if it hadn't been covered in mud. 

She walked around the truck, peering in the bay in the back. There was nothing big there, just some blankets, a couple of gardening tools and a bag of mulch.

"Ok, girl. Time for some answers," she said to herself, and with that, she inserted the key into the lock on the driver's side. 

The door opened and she noted there were no creaks. It was well maintained, then. She pushed into the cab and sat there, drinking it all in. The leather seat – real leather she noted – was smooth from years of use. There was a tear on the surface of the seat that had been neatly stitched up. Before doing anything else, she slid the key into the ignition and turned the engine over. It started with no problems and as she sat there in the cab, she could feel almost no vibration.

This told her several things. Whoever her John Doe was, he had valued his possessions and treated them well. With a car as old as this, it would have a hundred vibrations, and he'd dealt with them all, up to re-setting the engine mounts, which are usually the first to go. He obviously cared about things, and cared about preventative maintenance.

She shut the engine off and took a deep breath. Somewhere in this car would be license and insurance information that would tell her who he was. She leaned over and rummaged in the glove compartment and hit pay dirt. There was license and insurance information in the name of one Julian Sullivan.

Julian. That was his name. Not Joe, Julian. Her savior was named Julian. April sat there for a full ten minutes just looking at his name, the guilt in her almost overwhelming her ability to think. 

The address was relatively local, and she took the insurance information with her as she jumped out of the vehicle.

She spent five minutes looking for a nail or a glass sliver, sharp enough to pop a tire. Eventually she found a rusty nail and jammed it into the side of the front drivers side tire, it giving a satisfying hiss as the air rushed out of it.

While that happened, she pulled out her phone and called a number she'd used before.

"Jimmy? Hey Jimmy. Listen, in a bind here. A car I have borrowed has a flat. Yeah, west side. I'll give you the address; can you drive by and pick it up? Brown ford pickup. License is B673-99. Thanks. Bill me and I'll come get it in a few days? Thanks, dude. Say hi to Samantha for me. Yeah, I would be here but I have a thing I have to be at. As it is it'll be hell finding a cab around here. No, don't worry. I can handle that. No, I'm fine. Will you stop worrying? That's great, thanks, Jimmy. I owe you again."

With that, she ended the call and stood looking at the truck again for a moment before murmuring, "I'm going to make it better. I swear. I'm sorry. I will. I will make it better."

*****

Ambrose looked up as Gene Anthony hovered over his desk. It was a matter of office conversation about how Gene could hover. He hovered better than anyone had any right to. He could stand by your desk, in your light, yet make it seem like he wasn't there to talk to you, until you noticed him, when he suddenly lit up and said hi. 

It was weird but most everyone in the station put up with it, because Gene came to them, which meant they didn't have to go to him. As a coroner, his place of work wasn't the most popular, even if Gene was considered harmless.

"Something for me, Gene?" asked Ambrose, leaning back and stretching. His spine popped in ways he didn't like to hear.

"Oh hi, Ambrose! Good to see you," said Gene in his nervous way. That was another thing. He was always nervous, and yet no one could figure out why. The man was one of the best coroners the city had ever had – his hunches almost always paid out, his paper work was immaculate and he was conscientious. Like Paul Savage, the cop from the other night, if he said something was so, it was so. You could take that to the bank. 

"Yes, so, I just got done on the John Doe. The report is here," he said, offering Ambrose a folder with papers in it. Ambrose took it and flipped it open, still looking at Gene. 

"Anything unusual?"

"No, not really. He died of suffocation, brought on by stabbing that pierced both lungs. He was relatively fit, had somewhat high cholesterol, his liver shows signs of some heavy drinking but his blood test shows clear, no drugs or alcohol. He might drink, but whatever he was doing when he was killed, he was sober as a judge. 

"There are two major scars, both bullet wounds. One in the shoulder and one in the hip. The one in the hip would also have damaged his pelvis, and there are signs of reconstructive surgery on it. I would put them both at over fifteen years old. He has a tattoo on the right shoulder, but it's not something I've seen before. I think it's military related – I've seen similar types of things before -, but I wouldn't bet on it. It's a got a Latin phrase on it but I've no idea what it means. I hated Latin at medical school. His last meal was a fast-food burger and a coke. That's about it, I think."

"Ok, I'm going to give the VA a call, do you have photos of the tattoo? I was thinking they might be able to ID it, perhaps even our guy."

"They're on the back pages, along with a CD with the images I took on it," replied Gene.

"That's great, Gene. Thanks." Ambrose turned his attention to the file, and then realized that Gene was still hovering. "Something else?"

"Um. I dunno. I think this guy... I dunno what it is. I think he's ex-military. I think he's Gulf war? He got shot. The wounds are indicative of combat, not gang-related. Gangs do headshots, whoever shot him was trained because of the location. If he is military... I..."

Hillier pulled his glasses off and looked at Gene, sympathetically. He knew what this was about. Gene Anthony had an older brother, who had been killed by a roadside bomb early on in the Iraq conflict. He held every serviceman in awe and was constantly looking for justice for all of them, for his brother.

Hillier said gently, "Gene, if he is, you'll be the first to know. I'll keep you up on this the whole way, ok?"

"Thank Ambrose. I just...well, I just want to be sure the effort is put in, you know?"

Hillier smiled at him and said, "Sure thing Gene. You know I will. For you."

Gene smiled back and turned to go.

Hillier sat back and wondered at this simple ID case. What was it about this guy that inspired effort? First April, now Gene? He grunted and went back to his desk, looking through his rolodex for the number for the local VA office.



Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 02



Today was the last day of the inquest. The verdict was death by misadventure. That Todd kid, I dunno. He sure see's things differently from me. He spent an hour telling everyone how I should have saved them all. That it was my fault. That I was perving out by following them, that I'm some sort of twisted nutcase. I tried to point out that the only reason I was there was because I was fishing, and there isn't anyone else there after dusk, so there's no one else to disturb the waters. Well, until that little group showed up, anyway.

I explained that I only jumped in when the branch they were swinging from broke – the three of them went tumbling into the shallows. It was obvious that they were hurt – it's strange how drowning looks. It doesn't look like it does in the movies. But I knew. I jumped in and grabbed one and got him out, and then other one, and then the third one. Sure, I wasn't gentle, but at that moment I was just panicking. I needed to get them out, and fast.

So two survived and one did not. He broke his neck on a submerged log. I don't know how that was my fault, but somehow it became my fault, at least in the press. I think the ringleader – Todd Byerland – was terrified it would be pinned on him. He's the son of the local mayor, and he obviously dotes on him, so once again, I get the painting. The strange old guy that hardly speaks and looks like a mountain man. I'm not surprised. I'd be scared of me and I _am_ me.

I guess I'll just lie low – I'm just glad they got my name wrong. Tara won't find me... I'm not moving again. I've done that too many times just to get away from the way my life is. I'll just hide out. It won't be hard – no one knows where I live. No one really cares anyway. And why should they? One more burn out – why would anyone care? I wouldn't.

It's a strange thing to save a life and be told it's your fault that you didn't save them all. It's a strange thing to have to hide for doing something like this. But I don't regret it. Life is too precious, as Manny would have said. I miss Manny. I should look him up, send him a card or something. I don't even know if he's alive. It's been eight years since I last spoke to him.

It's just the way my life goes. C'est la vie.

*****

April guided the nose of her convertible into the parking lot of the Gettysburg Apartment complex. The building was old and run down, but in a leafy glade. There were lots of small nooks with trees and benches, and as she got out of the car, locking it, two kids, a boy and girl, ran past her, throwing apple pieces at each other. The boy was enjoying tormenting the small girl and she was screaming and loving every second of the attention. As the kids ran past, she smiled at them, wondering whose they were and thinking about her own biological clock.

After they were past, she looked around for the office signs, and saw them next to a sign about construction. Half of the parking lot was fenced off, and one of the apartment buildings in the complex was in the process of being razed.

She walked over to the office and pushed the door open. Sitting behind the desk, looking harassed, was an older woman on the phone. She looked up, saw April and gestured at her to sit down while she finished her conversation.

April sat down and studied the woman. She was older, with bleached and highlighted hair. She wore eyeglasses, the kind with the lanyard that went around her neck and her makeup was too heavy. She was plump and wore a shapeless and loud dress with red and yellow flowers.

"Oh, I know Juney. I know. She should be ashamed of herself. At her age. Who does she think she is? I mean come on. The tango? At her age? Who is she kidding?" the older woman said into the phone, glancing at April, who smiled amusedly back.

"Oh I know. It's ridiculous, that's what it is. I know. Look, I have to go. Got a customer. Who is obviously too nice for this place, that's for sure." She smiled at April in a conspiratorial way when she said this, and April's smile broadened. She could like this woman.

"Yes, I'll call you later. Yes. Later. I don't know. What difference does it make? Yes. Later. After your nap. Bye, dear." And with that, she put the phone down.

"Dear god, that woman can talk," said the older woman. "I'm Sarah Atwood. How can I help dear?" she enquired of April.

"Hi, Sarah. I'm April. I was wondering where I might find apartment 3612?"

"Oh no, dear," said Sarah, sucking on her teeth, "no, you wouldn't. That's in one of the buildings they've already pulled down. Asbestos, don't you know. How they could use that and not know the perils I don't know, but several of the buildings here have had to be pulled down over it. Building 36 was one of them."

"Oh." April looked at the piece of paper in her hand, not sure where to go next.

There was a moment's silence and then, on cue, Sarah said, "Were you looking for someone in particular, dear? Maybe I can help? I've worked here for years, know everyone, if you know what I mean."

April suppressed a smile. She did, indeed, know what she meant. It meant that Sarah was the older lady who disapproved of the parties you held, when you had blinds instead of curtains and tsked at you if you didn't hold the door open for anyone over forty.

"I'm looking for Julian Sullivan."

Sarah just looked at her and then said, "You aren't a lawyer are you?"

April was surprised. "No, not at all. I work as a counselor and I wanted to talk to him about a case I'm on. This is the last address I have for him."

Sarah was still wary. "It's not for that harlot, is it? I won't help if it's for that whore."

April was silent as she digested this. "No, I don't think so. I can't really talk about it, but I can say it's military in nature." April knew she was taking a chance, but instantly Sarah relaxed.

"Oh, well, in that case. Yes, he lived here. With that harlot he married. She was bad news from the word go, that one. Sunning herself at the pool and wearing almost nothing while he was out, trying to get that business started. When she started carrying on with his salesman, well, it was scandalous. It just was. We could all see it, but he couldn't. None of us could bring ourselves to say anything, I mean, it's just not your place, is it?"

April just nodded as this font of information flowed almost non-stop. She was glad she had her iPhone recording, because the details came fast and furious.

She learned that Joe Sullivan had indeed lived here, years ago, with his wife, Penny. Joe had worked hard to build his own business. He had had some problems in the past, Sarah told her, but he didn't talk about them. She assumed he wanted to leave them behind while he built a new life with his wife and started his new business.

As the business grew, Joe had hired an eager, younger salesman to help handle the increasing business. The new guy had taken to the job as though born to it, but he'd also taken Joe's wife, Penny. 

Penny had announced she was pregnant, and right after the baby was born, she'd left Joe for this young salesman, moving out of the complex. It was the height of scandal that the baby wasn't his. Joe had left shortly afterwards, a broken man. She'd not seen him since.

Sarah had no idea where Joe might be living now. It was almost a dead end.

But April wasn't beaten yet. She had the resources of Ingrams at her disposal, and all she needed were the right details

She learned that the company name was Sullivan Design, and the salesman's name was Mark Glasso. Penny Sullivan had apparently married him, once Joe was gone, so Sarah had heard. Sarah hoped they had a miserable time of it – Joe hadn't deserved what she'd done to him, but he'd borne it, like he bore everything.

Then April got onto why Sarah considered him for sainthood. Apparently one night Sarah had been returning from the grocery store, laden down with bags, and passed by a bunch of teenagers, who had felt it their job to taunt her. Coming from the generation were you didn't put up with that, Sarah had put down her bags and verbally launched into them. 

They were surprised at that, and aggression showed in their eyes and for the first time, she suddenly started to worry about her safety. Then, just as suddenly, one gave her the finger and all the rest pushed off the fencing they were leaning against and ran off down the street. Sarah was surprised and impressed at herself for seeing them off like that, but then, as she turned to pick up her bags, she found Joe Sullivan standing behind her, arms crossed, staring at the teenagers who were high-tailing it down the road.

He looked at her and wordlessly picked up her bags and carried them back to her apartment. He didn't say a word and just smiled at her while she protested that she could handle the bags.

From that point onwards, he organized grocery runs for her and several of the older women in the complex. Never said anything about it, just pulled up to her door on a Thursday and told her to get in, he was going to the grocery store anyway, and he could use the company, since she knew more about what he needed to get than he did. It wasn't true of course, just an excuse, but as excuses went, it went pretty far with her.

After an hour of conversation, two coffees and some giggling about the latest boy singer sensation, April exited the office, pretty sure she'd just made a new life long friend. She was damn sure she'd be going back there to just talk – it was amazing how in an hour what you could learn, and Sarah was just the kind of irascible older woman she really hoped she'd turn out to be. Someone who knows herself, knows the world, knows how it ought to be and was, by god, going to live in that world.

She was less impressed at what she'd learned of this Penny woman, and their marriage ending, but she wanted to keep an open mind. Julian Sullivan might have been a complete asshole – although she doubted it – so she tried not to prejudge. But from what she had heard, she was finding it hard not to. She needed more data.

As she sat in her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed work. She got the usual Ingrams receptionist, Rose, and she gave her a identity code and asked her to get Dermot on the line for her. Dermot McConaughey was the general manager of Ingram's & Associates, and as such, everything that the company did went through him. If she wanted access to the research department for this unique situation, regardless of what Desirea said, she needed to clear it with him first.

She waited a minute or so before the phone was picked up. "Hey April, how are you doing? Desirea filled me in, you ok, girl?" Dermot's Scottish brogue was almost imperceptible by now, with his many years in the U.S., but it was still there if you looked for it.

"I'm surviving, boss man. Can I use R&D? Desirea said it would be ok, but I wanted to be sure first."

"You looking for background on your mystery man?"

"Sort of. Need to find his ex-wife. I think she can lead me where I need to go."

"And where is that, April?" asked Dermott, point blank.

There was silence for a second, before April answered, "I honestly don't know. But you know I can't let this go. He died saving me. I owe him. I need to find out who he is, and see if there is someone left I can help."

There was more silence. April could almost see Dermott considering his options.

"Ok, go ahead. But only a couple of days, ok? We do have irons in other fires."

"Thank you, boss man. Big kiss on the cheek. Can you ask Tina to look for records on a business named Sullivan Designs, based out of the Westside of Washington. I'm looking for history and an address on Penny Sullivan. She would probably be remarried by now and have a last name of Glasso. Her husband would be Mark Glasso; he was the sales guy for the Sullivan's Design outfit. Anything they can get me would be great, as soon as possible."

"Will do, April. Keep your cell on. And April?"

"Yes?"

"Be well. We all know what happened and we're here for you. If you need anything else, let me know, ok? Come and talk to us."

"Sure thing, boss man. I'll be back soon."

April broke the connection and smiled. She knew Dermot meant it. 

*****





Hillier waited until he finished swallowing the last donut bit before he answered the trilling phone. It was a stereotype that all cops ate donuts, but in this case, it was true, mainly because a grateful parent kept delivering them to the station. Two years ago, Hillier and his partner - God rest his soul - had found and arrested three gang bangers who had terrorized several homeowners, burgling them late at night and tormenting the homeowners. The homeowners had formed a little club to support each other and after Hillier found the perpetrators, they'd solemnly decided it was their duty to keep the cops in donuts. Because all cops liked donuts, right? They'd even bought into a donut store together to ensure it would be regular.

While Hillier liked donuts as much as the next guy, he also knew this was going to cost him twenty minutes on the treadmill later. Oh well. What the hell. It was worth it. They were good donuts. 

The phone continued to ring and he scooped it up, licking the fingers on his left hand as he did so. "Detective Hillier here." 

"Hello, Detective. I understand you wanted to talk to me?" said the voice on the other end of the line. 

"And this is?" asked Hillier. He thought he knew, but better to be sure.

"This is Manny Trueso here. I got a call from the VA saying you wanted to talk to me, and you left a message earlier today?"

"Ah yes, Mr. Trueso. Thank you for calling me back so promptly. I hope you can help. I have a John Doe here, and he has a tattoo that I'm having trouble identifying. I spoke to our contact at the VA here in Washington, sent him a copy of the tattoo, and he got back to me an hour later and said I'd probably want to talk to you. Do I want to talk to you Mr. Trueso? Would you know what I am looking at here?"

There was a laugh on the line and Manny answered, "First, call me Manny. Mr. Trueso was my dad. Secondly, hard to know without seeing it. Can you describe it?"

"Yes, it's blue with age. Got a logo with what looks like a serpent, tied around a bullet, and a Latin phrase under it."

"Unum Superesse, right?" said Manny.

"Yes, that's it."

"That's the Cambridge tattoo. Had by the appropriate people to remember the Cambridge event in 1992 in Kuwait. It means 'Survive Together'. It's to remind a bunch of people who survived something really bad that survival comes when you work together. The event itself we called the Cambridge Event. I'd rather not go into why. It just takes too long."

"Interesting. So our John Doe was in Desert Storm and part of this event?"

"I would say so. There were about thirty to forty people involved in that, though. What else do you have that might identify the guy?"

"Two bullet holes, one in the shoulder and one in the pelvis area."

There was dead silence on the phone, then a deep sigh. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

"Manny?"

"You've got Joe Sullivan right there. No question."

Ambrose Hillier lurched forward and wrote the name down. "How can you be sure?"

"Only one guy came out with those wounds. That was Joe Sullivan. That wasn't his real name though; I think he was Julian or something like that - Joe to all us. What happened to him?"

"I can't tell you much, Manny. He was killed protecting a lady from a mugging that went bad. He just stepped in and stopped someone knifing her, and in doing so, took that knifing himself.

"Goddammit. Fucking Joe. He just couldn't help himself. Always had to be the Boy Scout. Do first, think later." Manny's voice broke, but Hillier could detect a note of pride in it.

"Can you tell me what happened in Kuwait?" he asked, curious about this man, Julian Sullivan.

Manny sighed and Ambrose could tell he didn't want to.

"Long time ago. We were a mobile hospital; Joe was part of the security detachment. We patched up servicemen and also the locals who got caught up in fire fights. Pretty much anyone who needed help, honestly. They'd not seen a hospital out in those areas ever.

"Anyway, one day the local mullahs got angry and came by, demanding tribute. We told them where to get off and three hours later, we were under attack. We tried to tell them we had children and wounded, but no, they kept coming. Joe was one of the guys holding them off.

"After the first attack – there was never just one – Joe ran out and grabbed weapons from the dead. Several AK47's, some pistols and a rocket launcher. He made a point of arming the doctors and nurses. We all figured it was just a matter of time. The initial attack had taken our defensive force down from twelve to eight. One more heavy attack and we were done for. But no one was going down without fighting.

"They came again at dawn. Joe and the other guys mowed them down as much as they could, but some got in. Joe literally took out two guys a foot from me. I was lying in a bed there, holding a rifle and trying to stay awake. I was loaded with morphine from an earlier mortar attack and it was hard to stay in the moment.

Joe took a shoulder wound and was shot in the leg or pelvis right at the point the Blackhawks arrived and made mincemeat of the local thugs." Manny's voice quavered with emotion as he detailed the events.

"Jesus. Was he invalided out after that? I presume he got a medal?"

There was a snort on the other end of the phone. "Christ no. This was Desert Storm. This wasn't the Iraqi invasion. His CO – who by the way, wasn't even present, but was at HQ - wanted to bounce him out for disobeying orders, for abandoning his post. He was lucky to be allowed out without a dishonorable discharge or court martial. The CO was an asshole of epic proportions, but those were the times."

"So, he got wounded, kicked out and no one even said thank you?"

"Mr. Hillier, have you ever been in combat?"

"Not in the way you have, no. I've been shot at, but not like you have."

"Then you'll never know the way we deal with this. The CO might have been an asshole, but me and lots of other Joes and kids are only breathing because he did what was right at the time. I owe Joe my life. Don't get me wrong, he didn't do it all by himself – there were seven other guys there who did as much, if not more. But Joe was one of them. I haven't seen him in a few years, since that bitch Tara did a number on him, then he married Penny. I was best man for that. Penny did him no good either."

"So, married twice then? Do you have any idea where he might be living now? This Penny woman?"

"Oh no, that ended a while ago. She fucked him over too. Joe's life is all about him being fucked over and him just trying to pick up the pieces."

"Do you know where she lives now? Or Joe, for that matter?"

"No, sorry, I wish I did. Like I said, once Penny screwed him up, I lost touch. He just seemed to vanish. I doubt the VA even knows where he is, although they might. They still mail me a check; maybe they do for him too. Detective, can I ask you to do something for me?"

"What might that be, Manny?"

"Let me know where the funeral is. I should be there."

"Of course. As soon as I know, you will too. Do you have any details on this Tara or Penny, so I can find them?"

"Honestly, no. I only met Penny at the wedding and the last time I spoke to Joe, there wasn't much coming from him except how much he hated and loved her at the same time. She led him to believe that they had a child together, but in fact she'd been fucking Joe's salesman, and the kid was his. It destroyed him. That's why I think he went feral."

"Well, thank you for calling me, Manny. I'll be sure and be in touch as soon as I have more details."




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 02



"You are welcome. The world is a poorer place without Joe in it. I'm going to the bar to get loaded and raise a glass to him, poor bastard. Always on the receiving end, that guy. What a life."

*****

I bought a shack today. An honest-to-god shack. It's the last shack in the row of cabins at Trolleys Field, out of Virginia. We used to come here as kids. I brought Tara here, once. She would never come again. And I brought Penny here a couple of times too. It seems... fitting. The guy who runs the place told me about this broken down cabin off at the end of the row. He couldn't rent it, so I offered to buy it. $10k, flat out. The deal is that I do it up, and when I move on, he gets it back. He's happy and I'm happy. My name won't show up on any deeds and Tara won't find me. 

It's small – three rooms – and needs work, but I can do that. The guy here who owns the place, Marco, said if I did a good job, I can be his handyman. I know I can do that. Maybe it's time for some peace. I'm obviously not meant to be out in society – every time I've tried it's been a disaster. Maybe I need to be a hermit, like Obi-Wan Kenobi. Of course that would suppose there was a Luke Skywalker out there for me to be looking out for. That would be nice. 

I was thinking that maybe I could buy a TV and see what everyone is talking about, about that show Lost. It sounds appropriate.

*****

There was a knock at the door and Penny Glasso looked up irritated from the Hello! Magazine she was reading, following the latest exploits of Lindsey Lohan. Who could be here at 2:00 p.m. on a Tuesday?

"Aaron!" she yelled, not moving from the couch. "Is one of your dopey friends at the door?"

There was silence. There was another knock. "Aaron!" yelled Penny Glasso, a second time, louder. Still silence.

Grumbling, Penny threw the magazine down on the table and got up and answered the door.

Outside, she found a blond woman, with neat hair and a glossy lips and a ready smile.

"Hello", said April, "Are you Penny Glasso? I was hoping to find the Glasso residence?"

Penny looked at her, eyeing her up and down. "Who wants to know?"

"I do!" replied April, with a smile, being as perky as she knew how.

"Why?"

"Well, lets just say I'm tracking down people associated with one..." she consulted a piece of paper, "Joe Sullivan? He has, unfortunately, passed away. I'm one of the legal staff who are executing on his will. He left a considerable amount of money in that will, and since it hasn't been updated in quite sometime, my understanding is that some of this will come your way. However, there are some small things we need to go over first. Can I come in?"

April watched Penny's reactions closely. Her instinctive reactions would be very informative as to how she left the marriage from Joe, and April was extremely interested in finding that out.

Penny's eyes went wide at the news of Joe's demise. There was the start of honest regret and sadness, coupled with shock. But the moment a will was mentioned, the eyes tightened and with it, a sense of restrained interest. In that moment, April knew all she needed to about Penny, who she was and her relationship with Joe. But she needed to complete the charade and find out as much as she could

Penny stepped back and gestured to April to come in. "He's gone? Seriously? Shit. Joe is gone. What happened?"

The words were there, and the intent behind them was genuine, but the overall posture was that of someone who wanted something.

"He was killed while defending a woman from a mugging downtown. It's very sad," said April, as she walked into the apartment and sat down on the couch.

"Well, that was Joe," said Penny, sitting down opposite and rolling her eyes as she did so, "always rushing in when it was the right thing to do, at least in his mind. Doesn't surprise me in the least. Although, if I were totally honest, I think that's how he would have liked to go. Doing good like that. He was a total do-gooder."

"Yes, I'm sure he was," replied April. She pulled out a pad and made a show of consulting notes. "So, you were his second wife, is that right? The first, a Tara something or other, ended before he met you, is that right?" 

April had nothing in the way of information, but this was the best way to find out. Give someone incorrect partial information and most of the time, if they have it right, they'll fall over themselves to tell you. No one ever sits there and says 'wait a minute, aren't you supposed to know this stuff?'

"Yes," said Penny, "she'd left him and he was on his own, trying to make a go of that business when I met him. We met on a cruise, in Alaska. There was just something about him. When I met him, you know? An aura of some kind. He just felt...safe."

"How long were you married?" asked April.

"Three years. It came to a natural end. I ended up marrying his chief salesman. Obviously Mark couldn't carry on working for Joe once that happened, so he struck out on his own. He's been quite successful, too."

April made herself look down in her notes to not give away her reaction to that statement. She knew a fair bit about Penny and what had happened, and that statement wasn't in any way complete or even accurate.

She'd been on the treadmill in her apartment, sweating out the drinks she'd had the night before with Desirea – who'd dropped in, unannounced – when the phone had rung from Tina at R&D at Ingrams. Tina had some interesting info on Penny Glasso. 

They'd found her via tax returns – April hadn't asked how they'd got that information – and provided both a current address, a state of her marriage and some other more pertinent information. 

An ex-employee of Glasso Design had posted a blog about his time there and was very forthcoming on opinions on the moral turpitude of Penny and Mark Glasso, both professionally and personally. Recorded also were his opinions on the divorce from Joe Sullivan, and contained within were some interesting facts of information. Firstly, it was patently obvious from comments made in the blog that Mark and Penny had been getting it on for months before Joe found out about it, and it was equally obvious that Mark had taken all of Joe's clients when he left. How, no one knew, but Mark was a silver tongued devil, it had to be admitted.

Upon meeting her, most of April's preconceptions were confirmed – Penny was a gold digger and Mark had more gold. 

Following the phone call from R&D, just as April was getting off the treadmill, a text had come in, from a number she didn't recognize. It simply said, "Your guy's name is Joe Sullivan. Ex Military. More when I have it. Ambrose."

She looked at the text, smiled and said, "Two days too late, Ambrose. You're good, but I'm better," and went to get ready to visit Penny and Mark Glasso.

April got control of her face and looked back at Penny, taking her in. She was short – 5'4" – not quite pudgy but not slim or angular. She was well-endowed up top but her dress sense was sloppy. Mismatched top and pants, and shoes that were at least four years out of date. Her brunette hair was rich and had a distinct red tint to it, but it was carelessly brushed and tied up. A woman who didn't see many people and didn't care about what she looked like at home.

"Is your husband at home, Mrs. Glasso?" asked April.

"He'll be here any moment," she replied. "He just called. He's late again because of client meetings, but he's on his way."

"Ok, yes, that's not a problem."

"So you mentioned a will? When did Joe write it? I mean, we haven't been married for almost eight years now. I would have thought he'd have...." Her voice died away as she looked past April, and her face scrunched up in annoyance.

April looked behind her, at whatever Penny was looking at and saw a boy in the door way behind her. He was tall, willowy and had a mop of curly black hair. He smiled at April and said, "Hi there!"

"Hi back!" smiled April back.

"You're pretty," said the boy, innocently.

"Well thank you, kind sir. That's a very nice thing to say," said April, smiling even more broadly.

"Aaron, what do you want? I was yelling for you," said Penny, in an annoyed tone.

"Sorry, mom," said the boy. He held out a fine-toothed comb. "Can you brush my hair? They told us about nits today at school and I've been trying but I can't find any nits. But I can't see what I'm doing. Have you seen a nit, Miss? They showed us at school. They look like little aliens, like from Doctor Who. I'm going to be an actor when I grow up. I want to play the Doctor. He's cool. Do you ever wear bow ties? Bow ties are cool."

The words just came tumbling out and April couldn't help but keep smiling.

She looked back at Penny, who smiled at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, that's Aaron, my son. He's completely into some British show called Doctor Who. Can't stop talking about it."

She then directed her speech to Aaron. "Honey, I'll be there in a minute. I'm talking with this lady right now, ok? Go on, run along."

Aaron smiled again at April and then turned and vanished back through the door he'd arrived from.

"Cute kid," said April, "is he from this marriage or..?"

"Oh this marriage. Definitely Mark's!" smiled Penny, with that forced smile of someone who doesn't want to talk about it. She then tried to get the conversation back on course. "So, you mentioned a will?"

"Yes, I did. But I need to cover a few other things first. Do you know where Joe lives currently? We tracked him to the Gettysburg complex – where I believed the two of you lived until you split, but we've no address since then. Might you have that?"

Penny's eyes narrowed. "Did you talk to that old battleaxe, Sarah? Is she still there?"

"I believe that would be the person we talked to, yes," said April, suppressing a grin. No love lost there, obviously.

"Damn, I'm surprised she's not pushing up daisies. Although I shouldn't be. That old trout sold her soul to the devil years ago. She'll still be going strong when the rest of us are dead and gone. She may be pickled, but she'll still be there. Bitter old goat."

Penny leaned forward, conspiratorially. "She thought the ground that Joe walked on was fucking made of gold. I mean she loved that man. If she had been thirty years younger, she'd have thrown herself at him. It was sad to watch. She thought he was such a saint. Well, he may have been a saint, but she didn't have to live with him. You ever lived with a 'good man', miss..?" 

"I'm Mary. Mary Hougham. And no, I haven't. A few devils, yes, never a saint."

"Well, Mary, it's not all it's cracked up to be. The better the man, the more you feel shit about yourself. They make you feel bad about every decision you ever make, just by breathing. You know they'd never spend a hundred bucks on shoes, so if you do, well, aren't you the idiot. They make you feel like shit just for being human. It sucks, let me tell you."

Having delivered this little homily on the perils of good men, Penny sat back, with the self-satisfied look of women the world over who have just convinced themselves that their own bad behavior was someone else's fault.

April looked down at her pad.

"So the will, yes, let me..."

The front door opened and in walked Mark Glasso. He stopped in the doorway, stared at April and then looked enquiringly at Penny.

"Miss Hougham here is a lawyer. She's here to talk about Joe Sullivan's will!" Penny said, almost containing her excitement. She cleared her throat. "Miss Hougham says Joe died the other day."

Mark Glasso grunted and put down his brief case. April took the opportunity to look at him. He was dark-haired and dark-skinned. His hair was receding and had silver at the temples. He had bright eyes, one blue and one brown. He needed a second shave, and when he smiled, it never reached his eyes. It was the smile of a born salesman, sizing you up. He was barely taller than Penny, but gave the impression of being taller since his posture was so upright.

He smiled at April and sat down next to Penny, who shifted to move up to him. The look Penny gave him was full of affection but he never even glanced back, staring at April instead. She could see his interest in her physically. Penny didn't even notice it. That was interesting.

"So the old guy kicked it, did he? Sad. I have no idea what happened to him after we left. I heard his studio shut down but past that, nada. Where's he been all these years?" Mark Glasso's voice was deep and throaty, like he'd been doing steroids all his life.

"That's what we are trying to ascertain, Mr. Glasso. So you don't know where he's been either? That's disappointing."

April was talking and saying anything. Now she'd met Glasso in the flesh, she desperately needed to check something out. She just had to figure out how.

"So the will, we in it then? The old guy hadn't updated it?"

April smiled back, forcing down a desire to slap Mark Glasso. She desperately wanted to put this man down for some reason. He just brought that feeling out in her.

"I can't tell you what the will offers you, Mr. Glasso. Well, I can – it doesn't offer you anything. It's your wife who is mentioned. However, I cannot tell you what it is, because we haven't opened it yet – Your wife's name is just one of the required attendees. The reading is next week, on Thursday, at these offices, at 10:00 a.m." She handed them a card. 

Glasso accepted the card and handed it to Penny.

"Well, time for me to go. Actually, before I go, could I use your bathroom? Feminine needs?" She said, imploringly to Penny. April had learnt a long time ago that if you don't want a guy interested in a reason why you do something, make it about periods. No guy wants to get involved in a discussion about that.

"Back there, first on the right," answered Penny, gesturing at the door that Aaron had appeared from.

April got up, taking her bag with her. She left her iPhone on the table and thanked her earlier self for having the foresight to leave the hidden recording app running. 

She went back to the bathroom and there, as she'd hoped, was the fine-toothed comb that Aaron had been using. She could hear noises coming from one of the other doors, a wheezing groaning noise. She figured he was watching TV. She dumped out her handbag and pulled out the false bottom. In her world, you always traveled with some protection and useful items. 

The extra space in her bag contained a Taser, handcuffs, spare panties and two specimen bottles. In her line of work, it was sometimes necessary to get specimens from individuals in order to ascertain linage, exactly as she was trying to do here. She grabbed three hairs from the comb and put them into one of the tubs, closing its airtight lid. She then put everything back in her bag, used some toilet paper, flushed the toilet, ran the water for a second, then exited the bathroom.

She went back into the living room and Penny and Mark stopped talking and looked at her expectantly. 

"One thing though – we really do need to find where Joe ended up. We have no idea if there is a current Mrs. Sullivan, or any other dependents. The will we have was from years ago and we've not seen him since, so we've no idea what his current marital status is. Obviously that will affect the execution of the will. Do either of you have any ideas on that?"

Mark shook his head. "No, we didn't part of the best of terms. He wouldn't have clued us in."

"Marianne!" said Penny, suddenly and abruptly.

"I'm sorry?" said April.

"Marianne...er....something ski. Dewski. No, Dubrowski. That's it. Marianne Dubrowsi. She'd know."

"Who might that be?" asked April, getting her pad out and writing the name down.

"She's his therapist. Or was, at least. When we met, he was seeing her twice a month, to get over and understand what that other bitch did to him."

April noted the term 'other' in that sentence. That gave away a lot. The act of using the word 'other' meant there was more than one, and Penny, subconsciously or not, knew who the other one was.

"I see. I would assume she is local? Was he still seeing her when he was with you?"

"Yeah, off and on. When we got married I think it went slow, but I know he still saw her from time to time. I would imagine that when we...broke up, he would have gone back to her. She'd know where he was living, if anyone did."

"Well thank you, that gives me something to go on. I guess I'll see you next week then?" said April, scooping up her phone from the table.

Penny stood and smiled at her, her eyes shining. Mark grunted and thrust out his hand to April, looking for any contact he could get. She shook his hand gingerly and walked to the door.

"Thanks again," she said as she walked out the door, not looking back.  

*****

Listening to the recording later, she could hear Penny and Mark discussing the likelihood of what they'd get. Mark was of the opinion that if the will was still what it was when they were married, and what else could it be, since Joe would have taken her out of the will entirely once he got dumped, then they should get it all. He was practically salivating at the prospect.

Penny, to her credit, was tearful about Joe's demise. She kept reminding Mark of the ill they had done him, how they had to do it, for Aaron's sake, and how they really should give some of what they give back, because it wasn't really right. There was at least some contrition there. Not enough to not accept what they thought they were going to get, but at least Penny had enough conscience to say something, thought April.

Either way, it didn't matter. They would get theirs when April was ready.

*****

Today I closed the business. It wasn't doing that hot anyway, not since...since I fired Mark. Or he left. Whatever. Two years of trying and barely making ends meet. Two days ago, I had Mercano's hot shot rep show up. He wanted to 'give me business', 'whatever I wanted'. At least that's what he said. I know why he was here, even if he didn't. After I told him no three times, the arrogant little shit wandered around my office, poking at stuff, and said what was really on his mind. Marianne told me I needed to be specific when I wrote in my journal, so I'll try and remember what he actually said. 

"Frankly, Joe, I have no fucking clue why they sent me out here. 'Make him every offer' they said. So like a good boy, here I am. Now you've said no, I can go back and be grateful. Who the hell wants to deal with a penny ante outfit like this? Word is that you were some hotshot in the day, but couldn't keep it in your pants and now you are here, barely making a living. How the mighty have fallen, eh? Well fuck that. Fuck being nice. Being nice gets you this. I'm glad you said no. Now I don't have to kiss your worthless ass."

And more along those lines. I didn't bother to correct him or explain. What would be the point? 

I did give him a message for Tara. As he left, I told him 'Please tell Mrs. Western that she can fuck off and die, alone in flames. Tell her to Leave Me Alone.'

I have no idea if she'll get the message or not – probably not in the terms I gave it, but it felt nice to actually say it.

So, after that, after he left, I was shaking. I was so angry. So I decided the best thing would be to just shut down and go. That way she has no other way to try and 'help.' The business wasn't worth shit anyway. I'm ok at what I do, but without a salesman, it's all scraping the bottom of the barrel, and I'm not doing that again. Once I sold everything, I was left with thirty-two grand. Not much to show for seven years effort. But enough to go and do something else.

*****

The next day, April got up late, went to the gym to swim her fifty lengths, then showered and dressed in her "work appropriate attire,", as she called it. Professional suit, boring blouse, sensible shoes. The only thing she wouldn't do was pantyhose, and that was because it made her feet smell. She was terminally embarrassed about that, and as a result, never worse pantyhose, only stockings, and even those only for a particular purpose, usually involving eliciting an erection.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 02



She was even wearing beige tinted makeup, which just made her look even more bland and boring. But it was necessary, for the meeting she was having today.

She arrived at Marianne Dubowski's office at precisely eleven a.m. She'd been surprised and then not surprised at how easily she'd found Marianne Dubowski's practice. One Google search and there she was. Still practicing as well, though she was well into her sixties now.

Then it had been a simple matter of calling, making an appointment, being given a cancellation, and here she was.

April still wasn't sure how she was going to handle this, straight up or with a story – she decided to make that decision once she'd met the therapist and had time to size her up.

She sat in the waiting room, reading a three-month-old copy of People, waiting for her appointment to start. Judging by the lingering scent of paint, April guessed that these were new quarters for Marianne's practice.

At eleven precisely, the large soundproofed door to Mariannes office opened and a wizened older lady, with too much makeup, leaned out.

"April Carlisle?" she called.

April got up, smoothed down her skirt and nodded at the face poking out of the door.

"Come on in, dear. Lets get a look at you. Sit anywhere."

April took in the office. It was very well designed and furnished. Recessed indirect lighting, neutral to dark walls, comfortable seating. A desk but there were three different seating arrangements, and in the corner there was a play area set up. That indicated that Marianne offered child therapy services too.

She noted that Marianne stayed in the doorway. That way, April would have to make the seating decision and Marianne would just follow and sit with her. Clever. April went and sat behind the desk, in the large charge designed for Marianne.

Marianne raised an eyebrow, but sat in the easy chair across the desk.

"How can I help you, Ms. Carlisle? You obviously aren't here for marital dysfunction, as you said on the phone."

"Ms.?" Asked April.

"No ring, no shadow of a ring indentation on that finger, plus you have a slight tan and it's all over that finger – no white where a ring would be. You come in here, no hesitation, sit down in my chair, which is a direct challenge to my authority here. I can accept that, but it's not the actions of a woman who is either upset or looking for absolution. I don't quite know why you are here, but I'm sure you'll tell me, or you wouldn't be here in the first place. So yes, Ms. Carlisle. Seemed safest."

April smiled broadly at Marianne, enjoying this. So nice to meet such a smart woman. "Oh you'll do. You'll do for sure. You got more?"

Marianne sat back and said, "Oh, it's show and tell time? Time to make the therapist dance? Very well. Lets see. The ensemble you are wearing is very calculated. All neutral colors, but obviously business attire, so you are demonstrating you are a professional. Or at least, that's the image you want to display. Which means you know what professional looks like, even if you aren't one. More than likely you are though. Who buys those clothes and never wears them, apart from a con artist. You could be one of those, but what would you want here? Then there's the attitude. You call and say you are having marital dysfunction, yet you march in here like you own the place. And lastly, you are having your own private laugh behind those eyes when you ask me 'is there more'. This is a game to you. Very well, I will play it. For now. It's your money for the session. Is that enough?"

April took a deep breath, got up and moved from the seat and sat on the couch.

"Very much so. Thank you, Marianne. I needed to see who you were and what I was dealing with here. I apologize of the blatant challenge. It was rude, but necessary."

Marianne didn't move chairs, she just swiveled the one she was sitting in round. She said nothing for a moment while she studied April.

"You are an investigator. No, you're more than that. You are trained. You looked around this room when you came in like you were looking for things. You've been trained in checking out a room. And in mind games. Not FBI – they don't hide things. They are right out in the open with them. No imagination. CIA? Possibly, but what could you possibly want here? I don't have any high profile clients right now. NSA? No, I know all the in-house psychologists at the NSA here in town. Hell, I've treated two of them myself. Hmm, probably shouldn't have said that. So, who are you with?"

April was not at all happy with the way this conversation was going. She was about to say something when Marianne snapped her fingers.

"Oh! Smart attire that obviously isn't normal, arrogant attitude, smart, playing head game – you're one of Ingrams' people."

There was a stunned silence. April had never been made in the three-plus years she'd worked at Ingrams by anyone that she didn't want to. It had never even come close. And this woman had done it within five minutes of her being in the same room. What's more, Ingrams & Associates was a somewhat secret group. They had no website, no formal declaration of what they did. Only those who would have a use for their services knew who they were, and Marianne Dubowski, perceptive as she was, was not one of those people. The most important thing right now though, was not to confirm.

"Oh, you'll never admit it. But you are. I can see the micro expressions in your face. Shock, determination to not show it, decision on a course to distract questions. It's all there, dear. You are good though, I have to say it. But you aren't the only one to have been around the block. Interesting though. I've never had one of Ingrams' people in my office before. Be very interesting to hypnotize you."

April didn't know what to say. She needed this woman's information, but she couldn't just come out and say what she did.

"I cannot confirm or deny anything you just said. I can't. You know I can't. But whatever you think, I do need your help."

Marianne just waved her off and got up out of the swivel chair and sat in another of the easy chairs in front of April.

"You know I can't break patient-therapist confidentially. You know that."

"Well, in this case you might. It is about one of your patients. But he's dead now. So not sure the confidentially still really applies."

Marianne considered for a moment and then said, simply, "Who?"

"Joe Sullivan."

"Well.....shit. Joe eh? How did he go? No, let me guess. Something heroic? Something stupid? Both?"

April decided that since her cover was blown, she might as well go for broke. Plus there was something about this woman she liked. 

"He saved my life. At the expense of his own. I never even saw him coming. I was being mugged, one was behind me, with a knife, Joe took him out. He got stabbed for his efforts. He died in my arms."

There was a silence for a moment, then Marianne said, "And I'll bet that make you angry, doesn't it? So angry. You need to find these people and punish them. And you need to do something for Joe. You are in his debt and it needs to be paid, right?"

April went silent and still. Marianne had just cut to the core of her need right now. She would find the men who killed Joe, even if two of them were already in custody. They would pay. And she would find some way to help Joe. That's why she was following every lead, to find out more about him and where he lived. She needed to go there. To be in all the communication with him she could get. And this woman had seen all that in two minutes of conversation. This woman was not someone she wanted to be after all. This woman was dangerous. She could see inside your head. What was worse was that while April understood the clinical definitions of 'being on a mission', she still didn't really understand herself well enough to know why she felt this way. Why she had to do this, she only understood that she did have to do this.

And then Marianne proved that, by saying, "And now you are terrified I can see inside your head. It's ok, April, is it? I've seen this before, more than once. You aren't the first. And what's more, if you stopped to think about it for more than ten minutes without the emotion coming on, you'd understand why."

April just stared at her, and said, unwillingly, "Suppose you tell me anyway?"

Marianne sighed and said, "I had hoped you might be further along. Ok then, so be it. You are a control freak, April. Everything planned, everything executed, and you are usually the smartest person in the room. Certainly the one with the most secrets and the best at manipulation. 

"You are also extremely arrogant, which comes with the set of abilities you have and the uses to which you put them. How can you not be? You are the puppet master and everyone else dances to your tune. But in this, there is no situation to be controlled. It's already happened, it's happened outside of your control and that's just something that neither your training nor your personality can take. Yes, your personality," she said. April, shocked, opened her mouth to say something, but Marianne continued, "Why do you think Ingrams picked you in the first place? They picked you because you are already what they needed. You already had that personality in place. They just had to teach you how to use those traits to their advantage.

"Be that as it may, to return to the issue at hand, someone died for you. And without your knowledge or intervention. Just a selfless act – it was selfless, right? You didn't know Joe, you weren't sleeping with him and he wasn't a target?"

April shook her head, trembling. This woman was taking her apart, piece by piece, showing her who she was and it wasn't pretty. April was smart and knew that this was potentially who she was at heart, but she'd done a great job of burying that beneath platitudes about wanting to help people. Oh, the platitudes were real enough, but it didn't really cover her own deep needs and desires. And that scared her. So she ignored them, because what else could you do in that situation?

"Right, ok, so someone you don't know sacrifices himself for you. How would you imagine you would react? Someone is going to pay. And you'll find them. That's what you do. Normally you put people together again, but you can't do that without knowing how to take them apart in the first place, right? You have a fearsome skill set, April. Has it never occurred to you that those skills can be applied in reverse? Just like doctors can cure diseases, they can also generate them as well. I think you need to worry about what your response is going to be when you find these people. And anyone else you think needs a little retribution along the way."

That last one stung. April had already started to make plans about doing something about Mark and Penny Glasso, dependent on what the DNA lab reported to her. And it wasn't pretty.

"Look April, I don't know what you want from me, but I can tell you this. I think you need support and help. And I'm here for you. And when you've calmed down a bit, you'll understand that too. Until then, I'm afraid of what you might do. You sit there, looking all perky and in control, but you aren't, are you?"

April just stared back at her.

"Yeah, I thought so. Burying the anger in work. Classic. Of course you can't see that yet, but you will. But you didn't come here to be analyzed, did you? You wanted something else."

April again, didn't say anything, she just looked pensive.

"Ah, Joe. Right. You want to find out about Joe."

April bit her lip. It was nice to be in control again. The last part was pure acting, so Marianne would think it was her idea to spill on Joe. And she was falling for it.

"Very good. You really are very good at this. Make it my idea, eh? My goodness. I don't know what they are putting in the water in that building, but I'd like some here, if you have it."

'Well, so much for that idea,' thought April, miserably.

"Don't pout. It doesn't become you. You need to read up on micro-expressions April. You give yourself away too much. So what is it about Joe you need to know? One professional to another."

"Where did he go? I tracked him to Penny Glasso, but he dropped off the world after that. Is there someone else with him? Where did he live? I need background. I need to know if there is someone waiting for him?"

"Oh, I see. Yes, the Active Knight complex. Well, not sure I can help. He was living at the apartment with the chatty women when I was seeing him. After that dissolved, he moved out and he came here one last time and said we were done. I didn't really try and dissuade him. We'd talked as far as we were going to. There's only so many times you can say 'It's not your fault, you just chose badly' that you just stop when someone isn't hearing you. 

"Joe was, at heart, a good guy. A very good guy. He blamed himself for everything that went wrong – from the thing in Kuwait – you knew he was ex-military right? There was an operation there that was quite bloody, he was involved, he tried to do the right thing and got kicked out of the Army for it. The first marriage, to Tara, that ended badly when she traded up. The second marriage, that ended when the scum-bag salesmen he hired made off with his business and his wife. He came here and told me he couldn't afford to come any more and I honestly didn't see how I was going to be able to help him anyway."

"So where did he go?"

"I don't know. I do know that he was involved in something else though. There was an incident, in a town west of here, in West Virginia. Three boys saved in a creek – well, two of them. One died of head trauma. Looks like they were all drunk as skunks, decided to go swimming in the river, using some local rope on a tree thing. 

"What I read," Marianne said, "was that three boys got drunk and decided to go in the river. The water was too rapid and too shallow, and they were injured. Joe pulled them out, but one had already died. The locals blamed Joe, and even though he was cleared, you know how things like that stick."

"You're sure that was Joe?"

"I think so. They got the name wrong in the press report. But I'm pretty sure it was him."

"How do you know this?" April asked.

"I set an alert on Google on Joe's tattoo. The kids' description mentioned it, so I got an alert. Really, this is basic 101 stuff April. You guys need better training."

"So, where was this?"

"Some small place, called Shannondale Springs, on the border of West Virginia and Virginia. It's on the Shenadoah River. It's right between Charles Town and Purcellville. I figure he was living out that way somewhere."

April thought about the truck, how it was spattered with mud. You'd get mud near a river.

"Well, it's definitely a place to start. Anything else you can tell me that might help? Anything that you feel ok telling?"

"Dear, I've already told you way more than I should. But yes, there is one person. Have you talked to Tara yet?"

"Tara, that's his first wife, yes?"

"Yes. The one that traded up. Career woman who decided someone else was a better stepping stone to shattering that glass ceiling. She hadn't figured out that the glass ceiling is called that so those men who are underneath get to peek up the skirts of the women who stand on it. The dissolution of that marriage was the reason he started talking to me in the first place."

"No, I've not spoken to her. I found Penny – what a piece of work that one is – but not Tara."

"Well, her name is now Tara Western. Or it was, anyway. If I recall, she got divorced a while back from the new husband. Again Google is your friend. She's not hard to find. On the board of several companies now, so obviously the trade up decision worked out for her. Pity it didn't for Joe. Anyway, go find her. She and Joe were...well they were close. She may well have a clue where he ended up. 

"He really loved her – when it all came apart he had real problems trusting. He was just starting to get over that with Penny, when she did the same thing. He honestly believed after that that it was him, that this was his fault some how. You know how men are – they look at statistics and believe whatever they want to believe. He kept saying that two out of two meant it had to be him – he was the only common component. I kept trying to point out that a sample of two means it's almost meaningless in the scheme of things but he just wouldn't see it that way, no matter what I said."

April smiled genuinely, for the first time. She knew exactly what Marianne was talking about.

"In the end, he just wasn't listening any more. There are only so many times you can draw a man's attention to the problem they don't want to confront. He fell on harder times when the company closed down and he used that as an excuse to stop coming. Basically, I let him. 

"I'd pointed out everything I could think of, multiple times, and he just wouldn't stop blaming himself, trying to work out what he'd done wrong. He'd come in here every week asking 'was it this she didn't like?' It was just...sad. I'm sure you know what I mean. In the end I was just taking his money for the sake of it. He wasn't going to heal in here, more's the pity. 

"He's one of those that got away from me, and I don't like that very much. He had no one else you know. No one to confide in. He was an only child and his parents died while he was in Kuwait, of a car accident. He had some Army buddies, but while they had that Cambridge thing as a connection, he just couldn't go to any of them and talk. They are all spread out and besides, it's a macho military bullshit thing, you know."

There was a pause, and April could hear the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece in the office.

"Can I ask you something, dear?"

April considered. With this woman, one question could lead to her revealing nuclear launch codes. "What?"

"What do you hope to get out of all this? What is driving you?"

April looked at Marianne strangely. What a question to ask.

"Well, he died in my arms. I'm here because he is not. I owe him something. I would have thought that was obvious."

"Yes, I know all that. So do you. But what's the end game here? What resolution are you going for? Are you expecting to find a wife and kids at home that you can help? Get revenge on the man who killed him? What? What is going to put this to bed for you? When are you going to return to regular life?"

April had to consider that one. She'd been in full on investigation mode from the moment Joe had died, and hadn't really considered what the end would be. She just needed to find out more about Joe, to understand him, to find someone she could help, so means to deal with the obligation and guilt she felt. Guilt! That was the first time she'd formed that thought! She was guilty. She'd survived and he had not. She had survivor's guilt!

"I see something just occurred to you. If I was to hazard a guess, you just realized you feel guilty and are driving yourself because you feel compelled to do something. I don't think you have really examined what the end is going to be, have you dear?"

There were suddenly tears in Aprils eyes, unbidden and unwanted.

"I...I just..." April looked imploringly at Marianne who got up and came over and sat on the arm of the chair and gathered April into her.

"Hush there, child. It's ok. It's alright. This is a natural result of the experience you've been through and who you are. It's going to be ok. You just have to get those feelings out there. Nothing you are doing is wrong and it's probably a good thing. Someone needs to follow Joe and know where he has been and what's he's done. It's ok..."

They sat there for five minutes like that, April sobbing for a second and Marianne just holding her tight, making soothing noises. At the end of five minutes, Marianne disengaged and looked at April, who was wiping her eyes and wondering what she looked like now.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 02



"Now, we have fifteen minutes left. Anything else you want to talk about?" said Marianne, standing, cracking her back and then sitting down at her desk again.

April looked at her and opened her mouth to speak.



Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 03



Tara showed up today. I haven't set eyes on her in almost seven years. Not since the divorce hearing. She said she was there to apologize. I laughed and not in a nice way. She stood there in her thousand-dollar shoes, fresh from getting out of her hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes. She did look good, I have to say. 

The years have been kinder to her than to me, but then she always did have the genes for it. I guess her decision was the right one for her. She's on the board of Mecano's now. She's done well for herself, so I guess dumping me for Peter Assfuck was the right move. It's certainly paid off for her, divorcing me and marrying the VP of sales. A fast track from running that small design room where she started, for sure. 

She told me that her husband, that Peter Assfuck, had just done to her what she did to me – lined up a new replacement with prospects, younger and hotter than her, and he'd just gone for it and left her. He'd cleaned her out her financially and she said she now understood what she'd done to me. How I'd felt. How sorry she was. How she'd taken the love I'd given her for granted as her due, and that she just assumed she'd get it from anyone she chose to let. How she knew I'd never leave her or cheat on her, and how she knows now what a stupid choice she made. She knows it's too late now, but she has that need to make restitution. There must be something she can do. Can we at least be friends?

I'll give her the fact that she did look contrite, but honestly, I'm so fucking trodden on now, it's too little too late.

I just looked at her. Eventually she ran down. I tried to explain that it's nice for her that she now realizes, but it's all too fucking late for me. I've been through that particular path twice now and I've no desire to retread it again because she's come to this epiphany. I don't think she knew that Penny had left me, or the circumstances, but I've no doubt she'll find out all about it now she has a clue.

I tried to explain that it doesn't make my life one iota any better that she has a better understanding of how I felt when she left. No, she didn't leave. She shat all over me from a great height. Manny's favorite phrase. She fucked that guy for months before leaving me, 'testing him out' as she said at the time. 'Needed to be sure he could satisfy her sexually as well as professionally.' 

What a bitch. 

Yeah, still no real forgiveness here. 

But then I look at my life since it all went down and I am forced to admit it's not been great. I didn't go out and write the great American novel, nor did I write great songs or become a powerhouse in business. I guess I'm either not creative enough or just too beaten from all the shit that's come my way. I think I have at least the right to claim that. I just tried to stay afloat and not lose it totally. 

Anyway, I tried to point this out to her and she just looked at me and said, 'What can I do to make this up?' I told her, 'Not a damn thing.' And pointedly asked her to leave.

She did at least do that. And this time it didn't cost me anything, except for my dignity after crying for the next hour. I thought I was over this. Obviously not.

Thank god for Jim Beam.

*****

Tara Western sat in the chair in the conference room, stunned. What she had just heard had knocked the wind out her. It had been such a good day so far. A good week in fact. A tip she'd gotten from a friend in Silicon Valley about a small internet startup had gone through and become gold. Two years ago, she'd invested a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, gotten some investors stock and last week, the company had sold to Twitter for almost fifty six million dollars. Her hundred and fifty thousand dollars investment was returned almost thirty-fold, making her an even richer woman than she'd been.

She'd also discovered that the slutty bitch that Peter, her ex-husband, had left her for, had just suffered a miscarriage. Tara was real enough to understand that her smile when she heard that news was awful, but also a realist enough about herself to know that that was who she was. She'd never regretted anything she'd done in her life, with the exception of one thing, and she wasn't about to start feeling bad because she was happy that the bitch who'd marched into her marriage and taken the man she'd chosen had something bad happen to her. Fuck that. Life was too short.

When the call had come through from the front desk that an investigator was waiting to see her, she was overjoyed. Finally, someone from Pearsons Investigations had some news! She was annoyed they hadn't called first – she'd be taking that up with them later – but just glad that perhaps they'd found Joe.

She had swept into the conference room, where they'd put the investigator, and found a lithe young woman, with bound blond hair, and who was just taking a writing pad out of her bag, her iPhone already on the table in front of her. Tara thought you could tell a lot about a person by how they laid things out on an empty table. She thought that this investigator was obviously methodical, everything was squared away and even her bag vanished under the table when she was done, instead of on it, looking untidy.

The woman smiled at Tara and stood up and offered her hand. "Hi, I'm April Carlisle. I was hoping..."

Ruthlessly, Tara interrupted. She'd been waiting for this news for months, and she didn't want to beat around the bush.

"Did you find him? Tell me you found Joe. I've been paying you clowns for months now, and no one has gotten a sniff of him. All I need to know is where he is. So, I ask again, have you found him? That's all I want to know. If not, what the hell are you doing here?"

April closed her mouth, then said, "Just to confirm Mrs. Western, we are talking about Joe Sullivan, yes?"

Tara's eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course we...wait a minute. You aren't with Pearsons, are you?" she said. She stood up, leaning over the table, hands as knuckles pressing onto the lacquered wood.

"Um, no, not as such."

"What are you hear for?"

"Well, I am an investigator. I'm tracing Joe Sullivan, which is why I am here."

"What for?" replied Tara, suspiciously.

"I... I have some bad news Mrs. Western. If you were looking for Joe Sullivan, you can stop now. I'm sorry to inform you that Joe has passed away."

There was a stunned silence and Tara dropped back into her chair. 

"He's...what? He's dead? He can't be dead. I haven't..." she mumbled.

April kept her silence. Better to wait until Tara asked more pointed questions. There was a minute or so of Tara staring off into the distance and mumbling words to herself. While she did so, April watched her.

She was a handsome woman – not yet past her prime, although definitely in the sunset years of it. She had the indefinable something of an older woman who takes care of herself, is extremely presentable, looks great but still has lines and some grey streaks in her hair. Yet she had something that made you ignore that, and only see the cheekbones and the eyes and the full mouth, rather than the laugh lines and the grey hairs.

Eventually Tara came back from her thoughts and looked at April.

"Who are you again?"

"I'm April Carlisle. I represent..."

She was interrupted again, thankfully, before she lied some more.

"How do you know he's gone? What's your source?"

"He died three nights ago, here in town. He was murdered, protecting a woman from a mugging."

"Oh Joe..." said Tara, her eyes tearing up and her face lowering from the direct gaze to April. "I never got to say sorry. I'm so sorry. So sorry."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Western. My understanding was that your marriage to Joe ended quite a few years ago?"

"Yes," said Tara, snuffling. She looked around for a tissue and April handed her one, having secreted a pack on the table. "Thank you. Yes, it did. It...didn't end well. I behaved... badly. I hurt him. I thought I was doing the right thing but I understand the hurt now. I was completely blind to what I did and he...he just accepted it. Well, as much as he had to. He just went on without me and I went on without him. I had my eyes firmly on the horizon, and Joe, well, Joe was more of a day to day person. He lived in the moment and I was...well, I am someone who is all about planning."

Again, April was silent.

"I was so young. So sure. So full of the need to break that glass ceiling. I knew how to do it. So I did. Joe and I used to talk about the people around us, about the future, about our plans. I just didn't realize that for Joe, it was just...an exercise in What If. For me, it was concrete. This was where I was going. I thought he understood. We were both along for the ride. At some point it became necessary that one of us get off because it could only hold two and I needed someone else along. I had thought he always understood it. 

"I didn't realize till much later that it was just what I was telling myself so I could feel ok about what I did. I honestly believed at the time. That Joe and I needed to end so I could keep ascending – that's what we'd agreed on when we were talking about the future. I just wasn't listening. Not to Joe, anyway."

There was more silence. April got up and walked over to the water jug, on a side table of the conference room. She poured two glasses, walked over to Tara, who was running her hands through her hair in distress, and gave her one. Then she returned to her seat, all without saying anything.

Tara took a sip of water and continued to unburden herself, the woman speaking now not at all the same one who had entered the room.

"I just...I don't even know what I thought. I thought it was the right thing to do. Joe wasn't going anywhere. I loved him, but that wasn't enough. I thought he needed to love me and allow me to do what I needed to do and I knew he wasn't going to do that. No real man would. So, in my own logic, I had to go. I had to go do what I needed to. I didn't know if Joe would understand or not – he didn't – but that's what I needed to do. It was a business decision. And I was right. I got what I wanted. I got the husband, the money, the title, the job I wanted. And do you know what else I got? Do you, Miss Carlisle?"

April took a sip of water herself and shook her head.

"I got a hole in my heart. I think Peter loved me, well, he loved the idea of me. He was kinky and I...well, I did what I thought was right for a wife for her husband. But I knew what I did to Joe. I tried to keep Joe here, you know? At Mercano's? I thought I could be good for him. He would have a powerful friend at court. Yeah, that worked out," Tara said, ruefully.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, this man killed people in Kuwait. Did you know that? And I was calmly sitting there telling him that me sleeping with someone else and trading up to him was for his own benefit. What the hell am I? Who was I?"

Another pause. Another sip. Then Tara said, "Why am I telling this to you?"

April could have told her. She wasn't telling April, she was letting out her own thoughts unfettered, for once – April wasn't involved in the conversation, she was just the audience. It would have taken someone like Tara, - so concerned with her own feelings and needs, - years to understand the implications of what she'd done, how she'd hurt someone else, someone else who's only crime was to love her unconditionally. 

Tara, deep down, recognized what she'd done and she needed to say it. But there was probably no one she could tell. No one of her work cronies, no one she could let her guard down in front of. April was not someone she socialized with. No one she knew. No one that she cared about. She could, ironically, be more honest with April than she ever could with anyone else. And given the state of shock she was in... this unburdening was inevitable. And April was not about to stop it, both because it was therapeutic for Tara and also because she needed to know. She was driven. She Needed To Know, in all capital letters.

"I don't know. But you obviously feel the need."

"I got cheated on too, you. Almost the exact same thing I did to Joe, Peter did to me. Found a newer model. Younger, more exciting. More likely to go places. I... you know, it didn't even really hurt that much? I could even understand where he was coming from. I'd been there. What really hurt? What really destroyed me? It was understanding what I'd done to Joe all those years ago. The realization. It just... pierced me, in my heart. 

"I knew something was missing from my marriage to Peter, but I never really thought about what it was. It was Joe. He loved me for who he thought I was. Nothing more. Peter loved me because I'd do some of the kinky things he wanted, because I was hot and made him look good. Because he'd taken me from someone else. I never told him what Joe did in the Army. It would have totally emasculated him if I had. Joe was more of a man in his little finger than Peter was. 

"But Peter was smart, he was well connected, his family was even more well connected and he understood the value of all this," Tara gestured around the room. "To Joe, this was a waste of life. His life was in the moment, not in the boardroom. It's taken me years to understand what he meant. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the spoils of my life. I've made some shitty decisions for other people, and I've done well out of it, but not having anyone to share it with...well, it kinda makes it a bit empty, you know?"

April nodded again. Internally she was trying to work out how to inject herself and the questions she had to ask into Tara's flow.

"I tried to get him business, in way that wasn't obvious it was me. I thought that might help. Especially after that bitch left him the way she did. A child with another man? Letting Joe think it was his? Fucking whore," said Tara, completely oblivious to her own culpability in her own situation.

"Well, he wasn't having that, - he saw right through it and sent the salesman back with a not that nice message -, so I went to talk to him. He still had that small company he started. That was a disaster. His best salesman ran off with his wife! If you didn't think this was a tragedy, it would be comical. Twice! How shitty is that? 

"He just never went anywhere. In that respect, I was quite right in my decision. I tried to talk to him. I wanted to do something for him. Anything. I had tried when we split up, tried to make him understand that me being in a powerful position could be good for him, but his pride! He just told me to get out, in not so many words. I think he thought I was there to hurt him again. I don't know why he was so upset – it had been years. Isn't time supposed to heal old wounds?"

April knew why. Joe was still in love with Tara, and always had been. He couldn't resolve the fact that he loved her with what she'd done to him – she was right, he did have pride, but it was in direct conflict with what his heart wanted. No wonder he'd never made a go of his business. Idly, April wondered what Marianne had made of that. She was way too smart not to make that connection.

"After that, he just...vanished. I've been looking for him ever since. He's just nowhere. I've had two PI groups looking for him. One thought he'd found him out in some backwoods town in West Virginia, but it didn't pan out. It's funny, because I know I've even been there, once. Joe took me. Some shitty little cabin in the woods. Joe said he'd gone there with his family as a kid. I will always remember his standing outside that cabin, with that stupid cap on and his fishing gear and his saluting me."

Alarm bells were ringing in April's head. Fishing, a small town in West Virginia.

"Was that town Shannondale, by any chance?" she gently interrupted, going straight for the question she wanted to ask.

"No," shook Tara's head, "it wasn't. It was some man's name. You know, one of those towns with a name."

April thought, then opened her pad and looked at her notes.

"Charles Town?" she queried.

"Yes, that's it. Some crappy weekend cabin place, like they have for summer camp. It was quite revolting and rustic and I made very sure he never took me there again. First class for this lady I'm afraid. I had thought it would be romantic, but it was dingy and smelly. Although, I do have to say, it was a good time for the nights." Tara smiled gently in memory.

April had what she had come for. Now she had to disengage. She made a point of looking at her watch.

Tara noticed. "Well, I'm sure you've got better things to do that listen to me ramble." The original Tara was back, in control and ready to move things along.

"Can I ask a favor. Can you let me know where the funeral is? I want to send something. It's the least I can do."

April nodded. "I'm sure I can arrange for that."

She picked up her phone and pad and tissues and stuffed them back in her bag, and walked toward the door. She made it out of the office without the distressed Tara ever asking her who she was with.

*****

I got the letter today from Penny. I'm not the father. I honestly thought I was. I thought it was the only way I could hold on. But I'm not. That at least confirms that it was going on for at least nine months, as we had claimed in court, but it's small fucking consolation. She did it to me. Let me think it was mine, all the way until she left to set up home and business with Mark Cuntface. I gave that guy everything. More than everything it would appear. He took from me everything I had to give.

All I have left is the business and it's in sorry shape now. He took most of my major clients; he'd been planning this for a while. I've not been doing the greatest job I could be, but I don't know that anyone could blame me. Divorce for a second time. Well Done Joe. You are a winner.

Still, clients don't care. They have demands and I'm not meeting them and frankly, right now, the next time someone calls me to ask where their shit is, I'm going to stomp on the damn phone.

Christ, this hurts. That Penny could do this to me. That I could be dealing with this a second time. I keep looking at myself in the mirror and wondering what everyone else sees. A sucker born every minute, eh? I guess I must have been born at least a thousand times then.

Do they see a two-time loser? Do they see someone to feel sorry for? Someone who is so far from the Alpha Male as to not be able to see it in the rearview mirror?

I still run. I still work out. I'm not fat. I'm not stupid – well, obviously I am for not seeing it for a second time – but I'm not stupid apart from that. I trust – obviously I've got to stop doing that.

I had thought that having a kid might give me something for this wasted life. I must have done something pretty damn shitty in a previous life. Wish I could remember what it was. 

I'm going to move out tomorrow. This place is a dump anyway, and I need a new perspective. That and I can't afford it. But hey, choice over financials right? Can't let the bastards grind you down. Ha. Like I've any choice in that.

I did think about firing a lawsuit at Mark Cuntface but beyond alienation of affection, I can't even use the clause in my own rulebook about non-fraternization. It just doesn't apply. And as well, Penny might be a cunt, and he might be a cunt, but they have a kid and what his parents do is not his fault. He may not be mine, but I still loved him. Always will, I think.

I've also had to stop seeing Marianne. I can't afford that either. And I don't think there's really anything more to say anyway. Even Marianne thought that. So that's done too. I shall miss her. I did ask if we could be friends and she said she'd like that, but I don't think she wants to. I'm a loser and she can see that. I think she only said that because that's the 'right' thing to say in that circumstance, but I'm pretty sure that's the end of that. Sucks though. She kept me going when I had no one else.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 03



I'm being stung for alimony, but I think that won't last. I think they are going to get married, now the kid really is his.

I'm really trying hard to think of something to look forward to and coming up blank. 

*****

"Hey, Jimmy. You get those files on your perp?" asked Ambrose Hillier, as he walked back from the Keruig coffee machine. He was still deeply unsure and suspicious about this whole individual coffee in a capsule thing. 

He'd just about gotten as far as instant coffee and accepted that, coming as he did from a family who ground and mixed their own beans. But this? This was against all nature and humanity and he would have been the first to protest the inclusion of one of these machines in the office if it Wasn't So Damned Good. That Coffee Mates Carmel Coffee was just way too good. Sweet, full of caffeine. It was just bad news all round.

That was the trouble. It was too damn good. And he was drinking a hell of a lot of it. Taking his latest cup, he saw Jimmy Prescott wandering in, looking unshaven and loutish and obviously back from some undercover operation.

"Yeah, I got them. They're on my desk. Thanks for looking that stuff over and finding him. It's been a long gig," yawned Prescott. "I need me some of that stuff, even if it is just plastic."

Hillier smiled, and was about to say something when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the number and then gestured to Prescott to indicate he had to take this. Prescott waved him off and Hillier plunked himself down in his desk chair, trying not to either drop the phone or spill his coffee.

"Ambrose Hillier," he answered, "What can I do you for?" It was a stupid way to answer the phone, but Ambrose Hillier still had some child left in him. His job and his divorce hadn't beaten it all out of him. Not just yet.

"This is Simon Donnelly, Mr. Hillier. I have been told you would like to speak to me? You left your card at one of my dry cleaner locations?"

"Ahhh, Mr. Donnelly, yes! I did want to speak to you. I needed to ask you about one Joe Sullivan, and your relationship with him?"

There was silence for a second and then an intake of breath, as though someone is prepared to make a statement. "Mr. Sullivan and I have a business relationship. That's really all I want to say in connection to this. Why have they reopened this case? And why at a downtown district? This was settled years ago."

"Ahh, I think you might have me at a disadvantage Mr. Donnelly. To tell you the truth, I am more following up to cross t's and dot i's than anything. This is relating to Joe Sullivan's death, and the hands of a muggers, here in DC?"

"Oh shit. Joe's dead?"

"I'm afraid so. You didn't know?"

"Know? Of course not. I've not spoken to Joe in years. The last time we spoke it was...awkward."

"How so?" asked Hillier, curious now, taking a sip of the piping hot and sweet coffee.

"Oh. Let's see. Are you aware of the incident out at Shannondale that happened a few years back? Joe was involved? Several kids out after dark, drunk. They got into difficulties. Joe was there."

"I think there's probably a bit more of that story than that, Mr. Donnelly? Could I trouble you for it?"

"You really need to know?"

"I'm afraid I do, sir."

"Fine," grumbled the voice on the other end of the phone. 

"Ok, well, it was summer. These three kids were drunk off their heads, they'd gotten hold of some fermenting cider and drank it all because they didn't realize how strong it was, nor that there was enough fermentation in the cider still going for it to keep fermenting even when it was inside them. Foolish kids that they were, they decided to go down to the river and jump about in the water to try and sober up. That or just play at Tarzan. Who the hell knows with this generation. They can't even wear their pants right without their underwear falling out. 

"Anyway, so these kids are drunk, they decide they want to take a swing out on some rope they put up years ago on some old tree out there. Trouble is, the rope itself is old, and it's the low season. The river itself is very low at that point of the year. But to these idiots, well, it's still running, so whatever. They all take turns, then decide they need to do it together. So they do. And what happens? Well, the rope breaks and they all come tumbling down, just like in the song. The thing is, because the river was low, they came down on to rocks and submerged logs and all the other stuff on a river bed that you can't see and don't worry about when the river is six feet deep. When it's two feet deep, it's another story. 

"All of them were banged up. One of them was already dead, with a broken neck. The other two were unconscious, and rapidly drowning. And who was on the other bank, a little down the way, fishing? Our friend Joe. He heard the crack, ran over to the boys and dragged them out of the water. The dead one Mikey, well, there was nothing he could do for him. He knew a dead body when he saw it, Joe did. The other two, well, he got them out of the water, administered mouth to mouth, did all you were supposed to do. 

"One of them, Todd, the ring leader, woke up in the middle of Joe giving him mouth to mouth. He did the usual things – coughed up water, vomited, all the nice stuff – and then accused Joe of trying to kiss him. Little punk. He was just worried though. It was his fathers stash they were drinking, his idea. The whole situation was just bad. He saw that his friend was dead, they were in shit above their heads and the only way he was going to get off without jail time was to make it someone else's fault, put the attention on someone else. He never let up, that little shit. Even at the inquest. Oh it was pretty obvious to most of us he was just whining to avoid taking the rap. Trouble was, his father was Mayor. And a douchebag. Has been, ever since school. And all too willing to believe what his son said. They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Well, in this case, it's right there, next to the trunk. 

"So he makes a fuss and does so publicly, and somehow, even at the inquest, even though they found for misadventure, Joe Sullivan got the blame. All he did was save those kids and somehow, he got the blame for their predicament. There was no logic or reason there that day, just all emotion, because that's what Mayor Byerland is, all emotion and no reason.

"The only saving grace was that the media at the time got Joe's name wrong. They called him Jessie O'Sullivan. It was the only thing that enabled him to stick around. So, there you go. That's the story of Joe Sullivan."

Hillier absorbed all that and thought for a second before speaking.

"I thank you for that, but it doesn't really answer my question?"

"Oh, no, I guess I didn't. Sorry. Yeah, well, the other kid Joe saved was Eddy Donnelly. My son."

"I begin to understand."

"Look, I know. I know. I didn't stand by the guy. You have no idea how it is out here. I was in a public job. If I'd supported him, it would have been the end of it. I didn't say anything against him, but I didn't stand up for him either. And he saved my kid. I'm a fuckin' douchebag and I know it. But... if I had, well, there would have just been two of us ostracized.

"So, I did what I could and it happened anyway, and after it, I tried to reach out to him. I had no idea where he lived – just that it was local. I found he had a PO Box in Charles Town and so I left a message there, and he called me and agreed to meet. I offered him whatever I could and you know all he'd take? Left over clothes and blankets and stuff from my dry cleaning business. I figured he was wearing them or something. I don't know. Don't care much to be honest. Just that whatever he wanted, he got.

"I did go over to Charles Town and talk to some people there. Explained that all was not as it seemed for Joe, and that he'd need help and work and, well, people rallied. That's what people do out here. It's not all sex with our cousins you know. Well, not mostly anyway. They looked after Joe. They protected him. I'm just glad the papers got his name wrong."

"Yes, that's interesting Mr. Donnelly. I wonder how that happened? You wouldn't, by chance, happen to be the local paper editor, would you?"

The voice on the end of the phone chuckled. "No, but I can imagine why you might think that. No, I'm not. I run a bunch of garages out here."

"Oh," said Hillier, disappointed.

"But my brother, well, lets just say he's in the media, and leave it at that."

"Ah." 

"Well, this sucks. Joe was a decent guy. He did the right thing and look where it got him."

"Yes, that's true," agreed Hillier, still processing what he'd heard.

"Look, if you get details on the funeral, can you let me know? There are some people out here who'd like to know."

"Sure," replied Hillier, "I can do that."

"Thanks, Mr. Hillier. Tell me, did Joe die well?"

"What, like a Klingon death you mean?" replied Hillier, and then wished he hadn't. 

Amazingly the voice at the other end chuckled. "Well, I can't ever imagine Joe brandishing a big old sword and yelling 'today is a good day to die,' but yeah, the man lived him life by principles and a code. I just wondered if he died that way. It wouldn't surprise me."

"You'll be glad to know he did. He died saving a woman from a mugging gone bad. She'd have died had he not intervened."

There was a pause and the voice said, "God damn! Now there's someone who knows how to go. Good for him. I wish I had his courage. Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Hillier. I hope you have a good day."

There was a click, and the voice was gone.

Hillier threw the phone down and drank some more of his rapidly-cooling coffee. Charles Town, eh? A PO box there? That might warrant a visit some time soon, he thought.

*****

Penny left today. I had guessed it was coming, after the revelation she was having an affair with Mark. I have no idea how long it's been going on – hell, I didn't have a clue. Or more to the point, I did – I saw signs – but I thought, 'no, it couldn't be happening again.' I thought I'd had my bad karma event for life. I had thought that I had problems trusting and what I was seeing was the result of my own suspicious nature. I'd actually convinced myself what I was seeing was my own over suspicious leanings because of what Tara did. That it couldn't possibly be happening again.

But then last week, Penny sat me down, with Mark there, and they were holding hands. Well, it was pretty obvious then. I got all the "It's not you, it's me" and "We didn't plan this, it just happened" and "I still love you, just not the way I love him". Well, it's been happening for a while, obviously.

I'm just so stupid not to have seen this. No sex for seven months – yeah, 'amniotic sack' my ass. I was cut off. From my darling wife, who's been fucking my uber-salesman on the side.

So I'm a two-time loser now. I did have the satisfaction of belting that fucker Mark. He'll carry that cut on his face for a while, from where my ring cut him. Fuck them if they want to press charges, it was worth it.

I did tell them that she could just fuck right off, but she's not taking my son with them. I'll fight them tooth and nail; he's mine and he's going to stay right here.

I got a restraining order, but that won't last long. Either way, I need to get on this.

Four years of marriage down the drain. I didn't even bother asking why this time. It's obviously me. Once, it can be situation. Twice? Well, the only common denominator is me. You do the math.

Fuck. How does it happen twice? What is wrong with me? Am I that much of a loser? Am I that boring or stupid or a waste that women are just compelled to leave me?

What the hell am I going to do now? So much for the second go round.

*****

April's car had a throaty exhaust on it. She knew it would sound anemic next to a Mustang or a Porsche – enough of her co-workers made fun of her car for her to know that, - but she loved the sound. It was just the right note to her ear.

She drove out to Charles Town, along Route 70 and then switched to a local route, 340. She had the top down – it wasn't that warm but the skies were clear, and that's what heaters in cars are for. She had a scarf on her head to protect her hair, big black sunglasses and she looked all for the world like some 1950's starlet.

Eventually, she pulled into Charles Town and was surprised at how small it actually was. Like many towns, it had a small, old-fashioned town center, with the large retail stores like Walmart on the outskirts.

April drove the length of Washington Street – the main street for Charles Town – looking carefully at the shops and stores, trying to decide which one Joe Sullivan might have frequented – where she might pick up some information of where he lived, what he did.

Did he drink coffee? Was it worth stopping off at the Jumpin' Java café? Perhaps the County Commission might know something? April was prepared to stop at everyone to ask if she had to, but conserving your energy and going where success was mostly likely was best.

Eventually she decided on a drink at the local tap tavern, right off the main street. She walked in and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Exactly the kind of dive bar she imagined Joe in. Smokey, slightly dark and with that last-nights-beer-on-the-floor smell that all good dive bars have.

She spent an hour there, trying to talk to the barman and politely fighting off advances from some of the local day drinker winners that frequent bars like that during the day. She left none the wiser – the barman and locals were quite firm that they had 'never heard of him', and she was also sure that they had and were very sure that they were not going to talk to her, smile as she might.

She was pretty sure that she was in the right place now. Now she just had to find someone who would talk to her.

She tried the coffee shop, and immediately on mentioning Joe's name, the lady behind the counter clammed up. She got suspicious looks from other people in the coffee shop, and she knew then that Joe was known here, but for some reason, this community was protecting him. 

Eventually, she had a brain wave. Sitting in her car, looking at Google Maps, she watched an electric post office van go past her. She stared at it, and then started her car and followed it. It pulled into the local post office and she parked in the parking lot, digging in her bag for an envelope and stamp. It took two seconds to find one, write the name out, stick a stamp on it and then close it.

She went inside and stood in line. Eventually she came to the front and put on her best smile and presented the letter to the lady behind the counter – an older woman with glasses and bundled silver hair, a lined face that spoke of life lived hard, saying, "Um, excuse me. I have a letter I need to send to Joe Sullivan, but I don't have his local address. Is there any chance you might be able to help?"

The woman behind the counter looked at her, then leaned over and looked at the line behind her and then said, "So you the woman looking for Joe, eh? Yeah, don't be surprised. In the sticks, we all have one eye in the middle of our foreheads, we all marry our cousins and guess what? We have phone! We actually talk to each other. What do you want with Joe?"

This was the first confirmation that Joe had been in the area and April decided to go for broke. Try the truth for once.

"Honestly? Joe is dead. He was killed, and I'm looking for where he lived."

There was silence in the line. The postal worker, whose badge named her 'Sue', put down the letter.

"He's.. he's what?"

"He died. Five days ago. Saving me from being mugged," replied April.

The muttering began. Two people peeled off from the line and pulled out cell phones. April watched them, then turned back to Sue.

"He was well-liked around here then?"

"Joe was... well, he was one of those people who you never notice, but he was always there. He's helped out everyone around here at one point or another. I presume you know of his string of bad luck?"

April nodded. "I've found out a fair bit about our Joe. He appears to have the patron saint of bad luck following him around."

"Yeah, well, for all that's he's done around here, we...look after our own. Several people have come looking for Joe and no one has ever found him. He won't be found till he makes it known he wants to be. What's you interest here?" 

April sighed. Time for some truth again.

"To be frank, I'm just trying to track him. Where he lived. See if there is anyone left I can help. I figured they would want to know what happened. I just...need some closure, you know?"

Sue stared at her, obviously trying what to decide what to do. She made a decision.

"I can't give you his address, but if you are staying in the area, I would strongly suggest you check out Trolleys Field Cabins. They are just out of town. You should stay there."

April nodded silently, gave a beaming smile to Sue and left the post office.

She sat in her car, checking Google Maps and located Trolleys Field Weekend Cabins, just outside of town. Once she'd entered the address, she started her car and headed out into the afternoon traffic.

*****

Penny delivered today! Happiest day of my life, by far. A perfect baby boy; we named him Aaron. I can't believe how perfectly formed he is. It's been nine months of hell – no sex for the past seven, apparently the Doctor said it would be bad for her ' potentially rupture the amniotic sack' or something. I dunno, sounds scary though. Mark was there, he brought cigars, which was nice. I haven't had a good cigar in years. Cubans of course, Christ knows where he gets them.

I got to hold the baby for an hour and it's a humbling experience. I am so scared. I spent an hour just buying books on Amazon about being a dad and some for Penny about being a mom. She looks tired and spent, and I've no doubt why. Maybe we should think about a cruise or something, get some sparkle back in life. Aaron would love it.

*****

Hillier was bored. He was on a stakeout in Benning Ridge, a suburb of D.C., looking for a crystal meth dealer. He'd already spent too long sitting there, yawning and wondering when the scumbag dealer he was looking for was going to show up. He'd spent the time with the other detective doing all the things that cops traditionally do when on a stakeout. 

There had been coffee. Lots of coffee. Danish pastries, hamburgers, conversations about red meat and bananas, even a banal attempt to play I-Spy. But like all real stakeouts, it was boring, tedious and repetitive. Every cop had their own way of surviving it, but whatever you did, you couldn't take your eye off the ball. You had to be observant and watch, not be playing on an iPad or reading a book.

An hour before he was due to for relief – and get his two precious days off – Hillier made a decision.

He was going to drive out to Charles Town the next day. He was off anyway, and he had nothing else to do. He didn't feel like he had enough to go on to do it in any official capacity – hell, he wasn't even supposed to still be investigating this. There was no real reason for him to dig deeper, but he just couldn't help doing it. Every time he learned something more about Joe Sullivan, he found the need to keep exploring. He sounded like a man worth knowing, dealing with all the shit his life had thrown at him and still not completely giving up.

Once he'd made that decision, Hillier just felt easier in himself. He resolved that first thing in the morning, he'd drive out to Charles Town, poke around a bit and see what he could dig up, see if anyone knew of Julian Sullivan out there in the sticks.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 03



*****

Penny announced she is pregnant today! We all went out for dinner and drinks at Capianos, my treat. The business is doing well – well, for two of us. I really think we need another designer, but Mark says he thinks the downturn won't be enough to support three full-time employees, and I am being swayed. He's often right about this stuff, so in this case, I'm overruling my own feelings. They say that you need to trust in your subordinates, and in this case, I think it's probably right. We can always hire later if we need to.

But it was great. Lovely meal, funny company and Penny just glowed. She held both our hands that night – it was nice for Mark to feel like family. He doesn't have anyone else and he isn't quite the lady-killer I had imagined. When he started, there seemed lots of dates he'd tell me about, but they've petered off over the last few months. I think maybe he's just tired of the dating pool. I need to talk to Penny, see if she's got any friends he might date.

*****

April pulled into the parking lot of Trolleys Fields and parked her car against a row of trees that seemed to indicate a parking area.

As she'd driven into Trolleys Fields, right off Ambler Road, and navigated the long winding and narrow service track, she'd seen the bridge – the very small wooden bridge over the small creek, that was very high. The creek was flowing fast and was only inches below the bridge itself, and it did make her a little nervous to be crossing it. However, the nervousness was secondary to noticing the color of the dirt of the forest and the track. It was a particular shade of brown and the last time she'd seen it, it was covering Joe Sullivan's truck.

She knew she was closing in. Joe's truck had been here. She could see how the mud would get sprayed up if the water got any higher – obviously this had flooded in the past, the dirt got wet, became mud and then covered any car with a wide wheel base that was wider than the rocks thrown down to mark the trail.

She pulled into the first cabin, a large wood log affair, with signs outside saying "Vacation Homes available. Rent by the day, week or month." It was obviously the office and there was a slow lazy smoke trail emanating from the small chimney in the roof. It looked for all the world like one of those Lincoln Log models that kids make at Christmas time.

April looked over the building, navigating her way across the mud field of the parking lot, trying to keep her boots out of the more obvious sink holes, then went inside.

Inside it was cozy. She was surprised. After how Tara had described the place, she had expected it to be dank, drafty and smelly. But it wasn't. There was a fire in the fire place, slowly burning down. Easy chairs, a coffee pot, a TV with a muted news program on, and even newspapers around the place. Current ones, at that, she noted.

There was a large desk against one wall, and against another wall, a large slotted wall rack loaded with pamphlets about local attractions. She couldn't help but notice that most of them were for the same attractions. West Virginia didn't have a Disney Land or Great America to boast of, so most were for fishing expeditions, or paintballing. Some were for attractions in D.C. and why not, they were less than an hour outside of the larger city of power.

There was no one in office space and April went over the desk, looking around and waiting for someone to arrive. And eventually, someone did, heralded by the flushing of a toilet and a door banging open.

A large-bellied man, with a red face and the swollen red nose of a habitual drinker came out, trying to do up his belt. He stopped when he saw April, then put on the fakest smile imaginable, that was made worse by the broken and yellowed teeth he showed when he did it. His countenance was almost spot on for Danny Devito playing The Penguin in the old 1980's movie Batman Returns – thin lips, and straggling thin and greasy hair, down to his shoulders. Upon seeing her, his expression and face were attempting to ingratiate and it was truly terrifying to behold. April had to stop herself from taking a step back as he approached her, even though there was a two-foot desk between them.

"Can I help you... miss?" he said, glancing at her hands to see if she was wearing any rings.

"Well, that depends," replied April, doing her best not to show her revulsion as he mans eyes raked over her body.

"On what, lovely lady? We have several deluxe cabins ready for that...delightful personage to grace them with your presence."

It was slimy and April was consumed with a sudden desire to punch this man on the nose, very hard, just to see it spurt blood.

"I'm only interested in one particular cabin."

"And which one is that?"

"The one Joe Sullivan lives in."

"Huh, you want cabin 37. I see. Professional? Yes, I can imagine that's what Joe would need. I doubt he trusts women as far as he can throw them."

April just held out her hand, not trusting herself to speak at that moment. It did answer one question though. There would be no one home waiting for Joe. He was truly alone. It made April unutterably sad.

He just looked at her hand, uncomprehendingly. "What?"

"Key," replied April.

"Oh," said the man, looking disappointed. He bent down and opened a draw, talking while he did. "Didn't he give you one? Won't he be there? Why do you need one?"

As he came up, she looked him in the eye, gave him a simpering smile and said, "He wants me ready for him when he gets in."

He put the key in her hand, smirking as he did it. "Hey, look, when you get done with him, think you might have some time? I might have more business for you..."

"Oh I'm sorry," said April, a shiver going up her spine. "Joe just wears me out. He's quite the stud. I doubt you'd want sloppy sixths. Or sevenths. You never know with Joe."

The man whistled. "Whhhooooeee! I guess you never can tell! That guy is like THE best maintenance guy around – this place runs because of the shit he does. But I had no idea he was a stud too! I gotta give him his due when I see him next! Doooggeee!"

April was already on her way out, after grabbing one of the site plans on the table in front of her. She couldn't take another moment of this man's drool. 

She picked her way across the mud and jumped back in her still-warm car. She'd put the hood up earlier, when some dark clouds had gathered and was glad about it. She'd had one experience before where she'd forgotten to do that, and returned to a sodden car and from that one time, she'd learned to always put the hood up.

She looked at the sky – it was even more threatening and so she hurried out of the parking lot and onto the track that led back to the individual cottages, arranged either side of the path. Behind, on both sides, the forest loomed, dark and foreboding.

She drove down the trail, checking out the numbers on the cottages. Most where dark and unused, but a few had lights on and there were smoke coming from one or two – obviously the occupiers had seen the forecast too.

Eventually she found cabin 37. It was much further back from the road than the others. It was in significantly better shape than the others, had lots of patches on the wood, where some logs were obviously newer than others. The windows were clear and there were curtains and not blinds on the inside.

Outside, there was a chopping block and a huge pile of wood that had been split, some under cover and more out in the open. Presumably this was the source for the whole came site. There was a fire pit – not recently used – a grill, which was clean and had a cover. There was even a washing line she could see out the back.

April got out of the car and just looked at it. Joe Sullivan's final home. She'd found it. She didn't know what to feel about the end of her journey, but she knew she had to go in and see the inside.

She approached the door and the key she had worked first time. The lock was oiled and just slid open.

The cabin was neatly laid out. Large living area, with a small bathroom carved out in the back, she could see a shower and a toilet behind a partially opened door. Stairs along the left wall led up to a loft-style bedroom area, with a small balcony so the bed area could see down into the main living space.

There was a small kitchenette, with water and a drying rack. A small gas-driven built-in burner was inset on one of the work surfaces, and there was a fridge and even a one-piece washer and dryer, all neatly plumbed in.

There was a couch and a single recliner arranged around the fireplace, and a small TV and DVD player in the corner. There was even a CD player set up in the corner.

But what there wasn't were any pictures on the walls. There were some prints, but nothing personal. No pictures of anyone, save one on the mantelpiece, of a bunch of Army guys in sand fatigues, posing against a desert backdrop.

She looked around the room, turned on a light the was a sudden WHAP noise, and then the room seemed to be full of black Labrador dog, barking at her, poised to launch, but never actually doing so, just barking a lot.

She looked down at the dog, trying to judge if he was an actual threat. He was salivating and barking and doing the dance a dog does when it wants you to know it's there but isn't confident enough to actually attack.

She looked down at him and smiled. "Hi there? What's your name?" she said, gently.

The dog stopped barking for a second and sat down, look at her, mouth open. April looked around, wondering where he had come from, and then spied the doggy door in the wall, by the back door.

She also spied a couple of bowls on the floor, one for water and one for food. Both were empty.

"Oh you poor baby. Have you not been fed?" She moved towards the bowls, which set the dog off again, barking.

"Hush, Dog. Stop it. Cease. Be Quiet!" The last statement she made in a sharp voice, staring down the dog, and he stopped and sat down.

"Good boy. Let's get you something to eat and drink." As she picked up the water bowl, the dog started whining and got up and paced around, looking from the food bowl to April and back again. She filled the water bowl and smiled down at him. "It's OK. I'll feed you, don't worry."

She put down the water bowl, filled the food bowl and within seconds, the dog was tucking in like there was no tomorrow. 

April wandered around the place, never settling. She tried sitting down, and couldn't get entirely comfortable. It wasn't that the place wasn't comfortable; it was. It was just...full of ghosts.

She put on coffee, using the small coffee maker – complete with personally ground coffee she found in a glass canister. Then, for lack of anything else to do, she cleaned out the fireplace and laid a new one, setting it going.

The act of setting it going meant that she was planning on staying, even though consciously, she wasn't aware of it. By now the heavens had opened and it was pouring outside, and she noticed that the cabin was totally dry. No leaks. She stood with a cup of coffee, watching the rain, with a fire behind her and the dog splayed out on the floor in front of it.

She'd petted him while waiting for the coffee to perk and discovered a nametag on his collar – his name was Max. Maximum Dog, apparently. She'd smiled at that. Joe had a sense of humor.

Once Max was used to her, he was fine. Even sitting on the floor, laid out, his eyes never left her as she moved around the cabin.

Eventually, she plopped herself down in the easy chair in front of the fire and said to Max, "What is there to do around here? No computers, the TV isn't hooked up, what do you do all day? Is there a book or something?"

Max looked mournfully at her and yawned, opening his mouth all the way as he did so. She looked around and saw a notebook on the side, along with a pen. Notebooks and pens. That meant writing! That might be interesting. She might get some insight. She picked up the book and opened at a random page and began to read. 



Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 04



I hired my first employee today! Mark Glasso. Nice kid. He seems smart and driven. He's got a great pedigree and he's all up in the biz. Knows the buzzwords and knows the right people to talk to. Good looking Italian guy, which for a salesman is a great look. I suspect he's a lady-killer too, but we aren't close enough to talk about that yet.

First employee! This time next year, there'll be ten of us! Finally, I feel like life is back on track!

*****

It had rained all night and the morning brought no signs of it stopping. Charles Town was awash with water and mud from cars driving in from the surrounding land. Hillier was seriously glad he'd bought his boots with him – a last minute impulse grab, right before heading off to McDonald's for a breakfast on the move. He'd also remembered his umbrella and coat, but at this time of year, those were a must anyway. Given the way it had rained during the night, he was expecting to need them.

The stakeout the day before had been a bust, but he wasn't too cut up about it.

As it was, he was just enjoying the driving, with the windows open, smelling the freshness of the land after a major rainstorm.

That was right up until he sat in crawling traffic for an hour, passing by a three-car accident caused by the wetness, which snarled everything on the two-lane road.

When he finally pulled into Charles Town, his temper was not the best.

He went straight to the local cop shop, and flashed his badge at the desk sergeant, who straightened up when he saw it. He made a call and a minute later, an equally harassed-looking detective in an equally rumpled suit came out, with a plastic cup of what Hillier was sure was terrible coffee in it.

He gestured to Hillier to head back and held the door open for him.

"Detective Hillier? I'm detective David Hanson. What can we do for our cosmopolitan brethren today?" Hanson's voice was tired but clipped and precise and his use of language was enough to raise an eyebrow. His voice just didn't fit coming from the face it did.

"Nice to meet you, Detective Hanson. So, yeah, not strictly on the books here. I'm here on a more personal mission, checking out a hunch. I'm hoping you can help."

Hillier was guided to a seat next to a neat desk, with computer and phone, and almost nothing else. He raised his eyebrow at that, too. A cop's desk is NEVER clean.

Hanson noticed him looking and said, "All digital out here now, chief. Paper stays in trees. So what can we do for you?"

"Joe Sullivan," replied Hillier, with no preamble.

Hanson winced. "And what has Charles Town's finest Boy Scout done now?" he asked.

"So he's from here then? Score one for the hunch," smiled Hillier.

"Oh yeah, he's from here. The locals around here think he's some kind of wood fairy, and protect him from everything. He was involved in something a while back which got a kid killed. He got vilified by one of the kids, but then somehow he still ended up smelling of roses around here. 

"I've had to pull him stinking drunk out of a bar one night – pure luck I happened to be there and see him take on a couple of redneck assholes that where harassing one of the girls in there to do karaoke. He absolutely decked those guys, although in the most clumsy way possible and I had to get him out of their before he did real damage to himself. He even had a pop at me, so I put him in the cells to sober up. He was extremely apologetic the next day."

"Sounds like our boy," said Hillier.

"So what's your need?" inquired Hanson.

"Just trying to track him down is all. He turned up dead on our turf. Was killed defending a woman from a mugging."

Hanson put down his drink. "Shit. That sucks. People around here are not going to like that very much. You get the killer?"

Hillier scowled. "No. Fucker got away. We know who he is and we got his two accomplices – the woman was doing a good job of defending herself and had put two down, but the other scum bag was behind her, pulled a knife, and that's when Joe got involved. He took him on, got stabbed, that's all she wrote."

"Oh shit. What a clusterfuck," sighed Hanson.

"So yeah, just trying to see where he came from. Looking to see if anyone needs to be notified, and because, well, I'm just really curious about this guy. He just seems a good guy, with a lot of shit poured on him. You know where the man laid his head?"

"Yeah, we had to drop him back there after the drunk tank that one time. He lives out in one of the cabins at Trolley Fields. It's just out of town. I'll give you the address."

Hillier sat back as Hanson busied himself on the computer, thinking to himself, 'It's always nice when a hunch pans out.' He considered texting April to let her know he'd found where Joe lived, but thought he'd wait till he'd actually been there. He owed it to any survivors first.

*****

Well, I did it again. Unto the breach, dear friends. I'm a married man again. And it feels GREAT. This time I got it right. The perfect woman, I can finally trust again. Penny looked stunning today. Manny even came into town to be best man. I haven't seen him since the Cambridge Event. I'm glad he's still kicking – he looks great, working as a Harley salesman in Wisconsin. It was so good to see him – last time we spoke I was a mess and he did say how much better I was doing.

We are at the airport right now, bound for a week in Bermuda. I cannot wait to see what Penny has packed for the honeymoon. I felt like sending a pic of the two of us to Tara, but that would just be petty and she'd not care anyway. She made it clear she was done with me.

Well fuck her. The best revenge is living well, and by god I'm going to do that.

Even Marianne showed up at the wedding, which blew my mind. She scrubs up well, does that one. Very surprised to see her there, with her husband. She was watching me very intently, but I don't care. This is my day. Well, mine and Penny's.

*****

Hillier pulled into the mud lot of Trolleys Fields and parked in exactly the same spot that April had the day before. He was wearing heavy boots and as such didn't have to pick through the mud as April had, which was just as well since the rain had left the ground sodden and churned up.

He ran into the guest services cottage and found almost the same set up as April had the day before, only this time, the wizened fat man, was sound asleep in one of the easy chairs in front of the fire, hands linked over his belly and a half full bottle of Johnny Walker and empty glass on the table next to it. Hillier could smell the man's breath from the door, and it wasn't pretty.

He deliberately banged the door to try and wake the man up, and when that didn't work, he walked over the desk and banged the bell several times. That had the same effect. Hillier waited a couple of moments, just in case this amazing specimen of man hood was not the desk clerk and when no one came, he went over the man and just shook him until the man came out of his alcoholic slumber.

The man fell off the chair, landed on the floor, swore and started to lever himself up. He got up and looked around with the bleary eyes of someone not yet completely awake or aware, mumbled something and shuffled off to the desk, ignoring Hillier's presence.

Once he was behind the desk, looking a little more awake, and using both hands spread out to keep himself up right, he slurred, "What can I do for you, sir? Do you need a cabin for the weekend?"

Hillier just looked at him, went straight into it and said, "Joe Sullivan. Which cabin is his?"

"And why should I tell you?" said the man, trying to look haughty and just looking sad.

Hillier flipped open his badge. The man could barely focus on it, but said, "Fine. Cabin 37. Sure is one popular guy recently. Two people looking for him in two days?"

Hillier had been on his way out when he stopped and turned. "Two?"

"Yeah, the hooker the other day. Pretty girl. Would have liked some of that myself. She might even still be there. Apparently Joe is quite the man, if you know what I mean." The man was making gyrations with his hips that made Hillier sick to his throat.

Then Hillier's eyes narrowed. "Blond? Well put together? Driving a convertible?"

"Yeah, sure sounds like her. Veeery cute. I can just imagine..."

Hillier snorted and walked out of the cabin. April Carlisle was here! She'd found him, and before Hillier had too! Cheeky cow. Oh, words would be had, no question.

*****

Hillier pulled in next to April's Nissan Z, meaning she was still here. He trudged up to the front door of the cabin, kicking his boots on the porch to dislodge mud and then went straight in, without bothering to knock.

April was sitting in front of the fireplace, where there was a low fire going – just embers. There was the smell of coffee in the cabin and she was wrapped in a blanket. There was a black Labrador dog at her feet, who was now on his, barking for all he was worth.

Hillier stopped in the doorway, wondering what to do. Should he get his piece? Was the dog dangerous? He just looked for a second, and while the dog was going nuts yelling at him, it was only walking back and forth.

Hillier looked at April, who looked back at him, a weak smile on her face. He noticed her makeup was extremely smeared, with streaks of mascara down her face. She'd evidently been crying.

She looked down at the dog and said, sharply, "Max, can it."

The dog stopped barking and turned and looked at her, questioning. "On your bed Max. Off you go," she said, just as hard.

The dog turned and ambled off to a large cushion on the floor by the stairs to the upstairs loft. He curled up on it and laid his head down, not taking his eyes off Hillier.

Hillier held up his hands and said, "Ok to approach the bench?"

April gave him another weak smile and said, "It took me hours to hit on the right phrase for him. Got it in the end though. Joe would never have a dog he hadn't trained."

Hillier walked in and sat down on the small couch next to the easy chair and studied her. "So, you found this place first? Clever girl. I'd love to know how you did it."

April put got up abruptly, throwing down the blanket and walked over to Hillier. She bent down, took his face in both hands and kissed him hard.

It was completely unexpected for Hillier. She was a very attractive woman, out of his league and it was shocking. It didn't stop him from kissing her back, but it was so out of left field he didn't feel he did a good job.

She finished the kiss and stood back, looking down at him. He didn't voice any of the number of question that were running around his head.

"Ambrose, I know this is unexpected, but I need you to take me to bed. Right now. Please. I need to feel something other than I feel right now. What I've read, it breaks my heart and I can't keep feeling that. Take me upstairs right now and do it. Please."

There was a quiver in April's voice, like she was really close to breaking, and Hillier had to weigh up this unexpected request. Should he do this, and give her short-term relief, but then have to deal with the fact that it happened, and she might be pissed at him for 'taking advantage', or should he respectfully refuse, hope to take the moral high ground and hope she understood down the line? Choices choices...

Screw it, he was a guy and he'd not gotten laid in months. He stood up, and she took his hand and took him upstairs to the small bedroom loft. There was a queen-sized bed, with a fake animal skin bedspread on it. It was comfortable and looked clean.

They didn't waste any time – April didn't even bother taking her clothes off, she just hitched up her skirt and pulled off her panties. She had Hillier's belt unbuckled and his pants unzipped – and noticed he lived dangerously, going commando – in seconds. Even Hillier was surprised at her agility with the removal of clothes. 

Hillier wasn't hard yet, so she looked at him with a gleam in her eye, licked her lips and crouched down, taking his expanding member in her mouth. He tasted clean and was cut, which was a blessing, but at that moment, April would not have cared. 

She needed him hard and she needed him in her and she needed to feel something more than the desperate emptiness she felt after reading Julian Sullivan's Journal. That so much shit could come down on one person. So many bad things – so many betrayals, all at the hands of those he trusted and loved. And every time he tried, something else crashed down. He couldn't even save another's life without being made the villain. It was so desperately unfair and wrong. And then he'd died, saving her life.

On top of her survivor's guilt, it was too much. And she needed Hillier now. More than ever in her life, she needed a cock inside her, - any cock, - that could make her feel something.

Hillier was still dazed. Here he was, in the cabin of a dead man he'd been tracking down, with a beautiful woman at least ten years his junior, with her mouth on his cock, doing wonderful things to it – her mouth was like velvet, no hint of teeth, and what her tongue was doing was just amazing. She had his cock grasped firmly at the hilt, forcing more blood into it, and his erection was happening extremely fast, yet it didn't seem to stop her deep throating it. Whatever else April might be, she was one HELL of a cocksucker.

In the end, he had to physically pull her off, not that he wanted to. But he also wanted to give a good accounting of himself, and blowing his load in her mouth in the first ten minutes was not going to do that.

She looked up at him, and he was surprised at the pure lust in her eyes.

"Fuck me," she said, and pushed herself down on the bed, on all fours, pulling her skirt up around her waist.

So Hillier did. No preamble, he got behind her, held the tip of his rock-hard cock, and positioned it so it was in front of her opening and slid in, right to the hilt.

He couldn't believe how hot it was inside April. She was wet and he just slid in, no fuss and no hitches.

April sighed and arched her back, so the angle was even more acute and he was even deeper in her. He started thrusting, in and out, trying to work up a rhythm she would accept. He was pounding her for almost ten minutes, when he slapped her ass, hard, and heard her yip "ow", but in a "give it to me again" way. So he did it again. And she reacted again. 

"Harder," she said. This was raw fucking and feeling. There was no emotion, just Hillier ramming it home and holding on to April and spanking her, and her accepting and offering it up.

So for the next ten minutes, he spanked April, while fucking her as hard as he could. Eventually, he just had to change positions – his thighs were on fire, since this was not something he expected and he was out of shape for this.

They tried several more positions – missionary, which Hillier really liked because he got to watch April's face, as she bit her lip, face all scrunched up, with the look of someone on their way to coming but not there yet. On her side, her on top, reverse cowgirl, everything he knew to try. And she knew two that he'd never done before. The Wheelbarrow was a new one on him.

She didn't meet his eyes at any point, but that was ok. He also noticed that he was doing all the work, but that was ok too. She needed this, not him. Although, no, he did need it. Big time.

She murmured and groaned and occasionally gave him direction with timing, until both of them where sweating, and she made him stop, just so she could shuck her clothes, that were now writing wet and sloppy. He did the same. Then they resumed, back with her on all fours, but with him standing next to the bed, pounding at her for all he was worth.

By his count she had come twice, and was on her way to a third.

Eventually, though, he could hold off no longer and he exploded in her, filling her with his jizz, with an almost five-month load. He could feel it blow, when he was at his fullest extension, that most awesome of feelings. Knowing it was deep in a willing woman.

He stumbled backwards, then fell on the bed next to April, who also collapsed sideways.

Suddenly he realized what he'd done – unprotected sex– that was a no no! and his eyes widened. April was looking at him enough to see it and said, quietly, "Don't worry. I'm safe. I'm sure you are too."

Hillier relaxed and laid back on the bed and just tried to catch his breath, while April watched him, through lidded eyes.

*****

When they were done later that afternoon, after a second, lazier and slower lovemaking session, April had gotten up, wrapped herself in a sheet and gone downstairs to make more coffee. She'd found Max, halfway up the stairs, looking at her and whining softly. From the lack of dog hairs upstairs, April guess he wasn't allowed up there in the bedroom, but he was curious and testing boundaries with the new people. She sent him back down stairs and he went, tail down.

She got the coffee on and Hillier appeared, tucking his shirt into his pants.

"We gonna talk about this?" he asked hesitantly, dropping into one of the two chairs at the very small breakfast table.

April smiled and handed him a cup of hot coffee. "No. It was a one time thing. I hope you understand that. There is no relationship here. I just...needed you. And you were there. I hope you aren't upset? We aren't in love because we fucked one time."

"Twice," murmured Hillier as he took a sip of scaldingly hot coffee, "it was twice."

April smiled gently and sat down opposite him.

"I'm sorry. Big day for you?" she teased.

"Shut up," replied Hillier in a flat voice, but his smile belied his tone.

April's chuckled. "Well, speaking as someone with experience, you aren't half bad. If you aren't doing it twice in an afternoon very often, then you need to get back in the saddle, my boy. You can make a woman quite happy, you know."

Hillier arched his eyebrow at that, but didn't ask the obvious question. He didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

"So what now? What got you so upset?" he enquired, trying to put concern into his voice. He didn't want to return April to the condition she'd been in when he got there, but he wanted the answers.

"Joe wrote a journal. It was something he picked up as a task from his therapist. It's... horrible reading. The man was so abused by everyone he trusted and loved, Ambrose. I don't honestly know how he didn't just put a gun to his head and end it all. He was fucked by the Military, by two wives – both of whom cheated on him, in the worst possible way – and then by the family of kids he saved from drowning. And what did he do? He tried to help other people instead. And he's killed saving me from being stabbed. The guy wasn't a boy scout, he was Jesus Christ himself returned to earth. I came here looking for answers and what I got was an ocean of guilt to add to the pool of it I already had."

April ran her hands through her hair.

"I just can't get over what these women put him through. The second one is even worse than the first – she knew what he'd already been through and did it anyway."

"Can I read this? I think this might be evidence, April. I may have to take this. If there is wrong doing detailed in there..."

April was good. Her eyes didn't flicker to where the book lay, on the side table. She just simply said, "No."

Hillier's eyebrows went up. "No?" he repeated. "April, this is almost a crime scene."

"But it's not one. And you are out of your jurisdiction anyway, so don't be so high and mighty."

Hillier shrugged. "Sure, but one phone call..." He left that hanging.

"Ambrose, I'm fine with you taking the journal. But not yet. There are things I need to do with it first. I have plans. If you feel anything for this man, let me have it. I can do things you can't. Things that need to happen. There needs to be retribution and restitution and I can make that happen. Legally." She added that last word. "Let me do this."




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 04



"Legally. You sure about that?"

"Oh yes. Completely. Ethically up the wazzo, - although you could say it's extremely moral – these bitches need a lesson in humility and hurting people - but legally? Of course. I need this. I need to do this. Joe needs this."

April could already see that Hillier was wavering. She imagined that her entreaties along with the way they'd spent the afternoon were getting to him.

He opened his mouth, and closed it again, thinking. Then he said, abruptly, "What the hell. It's not official anyway. Sure, go ahead. Get it out of your system. But I want to read this soon, ok? I want to know this guy too."

April smiled, jumped up and ran around to Hillier to hug him. As she did so, she felt his now stiffening erection.

"Again? You stud you!" she said, admiringly. "For an old guy, you keep up!"

"Fuck you," he said, laughing. He knew that the rest of the afternoon could go several ways depending on what he did next, but he decided not to push it. He'd had fun – twice – and now it was time to be a nice guy. "Go on, sit down. I can't let you rape me again. I've got carpet burns already."

April raised her eyebrows at him, and but went and sat where bidden.

"So what next?" he asked her.

"Well, firstly, I'm buying this place."

"You are what?" said Hillier, surprised.

"Yeah, Joe got it for a song. It was in such disrepair that the guy at the front – that lovely human being, Ted, you met him yet?" Hillier nodded. "Yeah, him. He sold it to Joe for ten thousand, for exclusive use for life. On the condition that Joe fix it up and also act as maintenance engineer for this place. You wouldn't know it, but all of the cabins are in excellent shape because of Joe. So he did. He got somewhere to live where his ex-wives could never find him. I figure if I offer fifteen k, well Ted got paid twice and he's not out anything that he already wasn't."

Hillier laughed at that. "Smart man. Wish I'd done something like that."

"I don't think you quite understand Ambrose. He wasn't hiding from them because they wanted something. He was hiding because they wouldn't leave him alone. Tara – his first – finally came to her senses and understood what she'd done to him and kept trying to find ways to make it up to him, not at all understanding that there IS no way to make up something like that. Her desperate need to forgive herself lead to her hounding Joe. 

"And, nice guy that he was, he couldn't make her leave him alone. The fact that he was still in love with her made it especially difficult. Add to all that the fact that he just didn't know why she'd done it – her explanations are in a different realm of existence from his, he simply had no frame of reference to understand them. He blamed himself, but didn't even know what he was supposed to change. He needed to leave, crawl away and lick his wounds forever. So he found this place, where he could be anonymous and be alone."

"Jesus. This guy's life..." 

"It's all in the Journal, and from what I've gathered from finding this place. I've met both the wives – both pieces of work, let me tell you – his therapist, his old landlord, the whole shebang."

"Yeah, I was going to ask how you got here before me, Miss Therapist? Therapist my ass. What is it you really do?"

"Let's just say I work for an 'agency', and leave it at that, ok? No questions, no lies."

Hillier snorted, but left it alone. It wasn't worth the aggravation.

"So you've got yourself a new weekend cottage. Then what. What about the wonder dog down there?"

April's eyes gleamed. She looked over at Max and whose head jumped up off his cushion at seeing her glance at him.

"Max and I are sticking it out. He's my new boyfriend."

"Does your apartment building allow dogs?"

"What a strange question to ask. But no, they don't. But you know what?" April cocked her head at him. "I think I just decided to buy a house. My lease is up next month anyway and I've considered it a couple of times. Yes, time to settle down. Time to buy a house. Fuck it."

"You'd buy a house just so you could have a dog?"

April's eyes flashed dangerously. "No, I'd buy a house to have JOE's dog," she said, in a low voice.

Hillier backed off. "Ok, so what next?"

April smiled, danger averted. "Well, first, a shower, then time to make Mr. Universe an offer, then I have some people to see. And a funeral to organize."

*****

I think I might have met someone. I wasn't expecting this. I still feel...damaged. It's been two years but I still haven't really met anyone. Marianne encouraged me to date, but honestly, nothing has clicked. Most of the women I meet are either married or looking for something that is not me. That much is obvious within the first ten minutes. I dunno, maybe it's been me. Hard to tell when you are on the inside looking out.

Anyway, I'm on a cruise around Alaska, whale watching. I was at the bar making some snide remarks that judging by the size of some of the women on the ship, we didn't need to go to Alaska, we could have just sat by the pool. A little bitter, but still funny. There was this really cute blond, sitting there laughing and chewing on a stirrer and by god, she made eyes at me. I mean me. Mr. Loser! She is hot as hell, all petite and tight and boobs and ass and her name is Penny and we just sat and talked all day in the bar. I didn't even feel any of the drinks I had.

She's lying next to me on the bed now, snoring gently. One thing is for sure, next time I get a stateroom, I get one with a king size bed. But the sex. Oh My God, the sex. This woman is so uninhibited, it blows my mind. Or something. I've never gotten off like that before. Three times in one night. I think this girl must be a keeper. Or a hooker. Either way, I think she needs to stay in my room from now on.

This was an unexpected turn up for the books, that's for sure. Not looking this gift horse in the mouth though.

*****

April had a busy couple of days. The negotiation for the cabin took longer than she anticipated, and the disgusting owner of the cabins wanted more than she was willing to give. He kept hinting about "Get-togethers" and she kept wanting to vomit.

In the end, it cost her seventeen thousand dollars, but she now had exclusive use of the cabin for life. The only two regrets that Ted had were that he didn't get to fuck April, and that he was out a maintenance guy.

She took Max home with her, and even though the apartment complex did not allow pets, she bribed the doorman to look the other way for the next month.

She stopped in at work and had a few words with the R&D department, who confirmed what she had already suspected – that Aaron Glasso was not Mark Glasso's son. That he was, in fact, Joe Sullivan's son. The DNA sample she'd gotten, coupled with a sample from Joe's body – being the one paying for the funeral home had its uses – had spoken. There was no doubt, not that there had been the moment April had seen both Aaron and Mark in the same room. If she has seen it then she idly wondered how no one had commented on it to Mark?

At the end of the day, she knocked on the door of Penny and Mark Galsso's apartment. She had timed it so Mark would already be home – or should be – and she was greeted by Penny at the door, who recognized her immediately.

"Mark! It's that legal lady, the one about the will!" Penny smiled at her and gestured for her to come in.

April pushed open the door and in doing so, made Penny stumble back. 

"Hey, you didn't have to push so hard." Penny glared at her.

"And you don't have to be quite as much of a disgusting whore slut either, Penny, but you are and so there we are."

There was a stunned silence.

"Wh...what? What did you say?"

"I called you a disgusting slut Penny. Now sit down before I make you sit down."

"I think.. I think you'd better get out..." stammered Penny, looking very distressed.

"What's going on here?" demanded Mark, stepping into the room and looking from April to Penny.

"She's.. she's insulting me, Mark. Calling me a whore."

Mark looked at April angrily, who just shrugged and said, "Well, she is. You know that. You married her. And fucked her for almost a year while working for her husband, who had no clue. You are quite the douchebag yourself. Let's be honest. The pair of you do deserve each other."

Mark's eyes went wide and he stepped up to April, clearly very angry and squared off.

"What the FUCK makes you think you have the right to come in my home and say things like that? I'll fucking..."

"You'll what?" interrupted April, not in the least bit intimidated. "What will you do Mark? Hit me? You're a fucking wife-stealing pussy, who is too much of a chicken shit to even find his own woman. No, you just get in the middle of someone else's marriage and fuck that up, and take someone's business with them. What kind of man does that? Oh wait, a man like you. A small-minded pissant with a winning smile and a malicious mind. Christ, what a prize you are. You must be so proud, Penny."

Mark lost his temper and lunged at April. She saw it coming and let one his hands land on her breast, and as he did so, so used her left hand as a knife edge, to hold his hand there, and with her other hand, she grabbed his little finger and yanked back. It didn't break, but Mark buckled under her, trying to keep his hand up, so she didn't break his finger.

April manipulated his finger so Mark was on the ground and then smashed his face into the coffee table. He was lucky it wasn't glass, but she did see a splash of blood erupt from his nose. She let him go and he climbed to his feet, breathing heavy, blood dripping out of his nose.

"Penny, you might want to get some tissue to mop up some of wonder boy's blood. Get lots, there might be more if your asshole husband tries that again."

"Who the hell ARE you?" said Mark, breathing through his mouth, while Penny tried to mop up his face.

April dropped into the couch and smiled at them, then launched into what she had come to say.

"I'm the fucking angel of retribution. I am the black wings of righteous, come to rain down fire on you fuckers for what you did to Joe Sullivan. It's always been coming, and now it's here. I am here and you need to sit down and shut the fuck up while your little worlds come to an end. 

"You offer me violence and I'll fuck you up, as we've already established. So sit down and listen. Or not. Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm here in lieu of Joe Sullivan, and while he may have just let you get on with your sordid little tale of betrayal, I am not so forgiving, so listen up kids; your lives as you know it just ended."

Penny's mouth just opened and closed and she glanced at Mark, who was still trying to deal with his nose bleeding. Both just stood there not knowing what to do.

"I said SIT DOWN."

Penny just sat, while Mark stood there, rage in his eyes, flexing his hands into fists, impotently. Eventually he sat down next to Penny, still gingerly touching his nose.

"Right, where shall we start? Penny. You are a worthless gold-digging whore. No, don't argue. We all know you are. Let's start there. So you decided to cheat on Joe with this equally worthless piece of shit? How did it start? Why did it start? What did Joe not give you?"

Penny looked back at Mark and then at Penny, in clear consternation. "Stop looking at him Penny, you'll see in a second why you need to stop listening to what Mark says. Answer the question."

"I...I..I needed more."

"Of what?"

"Everything. Joe was great and nice and he had a business, but it was clear that it wasn't going the way he had hoped. He wouldn't take business from Mercano's and they own the market around here. He just...was making ends meet. 

"I met Mark and it was clear that he was on the way up. He doubled Joe's business in a month. A month! Mark was where it was at. He liked to party – Joe never did, he hated even weed, let alone a bit of charley. He liked to fuck – I found that out quite quickly. He treated me like I wanted to be treated. Joe put me on a pedestal. Mark fucked me on the pedestal. 

"Do you have any idea of how great it was to get both? Being loved by Joe and fucked by Mark? But I knew I'd have to make a choice. I'm sorry about Joe, really I am. He was a good guy. But he was never going anywhere. He sold me a bill of goods, and I took it back because it wasn't what it said on the tin."

Penny started to get belligerent, in the way people do who have been caught out and are fighting back with very thin self-justifications.

April considered her and said, "Well, as a whore – and let's be clear, that's what you are – I'd have to say you didn't do that well. Selling yourself and your marriage for this?" she gestured around at the cluttered apartment.

" 'Making ends meet'? Fuck that. It doesn't look to me like there's much more here than you had with Joe. Does Mark have a big cock? Was that the draw? Why haven't you moved up again Penny? That's your thing right? Not got enough, move on to the next. Something must keep you here."

Penny's eyes flickered to the bedroom door.

"Oh yes, Aaron! Of course, what was I thinking. Gotta stay for the kid. For dear old 'daddy' here. Tell me Penny, because I'd really like to know. Does Mark know that Aaron is not his? That he's actually Joe's? That you are such an evil human being that you'd actually lie to his real father and tell him he's not – a last act of betrayal that just gives away with a malicious and frankly evil person you really are. Did Mark know, or have you successfully lied to him too?"

Penny turned to Mark, who was now staring at her, horrified.

"It's not true, honey. You know I had the test done. I told you. I sent the letter to Joe! Aaron's yours!" she said, desperately, searching Marks face for understanding. He just stared at her.

"Of course it's not true. What a crock of shit. You really going to trust her Mark? Once a liar, always a liar. Here, you can check this out."

April threw out a stapled document onto the coffee table. She nodded at it. "There you go, full DNA analysis from a sample from Aaron and one from Joe. 99.99% probability of paternity. Don't believe me? Get one yourself, you'll see. How anyone can't see it is beyond me. Surely you remember what Joe looked like? Aaron looks nothing like you Mark. I can see that, why can't you?"

Mark looked back and forth from Penny to April, and started to reach for the document.

Penny broke in, whining, "Mark, no, it's not what you think. Honestly babe. It's not. Aaron is YOUR son. You raised him."

"So you did know. You....fucking whore. I thought he was mine. I thought that was part of the whole reason we got hitched. Jesus..." Mark just seemed to collapse into himself as he examined the document.

"Well, it's out there now Penny. Want to explain yourself? Go ahead girl. Now is as good a time as any..."

"I had to say it. I needed Joe gone. We needed to start alone. Mark, he's your kid. Don't you see that? Who cares who his sperm donor was? We are a family. We are together. We are for each other. Can't you see that?"

April laughed. "Oh yes. A family that lies to each other....wait, what's the rest of that saying?"

Penny flashed a look of pure fury at April.

"Oh don't get all pouty. We aren't done here, not at all. I honestly don't know how you could do that to Joe though. I mean, that's just...fucking evil. What did he ever do to you that you would do that to him? Lie to him like that? Take away the only thing he could have always claimed was his? Do you understand what you did?"

Penny looked away and said, "What he didn't have, he would never have missed. I had to do it. Mark and I needed it. I wasn't even sure it wasn't Marks, anyway. What was the point in making a fuss about it. He accepted it wasn't his and we were all fine."

"Wow. Just wow. You truly deserve what is coming your way. Your turn though first, Mark. Firstly, this."

April pulled out her phone and made a call. She waited two rings be connected, and then said "Dermot? How you doing? No, almost done. Need a favor though, so thanks for waiting and letting me call your personal line. Who do we know at Treasury? Oh, David Johnson! Oh yes, I remember him. He does owe us, doesn't he? Deanna is completely what he needs, no question. But here's what I need. I need a forensic IRS audit. Yes, the Crawl-Up-Your-ass kind. We need it to happen on Glasso Design. Yes, G-L-A-S-S-O. Based in Aspen Hill. Yeah. That's great. Thanks Dermot. "

She was looking at Mark the whole time. He just looked back at her, expressionlessly. When she was done, he said, "Haven't you done enough? First I find out my kid isn't mine, thanks to super whore here, and now I get an IRS audit?"

"Ohh, is my lickle baby all upset? Oh dear, can't have that, can we? We need to make you REALLY upset. So, let's do this."

April dug around in her purse and produced another file of documents in a manila folder. She threw it onto the coffee table, after the first document. As she did, several photographs spilled out and as Penny started to reach for one, Mark saw what they were and yelled, "NO" and tried to reach for them.

Penny got there first, and uncomprehendingly picked up a picture depicting Mark, standing, with a slim brunette woman on her knees, with his cock in her mouth. She dropped the picture and picked up another one. This one had the girl on her knees with Mark thrust deep in her. The quality of the pictures was grainy but the content clear.

She looked up in shock at April, then at Mark. "What...what is this Mark? What are these? Is that Melissa?"

"That is indeed Melissa, Marks personal assistant. As far as we can tell, it's been going on a while there Penny. Not been taking care of things at home have we? Tsch tsch. Not a good idea with a man who thinks nothing of taking someone else's wife. Oh, she is married by the way. In case you didn't know. With a child too. And another one on the way. SAY! You don't think that perhaps this might be a real child for Mark, do you? One he actually sired? What do you think Penny?"

"It's lies, Penny. All Lies. These are photoshopped. This bitch is just trying to cause trouble, split us up."

Penny just looked at him, still uncomprehending.

"Well, you might say that. It's not true though. The file is full of times and dates, and a couple of videos my guys got from the cheap little motel they use when there are people at the office. It's grainy, but I think you'll get the picture. So, let's recap. Marks business is going to have serious trouble because he's going to have the IRS up his butthole for weeks, you didn't tell him his own son is not his, and Mark has been having an affair with his personal assistant and you had no clue. Now you truly have an idea of what you fucking assholes did to Joe."

There was silence for a second, then a sob from Penny.

"So let's ensure that we all understand the situation here. I can make more happen if I choose to – I just don't right now. Enough bombs for one day I think. The only thing you are going to do, Penny, is tell Aaron the truth about his parentage. He'll be confused, but he's young and he'll adjust. Mark, you are pretty much his dad, and much as it pains me to admit, even you, asshole as you are, will do a better job than none at all. So you'll be around, and you'll continue to love him, or I'll know the reason why, do I make myself clear?"

Both Penny and Mark looked over at April, with unabashed loathing in their eyes. April smiled back and stood up. "Good. Is no one going to see me out?"

Mark didn't get up, but Penny did. She threw herself at April shouting, "Bitch", a move which shocked Mark, never having seen this side of Penny before, but which did not shock April at all.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 04



She sidestepped and let Penny run into the wall. The she stepped forward, lightly but firmly, and pulled Penny's shoulder, so she spun around. She gripped her left hand and pinned her against the wall and with her right, she grabbed Penny around the throat. She yelled, "Mark, sit down" glancing back at Mark who had stood and looked ready to join the fray. He looked pretty scary, blood all down the front of his shirt and on his face, but his expression was radiating indecision.

"Penny and I are only going to have a conversation, Mark. Sit down." April said again, hissing it into Penny's face. Penny was pushed up against the wall, her eyes looking down at April, wide with fear.

"Right, bitch. So here it is. I am Joe's retribution. I've been a long time coming. Frankly, you are lucky I didn't just raze the place to the ground. You are lucky you have a son I care about, or Really Bad Things would have happened here today. I am fucking angry on behalf of a man you abused and lied to, and the payback starts now. You make me any more angry and you'll be in hospital, eating through a tube. Do I make myself clear?"

Penny couldn't nod, so she tried to say, "Ye...Yes..."

"Good. I'm going to let you down now. You try anything else and you go out through the front window. You understand?"

April released her grip and Penny nodded when she was able. Her hands went to her throat, were Aprils handprint was clearly visible.

"Glad to hear it. Now, fucktards, have a shit day. I'm outta here. Oh and no, you aren't in the will, I am glad to say."

And April gathered up her bag and walked out, the door slamming behind her, leaving Mark and Penny staring at each other, breathing heavily.

*****

Today I started my own business. It's all part of the five-year plan. Marianne helped me put it together. Honestly, that woman is a godsend. She's like my therapist and life planner and best friend all wrapped up in one.

So yeah started up for myself. Doing what I did at Mercanos, but now the boss is me! I was hoping I could possibly pick up some of the clients I had at Mercanos, but we'll see how that goes.

I don't want any contact with any one from old place. God knows, most of them knew what was going on and not one fucker told me. I don't think I have any real friends there, and I don't need the stress.

We – well, I say we, but it's just me - moved into a small office on the west side. It's small and its not particularly flashy – it's going to need work and a paint job, but it's cheap and it's mine and it's my new home, so better get used to it. 

Setting up a business takes a while, that's for sure. So many things to sign. But Sullivan Services is a go. Now to make it work. Never been afraid of hard work and not going to be now!

This time next year, I'll be sailing. Have a staff of 20 people! You wait. Life part two starts now.

Not going to think about Tara and fuckface at all. Fuck them. Fuck all of them at Mercanos. One day they'll come to _me_ for a job! And then I can laugh at them.

I've been reading some stories online about people in my situation. Apparently people go out and write a best selling story, or work out and get buff or write songs, or discover some other way of becoming mega successful now they aren't held back by their cheating spouse. I don't think that's going to happen for me. But maybe I can do ok by just working for myself. Fuck Mercanos. Who needs them?

*****

Tara Western put down the phone and sighed. It had been a shitty week all round. Her committee work was running into issues of infighting among the bored socialite women who were on it – they had money and all of them wanted to be in charge. The boards of the three companies she worked as an officer for were also in chaos – one company was fighting for its life against a hostile take over, another was being roundly trounced by a new startup, offering the same services but almost for free and the third was just stagnant. It needed new leadership and to be bold and the fifty-eight-year-old CEO they currently had was just Not It.

It was all very stressful, and the news of Joe's demise had also given her more than a little pause for thought. She'd been looking for him for so long, so desperate to make amends, as much as she could. She could quite understand his reluctance; she'd given him no choices and just done whatever she had thought was best, never really considering the long term implications for him, beyond "He'll get over it. Better fast and quick than long and drawn out."

Now he was gone. Her chance at any kind of absolution was gone. It weighed on her, and she'd had some pretty awful dreams in the last two nights.

She'd spent one night just sitting with a bottle of wine, going over her life's choices and realizing how screwed up and one sided most of them had been. She was tired, she was beaten down and she had no idea how bad it was about to get.

The phone call had been from the front desk. That investigator woman was back and saying she needed to see Tara. They'd put her in the conference room on the second floor, the one with the view of the golf course.

Tara grabbed a coffee and breezed into the conference room, to find April seated on one side. She noticed she didn't rise when Tara entered the room, and that didn't feel appropriate, but Tara let it go. Her day was bad enough as it was without jumping on issues for someone she'd never see again.

She sat down quickly, put down her coffee and tried her best to smile. "Yes...April is it? What can I do for you today? Any luck with your investigation?"

April just looked back at her. She seemed to be weighing up the whole situation – Tara, the room, even the color of her hair. There was silence for a full minute that stretched out. Tara was about to say something when April said, "Yes, actually. I found where he lived. I found a lot of things. And I have to say, Mrs. Western, I don't much like of any of them. I had no idea Joe had such unbelievable sluts for wives. All the morals and ethics of a drugged out whore."

There was a stunned silence as Tara struggled to understand what had just been said to her. Had this woman just called her a whore...?

"I'm sorry...did you just...?" she stammered out.

"Call you a whore? Yes. Although I have a lot more respect for whores than I have for you, I have to say. Most of the whores I know are hardworking girls who make no bones about what they do for a living. Good luck to them, I say. You? You are a sneaky, backstabbing bitch who makes all of us look bad. You fucked someone to get a leg up and have the gall to say you are 'in love'. Fucking career whore. That's all you are Tara. A career whore, in every sense of the phrase. Have you ever cared about anyone? Beside yourself I mean? I'm curious." April's tone was even and the question was asked in a genuinely curious tone. 

"I... I think I need to call security." Tara managed to get that out and reach for the phone.

"You do that Tara. You call security. I'll go easily, no question. But before you do, let me explain a few things to you. What's going to happen next."

Tara had the phone in her hand and a finger poised to dial but for some reason, she just didn't press the buttons. The women in front of her, saying these things, was nonchalant about it. There was no rancor. She might have been discussing the color of the wallpaper. There was something utterly terrifying yet mundane about the whole thing. It was terrifying because it was mundane to this woman.

"Good. I have your attention. Ok, so lets get it all out there. Firstly, I know everything that you did to Joe. Everything. How he felt about it, what you did, how he tried to pick himself up, everything. I even know about the business you tried to throw his way. Pretty nasty little high-powered version of a mercy fuck, don't you think? Did you know Joe moved to a shack in the woods to get away from you? You and that other bitch. Yeah, just because of what you did to him. I hope you're proud of yourself, I hope what you gained was worth it. Although, looking around here, and seeing your nice new Mercedes, I'm sure it was. To you. 

"Too bad someone else paid for that eh? Still, that's been how your whole life has been, hasn't it? Always someone else paying. Right up till your politically expedient marriage dissolved. How did it feel to have someone do to you what you did to Joe? Painful much, was it? I'll bet to someone like you, someone who needs control so desperately, it must have really hit home. That's why you pushed that work Joe's way, wasn't it? Clumsy move on your part, but I can see why you did it."

April was just so conversational that Tara just sat there listening, fascinated in some deeply terrible way.

April smiled at her. And slid something across the table.

"So, retribution time. Time for you to pay the piper. That there is Joes journal."

Tara caught the notebook and picked it up. On the back page there was a CD taped on. She picked it up and opened a page at random, - desperately playing for time to get herself together, - while noting Joe's neat spider crawl hand writing. He never wrote in cursive – he had claimed that it was 'beyond his jarhead abilities.' The fact was that his normal handwriting looked great, almost printed.

"That has everything in it. Names, dates, everything," said April.

"What do you expect me to do with it? Read it? Look, I'll level with you. I feel beyond shitty about all this. But what can I do now? He's gone. I can never make it up to him. I'll have to live with what I did and it's becoming more and more apparent to me that it's going to get harder and harder. Reading this," she said, indicating the book, "isn't going to help or suddenly make me more able to fix anything."

"On the contrary," replied April, smiling a particularly nasty grimace, "it's going to do all that and more. Here's what's going to happen. I know you are on the board of Garin Publishing. They have a crappy CEO you want out, right?"

Tara found herself nodding and marveling at where this girl was getting her information. This was known only to the board at this time.

"Well, you are going to publish this. Word for word. That's what the CD is. I had someone type this up. I thought you'd like to see the original. I thought it might be published to look like this, you know, like a written journal?"

Tara just sat there, not moving. Eventually she said, "Did you say this named names? I can't publish this. It would end me."

April leaned forward, and her tone changed drastically – what she had to say was now even, low and delivered with intent. "Let me be clear, Mrs. Western, very clear. You are already ended, you just haven't realized it yet. You are going to publish this. And you aren't going to change one word in it. I have lots of copies of the original, and if one fucking word is changed, your life will be even more shitty than it's going to be. In fact, lets just clear up one thing right now..."

April picked up her bag, pulled out her phone and made a call.

"Hey Jessie. Put me through to Dermott please? Thanks."

They both waited for a moment, Tara leafing through the book, looking for instances of her name and April watching her, with the phone pressed against her ear.

"Dermott! Me again. Yes, another one. No, this is required too. Another forensic one. Yes, full on IRS audit. Yes, a lesson needs to be taught. This'll be it though. Name of Tara Western. Sits on the boards of a bunch of companies here in D.C. Yes. Forensic. The one where they crawl up your ass. Sure thing. Yeah, I understand. Make it happen sir!"

Throughout the whole brief phone conversation, April kept her gaze on Tara, who once she understood what was being said, looked back shocked.

She ended the call and Tara felt she had to do or say something. She was on the board of several companies and she was to be feared. She was handing nothing back and so she said, "Look, April or whatever your name is, I don't know what game is being played here, but I'm not playing ball. Anyone can make phone calls and pretend to know people at the IRS. Why don't you find a more deserving target to try and intimidate?"

There was silence for a few minutes longer, then April, now well and truly angry and eyes blazing with the fury of the righteous, said "Ok Tara. I was trying not to get pissed, but I can see how you drag it out of people. Now be aware, I work for a government agency. I'm not going to tell you which one, because it really doesn't matter. All that does matter is that I have you in my sights. I'm about to become the god emperor of your little world. To you, I'm the Angel of Fucking Death, like that lawyer in Florida, but far less forgiving. I have within me the ability to fuck up your life to the point where you'll put a gun in your mouth three months from now and end it yourself. Trust me on this. I'm so pissed at you for what you did to Joe, and what I'm telling you to do now is nothing compared to what I will do to you if you don't. This isn't a threat. It's a fact."

There was another silence. Tara was on the defensive, and when you are on the defensive, you play for time.

"I can't publish this. If it has my name in it, it'll ruin me. It's not like I would have the chance at reply. My career..."

"Your career has been on life support ever since you dumped Joe. It just didn't know it yet. It was just waiting for me to show up. Well, I'm here now, and you are done. The only question now is to what degree you are done. Your cushy little jobs are now over. Finished. So start getting used to that fact, because it's done. You don't publish this? Fine, I'll take over to Robson publishing. I suspect they'd love to do it. I'm giving it to you because it's better that you do it yourself. You can publish this and retire from public life, or I'll fucking destroy you. All legally too. Your choice. Don't want to believe me? That's fine too. Wait three days and lets see what happens with the IRS."

More silence. April waited a beat, then followed up with the appeal. In all good beat downs, there is a place where you point out to the victim the folly of their ways, and give them a way out. If you do it right, you can even get them to apologize to you for the way you have treated them. April didn't expect to get that here – Tara was too well grounded for that – but it would introduce a note of self-examination that would probably prove mineable in the future.

"The thing is, I think you'll do this anyway. I think you'll do this because even you know what an unbelievable shit you were to that man. He only wanted to make you happy, but what did you do? Move up on the chain as soon as you could. What was Joe, a 'starter husband'? He loved you. He had no idea you were as cold are you were. Are you still that cold Tara? Or are you starting to see what you did, what you are responsible for? I think you are. I think you know that this is one of the only ways you can start making up for what you did. You know it. I know it. You don't need the money from these jobs, for gods sake. Lets face it, dumping Joe and marrying that VP schmuck did wonders for the income. You are fine for life."

Tara just sat there, leafing through the book but not seeing any of the pages. She was desperately trying hard to not tear up. She heard what April was saying and her own conscience – that voice that of late would not let her think without chiming in – was agreeing.

"Lets say, for the sake of argument, that I did get this published. Then what? Are we done?"

April laughed a very humorless laugh. "Oh we are far from done Tara. So very far. I have a few more tasks for you yet."

Tara looked at April with a mixture of dread and expectancy.

"You are going to take up a new hobby. You are going to collect blankets and clothes from dry cleaners who have onsite lost and found and then donate them to the homeless shelters. You are going to do that yourself, personally. That's what Joe was doing the night he..." April faltered for a second, then rallied, "...saved my life. Someone needs to keep doing that. You are going to do it. In that nice Mercedes of yours. 

"You, Tara Western, are going to volunteer your own time at a homeless shelter – ladle food into the tins of the people who need it and get shit all over your nice clothes. You aren't going to sit on a committee of society matrons who are bored and who aren't going to get within a mile of someone who actually needs their help, you are going to get right in there, stuck in. And I'll be watching. All the fucking time."

Tara swallowed.

"Lets see, what else? Oh yes, you are going to set up a scholarship, in Joe's name. With your money. And you are going to put over three hundred grand in it. It'll be awarded to the most deserving case of the breadline families who have the opportunity to send a son or daughter to college, but can't afford it."

Tara put down the book on the table and lent on it, to stop her hands from shaking.

"Oh and you are going to set up a college fund for a specific young man. Joe didn't know he had a son – the bitch he had it with kept it from him and lied to him. There's been some damage done there – damage that was long overdue – but if you ever cared about Joe, if you ever loved him, - and I have my doubts, - you'll do this. Ensure that kid has a future."

There was a stunned silence, which Tara broke and said, tremblingly, "He has a son? What's his name? Where is he? Is he with that Penny Bitch? I'll fucking strangle her with her own hair. He has a kid? He never knew? Oh fuck...oh my god..."

Tara broke down crying. She just sat there, sobbing. April's normal tendency to help was kept in check – she knew this is what Tara needed; some heavy reality. It was what would put her back on the track to being part of society again.

April let her cry for three minutes, and then said sharply, "Tara. That kid needs you to be looking out for him, ok? Knock the tears off. You can do that later. Now, do you hear what I said? Did you comprehend it?"

Tara nodded miserably, looking around for a tissue. April saw her do it and tossed her one from her own bag.

As Tara dabbed her eyes and wondered what she looked like – her mascara must be running, April continued.

"Make no mistake. You ARE going to do these things. Not just because I tell you, although that's reason enough, but because you know this is the right thing to do. You know it's time for you to fess up and deal with the implications of what you've done. It's time to pay, Tara, and you know it."

There was silence as the two women stared at each other for a moment. Then Tara blinked. She nodded and just said, simply, "OK."

"Oh and one last thing. Your ex. We are going to need to deal with him. Quite apart from what he's done to you – which you richly deserve by the way – what he did to Joe, that needs to be paid back. You were married and he went for you anyway. Quite apart from you being a faithless slut, it takes two to tango. So he gets his too. I will not let that pass."

Tara nodded again, with a little more energy this time.

"I have some idea's, but I'd like to hear what you have to say. Not now. Think on it, although I'm sure you already have. Now, read the book, get it sorted for publication. I'll be back in a bit to talk about it. The IRS thing, well, it's going to happen. But you deserve the pain. And you need to know I am serious. Don't get in my way or not do what I tell you, or it'll go the worse for you. I'm your worst nightmare Tara – I'm a smart bitch with resources who, right now, hates you for what you did to a good man -, don't ever forget that."

There was another silence and Tara took a ragged breath. Then she looked at April and said, "I honestly thought we were on the same page, back then. I really didn't understand. We used to sit around and talk about the future, about what we wanted. We both had dreams, he knew mine and I knew his. I just thought, 'that's where we are going, that's what we want'. I just made mine happen. He didn't. 




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 04



"I honestly thought that because I was making mine happen, he'd understand. I knew he'd be hurt, but it would be over quickly and eventually he'd understand. It was business – the business of getting what you want. I thought we both understood that what we'd said we wanted was what we really wanted. That if his dream came up, he'd have grabbed it too. I would have understood."

Tara realized she was babbling and also had no idea why she felt the need to say this to April. April just sat there, wondering how far she needed to go with Tara. Tara needed help and she could give it. The trouble was, she didn't want to. She was spitting mad and ready to rip her limb from limb if she had to. But the professional won out.

"No, you wouldn't have, Tara. You think you would but you'd disconnected ambition and desire from reality and emotional content. You say you would because that's the reaction you expected – needed - from Joe. It's what you needed to believe to be able to follow through on the betrayal and abandonment of Joe that you did end up doing. You wouldn't have understood it if he'd done it to you, and what's more, you knew deep down he'd never do that to do you. That's why it's easy to say 'I would have understood' and to even buy into the lie, because it was never going to happen. And you know it, on some subconscious level.

"The bottom line here is that you measured what you had with Joe against the ambition you had, and the paths you saw to get there, and it just didn't measure up. This wasn't one of those 'what he doesn't know won't hurt him' justifications. There was no other ending to this than what you did. It was cold and calculated and inevitable. There's nothing else to really say. What it says about you, well, I've said my piece on that. I suspect you've been coming to your own realizations about that recently. The fact is, you are who you are and nothing would have saved your marriage to Joe. You killed it way too efficiently."

Tara broken down sobbing again, and managed to get out between sobs, "I really did love him. I did. I let him go because I thought it was best. Neither of us was going to get what we wanted together."

"Tara, did it ever occur to you that what he wanted was just you? The dreams you talked of were additions to the relationship you had. They weren't 'instead of', at least not for him. He already had what he wanted. It's just you that's the greedy bitch."

And with that, April got up, grabbed her bag and went to leave, watching Tara heave silently in her chair. She stopped at the door of the conference room and said, "Nice blouse by the way."

*****

My new therapist, Marianne Thomas, has told me to keep a journal. She says it's therapeutic. I don't know about that, but right now I'm such a mess that I'll take anything that helps.

So I guess I should give it some background. I'm Julian Sullivan. Joe to my friends. I was called Jules at school, but honestly couldn't wait to leave that behind. I was in the army, in the original Desert Storm. I got invalided out due to an injury. I was lucky to get away with that, originally my CO wanted to bounce me out on a dishonorable discharge, because of 'desertion of post'. 

He just couldn't get it into his head that I left my post so I could arm the nurses and doctors in the hospital we were defending, because it was increasingly likely we were going to be overrun, and I wanted to give them a chance. The local warlord out there was not going to give them one. Educated women? Yeah, first up against the wall. Hell, I only got wounded because I went out after the first sortie and gathered up AK47's and pistols from the enemy dead, in order to arm those inside.

Whatever. The past. Not worth getting upset about now. I have way more things to be upset about.

I'm 32 years old. I still hold over some of my army habits – I run, I swim, I work out and try and keep trim. I'm up early and I am responsible.

Up till two weeks ago, I was a rising star at Mercanos, having worked there for the past 5 years. Mercanos is a local conglomerate that designs and manufactures Doctors offices. I was part of the design team there. I met my wife – or now soon to be ex-wife – at Mercanos. She was part of the design group management. And she was mine from the moment I saw her. 

I don't know what it was, but it was love at first sight. Or lust, anyway.

Tara Beran was tall, beautiful, long lush brown chestnut hair, pale, blue eyed, sexy, awesome, efficient, clever, smart and lithe. She had smallish breasts, but she knew all about those push up bra, oh yes she did. Always in a tight skirt, pantyhose (although I found out later, almost always holdups. She constantly complained about how pantyhose made her crotch itch. TMI but nice that she wore stockings. I took advantage of that over the years. As, I now know, did others.)

She'd been at Mercanos for 18 months when we met, and already I could see the signs of frustration, of her wanting more from the job and encountering the glass ceiling. She loved what she did but was pissed off with those above her.

But it was ok. We'd sit in the bar on a Friday and moan about those in our way and bond. And it was great. She was flirty, but in a very restrained way. You'd have to really understand her and look at what she said in a deep way to really get the humor. And I did. Sometimes she'd say something in a meeting and everyone else would miss it, but I wouldn't. And she'd deliberately not look at me because she knew if she did, one of us – or both of us – would start cracking up.

It didn't take long before we were in bed and the sex, oh the sex. It was great. Traditional, but great. Vanilla, but some how that didn't matter. She didn't take it up the ass, she didn't swallow, but we did a lot of everything else. Even know, with everything that has happened, I still remember the sex.

It took 9 months before we decided to tie the knot, 3 months after moving in. It moved fast, but that's the way we were. Saw what we wanted, made a decision, move on it. It was bliss. I was so into her and couldn't quite believe she was into me. We were going to conquer the world.

And for 4 years, we did. It was great. And then the end came.

I was completely oblivious. I didn't see it coming. I had no idea. I was just working and loving life. I didn't see anything obvious. No drop off in sex. No late nights on her part. No real huge changes. Maybe they were there, but I just didn't see them. I can second-guess myself forever, but whatever; I didn't see it coming. It totally blindsided me.

One Friday night she just didn't come home. I called her cell – she had one of the first ones, those big Motorola things. No answer. She didn't show up the whole weekend and I was frantic. Called the cops and everything.

Sunday night, she just waltzes in, like nothing is wrong and says those words that no man wants to hear, 'We have to talk.'

She told me where she was. Our boss's house – Peter Western. 'Test driving living with him.' They'd been at it for the past 3 months. She'd decided that the glass ceiling was not going to be broken any other way, so she was sleeping with him and intending to pursue a relationship with him. She loved me and didn't think it was fair to me, so she was going to divorce me. She loves me, but I'm not going to get her where she wants to be, and he can, and he's got a big dick too. Surely I can see her position?

I don't even know where to begin. I was just in shock. I had no idea her mental processes were that hard. I had no idea she was even capable of this. Obviously I didn't know her at all. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe it's hers, for hiding her career needs so well. We used to sit there and make fun of him, together. And now she's sleeping with him. And making it clear she intends to marry him. But she's going to rape our savings first. She's 'entitled', apparently.

I just didn't even know how to respond. Well, I did, but no one was getting smacked that day. I mean, I couldn't even ask why. She'd told me. I just couldn't do for her what this other guy could, and out of loyalty to me, she was ending it. I did point out that she'd already admitted that she had been sleeping with him for months – loyalty my ass. She just wanted to actually marry the fuck and I was in the way. 

Marianne says I should express my feelings here. Well, I was surprised, upset, bewildered, numb, angry, scared, and apoplectic, all at the same time. She never said anything. There was no hint. It just came out of the blue.

When I got to work on Monday, I found the asshole boss waiting at my desk, concerned that 'I might be taking this all wrong and make this an unpleasant work place.' Fucking right I was. 'How, exactly, was I supposed to take this?' It was obvious he just wanted me to shut up and not cause waves. We'll fuck that. I did wonder if he understood the mercenary reasons she was wanting to be with him, but hell, why the fuck should I clue him in? Let him find out the hard way. Cunt.

Obviously I went to HR and his boss. And they didn't give a shit. There was no morality clause in place. It took 3 days but eventually they got back to me that it sucked, but they neither had a no staff fraternization policy in place, nor did they have a morality clause, so they were just going to stay out of this. Sorry, but tough shit. Basically, some one looked at who they needed more – one designer or a design group manager and her VP boss, and made a business decision to just ignore it.

Oh they were sorry, and it sucked, and between you and me, he's a scumbag for stealing my wife, but hey, that's life in the big city. Sorry.

Over those three days, I had several people come up and say 'Sorry'. They all had wanted to say something to me – which meant they all knew about it before I did; apparently this was all being done on work time and I just hadn't seen it because I'd been heads down in the design lab, actually doing my job – and no fucker had said a word to me. No one. The guys that I worked with, they just all avoided my gaze. They knew and no one said a thing.

When HR said they wouldn't do anything, I quit on the spot. Obviously I can't continue working there. Tara came by as I was packing up and told me I was being dumb, and just reacting instead of thinking it through. There was plenty of room at Mercanos for both of us. She was sorry, but it was happening and I should make the best of it. She actually had the gall to ask if I knew how she was feeling, the choice she had to make, how hard it had been to make it. Either way, someone loses. I tried to point out that _she_ put herself in that position, and if she hadn't gone and seduced the boss to get a leg up, she wouldn't have to make that choice, and _I_ wouldn't be the one paying for it, but I think that logic was a bit too much for her. For her to admit that, she'd have to admit she was a scheming bitch who just dropped me like a hot potato so she could get the next job up

She has no fucking idea what I was feeling or why. Not a clue. I still can't get over how I never saw this side to her. I'm an asshole, obviously. I guess love really is blind. I had no idea. Not a clue. No inkling.

I told her she was a dumb cunt and I wanted nothing to do with her or that assfuck boyfriend of hers. I said some things about watching their backs – I wouldn't have done anything; I've seen enough death and violence in my life but it was all I had left. Shit them up a bit. It got me a visit from the cops the next day but it's their word against mine. Fuck them.

I spent a long weekend with Manny in Wisconsin, pretty much drunk the whole time, and he recommended I see a therapist. So, when I got back, I did. And she said this was a first start to recovering my 'poise'. What a phrase. 'Poise'. I didn't know anyone still had that. I thought that went out in the 1950's.

So here I am, writing in here, trying to describe the unbelievable betrayal I feel at my wife, who chose career over love. Or was it even love? I mean, how can it be if she just abandons it like that? Either she can turn off her emotions, or she's a cold bitch. Or both. Probably both. 

*****

The funeral was a damp day in the fall. It had rained that morning, and the grass was still wet. It was overcast and the clouds looked threatening – low in the sky and dark and heavy with the promise of more rain. But it held off and for that April was grateful.

She had arrived early at Arlington National Cemetery. Julian Sullivan had been a veteran and she'd spent a day on the phone with various government agencies ensuring that he would be buried there. She had no clue where else he should be buried if they'd said no, so she'd simply not accepted their initial refusals. She had Max with her, on a new leash. He kept wanting to get up and wander and she had to jerk the leash a few times to get him to understand that no, this was not play time.

She'd sent out a few emails letting people know when the funeral was, but didn't expect anyone else but her and the priest she'd hired.

She was surprised when a black limousine had rolled up and disgorged a black clad Tara Western, née Sullivan, carrying a red rose. She'd studiously avoided looking at her. Then another car arrived, and out stepped Penny Glasso with her son, Aaron. That was another surprise. No Mark. Just as well.

Dermot arrived, escorting both Jessica Ingrams herself, and Desirea. Desirea had given her a peck on the cheek and whispered, "Megan wanted to be here, but she's still in the field. She's thinking of you and will see you when she gets back."

After that, a cadre of nuns arrived, plus several down-on-their-luck women. One of the nuns April recognized as the nun that she'd talked to at the homeless shelter. 

They were followed by a sprinkling of people arriving in cars with West Virginia plates; April could only surmise these were people from where Joe had been living, in Charles Town.

Sarah Atwood showed up, along with several other older women, each helping each other along. 'The Joe Sullivan for Sainthood brigade,' April mentally dubbed them.

Marianne Dubowski turned up, looking dapper. April noticed her nodding at Jessica Ingrams, who nodded back. She filed that piece of information away for investigation later. No wonder Marianne had pegged her - she knew Jessica.

A van arrived and twenty-odd men tumbled out. All older, all grizzled and some obviously damaged. There was missing legs and one missing arm. April was worried – she'd only ordered twenty chairs because she'd been convinced she'd be there alone. As it was now, there was standing room only.

Then Ambrose Hillier arrived, looking more presentable than she'd seen him before.

And then, to her surprise, a short man with curly hair and a fedora hat she'd never met before came up to her and said, 'Hi. I'm Manny Trueso. You don't know me, but I know you. I know what you did – he told me." Trueso indicated Hillier who just smiled in an embarrassed way. "I need to say thank you. You got him justice for those bitches." He nodded at the two women, who were doing the best job they could of not knowing each other existed, when sitting next to each other. "Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing at the chair next to her. She just nodded at him and as he sat down, he said, "we can talk later. There are stories about Julian you need to hear."

The hearse arrived, from the Slow Trail Funeral Home. She'd taken care of that as well, paying for the funeral expenses. She'd figured it was the least she could do.

The men who had stumbled out of the van walked up to the hearse and politely but firmly explained to the men from the funeral home that they would be handling the pall bearing duties.

At the same time the hearse arrived, to her total amazement, so did a squad of marines, complete with weapons. The lead sergeant nodded at Manny and the squad took up a formation.

Manny leaned in and said quietly, "The military remembers its own. That sergeant there is alive because of Joe. He's one of the Cambridge crew. I'll explain later."

The funeral went of slowly and quietly, until the 21-gun salute from the Marines. They had draped the coffin in a flag, folded it up and then presented it to Aaron, who took it in tears.

Max kept straining at the leash and whining. Eventually he got free and rushed the table where the coffin was placed while the funeral was underway, and plopped himself down underneath it. He knew where his master was, and he just wanted to be with him, as loyal dogs do. It broke every heart present. April didn't have the heart to call him back.

When the funeral was done, April had Ambrose speak and announce there would be a gathering at a local Irish pub that was very close to Arlington. April didn't trust herself to speak. She was still too angry with almost everyone. Most of the people who had shown up to pay their last respects to Joe in death, well that respect had been noticeably absent for him in life.

At the gathering at the pub, April grabbed Ambrose and took him over to where Tara was sampling the wine and not enjoying it very much, and not being very discreet about it.

Max was sitting at the bar and some of the funeral goers were having fun dropping a little beer in the water dish on the floor for him. He kept looking from person to person, and it was obvious who he was looking for.

"Ambrose, I'm not sure if you met Tara or not? She was Joe's first wife. She has something she wanted to say to you."

Hillier looked at Tara dubiously. She was tall and had a face that tended to look down on people. Right now though, she was desperately trying to be herself. She looked around for a place to set the wine down, and settled on mantelpiece.

"Yes, um. April has explained to me all that you did for Julian. How you wouldn't let it go. How you found his hideaway and how you got the Marines to show up at this funeral. I wanted you to know that Julian would have liked you. He liked tenacious people. I wish you could have known him. He was the best man I ever met."

She sniffled and wiped her nose with the napkin from her drink. "I was such a moron. So consumed with work and with career. Never seeing what I had right in front of me." She sighed and shook her head, obviously still ashamed. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you if...perhaps, you might consent to dinner? My understanding is that you've had similar experiences?"

Hillier looked at April, who smiled back. The smiled wilted a bit and became a bit forced as he just stared at her.

"So, this is THE Tara, yes? The one that fucked up our boy?"

Tara immediately sniffed again and turned away, muttering, "I told you this was a bad idea." 

She turned back and said, "I just thought...Look, yes, I was an asshole. I learned. You obviously haven't. Never mind. I had thought....never mind. Forget it."

And she went to walk away, before April said sharply, "Stop right there, Tara."

Tara stiffened and stopped, but didn't turn around.

"And you, asswipe. Hillier. You such a fucking catch that you can afford to be rude to someone who took a chance? What a dick. No wonder your relationships haven't been covered in glory. Look at you. You look like a bum and you behave worse. What the fuck have you got to loose? Look at her. She's beautiful. She's successful. And she's learned a few damn hard lessons. Think you have nothing to learn? Jesus Christ, what does it take for you to wake up and understand that everyone has to take a chance sometime? The pair of you disgust me because you are too stupid to live. I'm going to get a drink."

April stalked off without looking back, doing her best to keep the smug expression off her face.




Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 04



Hillier and Tara were both left looking embarrassed. Tara still had her back turned and Hillier didn't know where to look, so he stared at his beer instead.

Eventually Tara said, "Has she gone?"

Hillier grunted in return. Tara turned around, her faced pinched. She looked to see if anyone had noticed. No one appeared to, or at least no one looked back. She grabbed her wine from the mantelpiece, to give herself something to do.

They both drank their drinks in silence for a moment, just standing close to each other but not close enough to be together. Then Hillier said, "She's right, you know. I'm damaged goods. One completely messed up marriage due to the work and not being able to see straight for case work."

Tara smiled and said, "I hear that. You and me both."

Hillier sighed. "I make snap judgments. I don't come home on time. I have a backlog of scumbags I need to put away and I don't sleep well."

"Oh yeah?" said Tara. "Lightweight. I work all hours, I have a phone on constantly and my best friend is a vibrator. And I work at home too. And I snore. Apparently."

"That's kids stuff. I have guns stashed all over my apartments. I deliberately leave the hallway dirty with stuff that makes noise so I can hear people coming. I eat blended pizza for breakfast. And I haven't had a suit dry cleaned in a month."

"Oh reeeealy? You think you're such hot shit don't you? I bet you I can drink more than you too."

"Oh bullshit. Be real," retorted Hillier, "I can out drink a beanpole like you any day of the week."

"Fine. You think so? Great. Hossaks bar, Wednesday. I'll have my driver on hand, so neither of us have to drive. Get ready to be put on your ass by a woman, Mr. Hillier."

"Fine."

"Fine then!"

They both stood there, sipping their drinks, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

Across the room April stood at the bar, looking in the mirror at the two of them and smiled to herself. On paper it had looked perfect, but you never knew until you got two people together.

"Miss Carlisle?" she heard someone ask, interrupting her musing.

She turned, and there was Manny, with his fedora scrunched in his hand.

"Hi there. Manny right? One of Julian's Army buddies?"

"Yes, ma'am. There are some people I want you to meet. This here is John Graves. John was one of the lookouts at the Cambridge event. He and Joe went way back. This fella, - who needs a shave – is Sal Samri. Sal was in the hospital with me in Kuwait. All of these guys are part of the Cambridge event. Show her, guys."

All of them rolled up their sleeves. All had the same tattoo.

"Ma'am," said one of the men, "We know what you did. We just wanted to say thank you, and give you this."

Another of them produced a t-shirt, complete with the Cambridge tattoo and motto on it. "We figured you probably wouldn't go for the tattoo, but since you are one of us now, we figured you should have this."

April didn't know what to say. Eventually she found her voice and said, "One of you?"

"Sure. Joe Sullivan saved you too. We figure that makes you part of the Cambridge crew."

"I..." April honestly didn't know what to say. "I don't deserve this. I really don't. I never even got to say thank you to him."

"Well, as far as I know, as Joe used to say, as long as there are people out there willing to do those things, you never have to," said Manny.

April smiled a large genuine smile. "Ok, well, drinks are definitely on me. Who's having one? Someone mentioned some Joe stories? I want to hear. And also, don't count me out on the tattoo just yet. Might have to find the right location for it though..."

Post Script

"An American Life", as it was published, was a quiet success. It was number one on the New York Times book list for two weeks, and then went into higher success when Oprah named it one of her "favorite things." It became required reading at several premier colleges but to date, no one has attempted to buy the movie rights.

All profits were fed back into the Julian Sullivan Foundation, run by Tara Western, which dedicates itself to providing scholarships for aspiring writers, favoring those from the armed forces.

After "An American Life" was published and promoted by Oprah, even the President of the U.S. got involved, mentioning Joe Sullivan at the State of the Union address that year, calling Joe Sullivan "the kind of quiet American hero, who does for others but never asks for themselves, even under the most difficult conditions, that this country is built on." 

The military opened an investigation into the Cambridge Event, and ended up awarding Joe Sullivan, posthumously, the Purple Heart and Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions that day. They even had his son, Aaron, come to Washington to accept it. Manny and some of his crew were also awarded medals of valor, and there was a public apology from the Army's top general that this incident had been overlooked for so long.

It didn't stop there. Joe Sullivan's CO of the time, two-star General James Patterson (ret), who was a common talking head on CNN, was asked to be part of a debate on the subject of Military Injustice. He went ahead and appeared and was completely taken apart by the other three panelists, all of whom had served in the military. He had no answers for why he had penalized the people involved, and CNN dropped his contract.

The military, quietly, retroactively reduced him in rank to colonel.

Three weeks after "American Life" was published, three of the four designers that Mark Glasso had working for him quit en masse. All were married and none of them wanted Glasso around. They resigned together and when Glasso protested that he was a happily married man, and they had nothing to fear from him, he was told, "Yeah, I'm sure Joe Sullivan thought the same."

Two weeks after that, eighty five percent of his clients had canceled their orders. Glasso was living in a Best Western, having been thrown out by Penny once the evidence of his own cheating had been provided, and suddenly he was hit with three lawsuits at once. One was for alienation of affection, from the husband of his personal assistant. The second was for being named in the divorce of the same couple and the third was for not enforcing his own company's rulebook regarding interpersonal relationships within the company. 

He'd been astounded by that, and pulled out his companies bylaws and rule book and found, to his astonishment, that there was indeed a clause in there. When he'd left Joe Sullivan's employ, Mark had taken everything he could put his hands on – clients, wife, and also the bylaws and rulebook that Joe had written. He'd not even thought about it at the time, just glanced at it to ensure that it seemed appropriate, renamed the company heading at the top and used it.

He wondered how they had known that clause was there, but again, that damn book, "An American Life" had made mention of it. He was hoist on Joe Sullivan's petard.

The IRS found several inconsistencies with his bookkeeping, and while they weren't much, with the loss of designers and loss of clients, it amounted to enough to kill the company. Three days before he was about to declare bankruptcy, he was offered thirty-two grand for the company, a particular dollar amount not lost on him. He had no choice to accept it. The company was taken over by the Julian Sullivan foundation, and renamed 'Sullivan's Designs'. The three designers who had quit were offered their jobs back and two accepted, the other having already taken another job.

Sullivan's Designs is now the preferred design group for Mercanos. 

Peter Western was found in a motel in Sweetwater, Texas, four months later. Sweetwater was a small town just outside of Abilene. What he was doing there, he couldn't rightly say. He woke up after a night of drinking beer in a hotel bar in Fort Worth. He wasn't robbed, but he did have scratches over a lot of his body. He had some particularly heavy cuts on his penis and around his anus. 

It took him a week to understand that he couldn't maintain an erection any more. Some of the cuts around the dorsal artery were such that when they healed, they blocked the artery to the top of the penis, stopping the blood flow. A large amount of the arterial wall had also been removed, so while blood flowed, it just went everywhere instead of where it was supposed to go to maintain an erection. When he got a professional opinion, they all were stumped. It was as if the cuts where made deliberately in order for the scar tissue to form in such a way as to prevent an erection.

Specialist plastic surgeons worked on it, but found that every time they made an incision into the scar tissue, more scar tissue formed that kept blocking the artery. Eventually they made another small artery into the main muscle of the penis, to ensure it got blood and didn't go gangrenous, but that his ability to maintain an erection would be impaired for the rest of his life.

Hector Gonzales was never found, either in Mexico or Paraguay. However, it is worth noting that very soon after the Julian Sullivan murder, a new sex worker at the premier niche brothel in Bogota, in Columbia, arrived. The sex worker was a man, who took up residence in the Paine Room. The Paine room was the specialist room, where those with sadistic sexual tendencies took their business. The inhabitants of that room never lasted long, but there was nothing off the table. Blood was often drawn in that room and it took a very masochistic person to want to be the victim in there.

This particular individual lasted longer than most, before being found three months later, dead, from running at a mirror, cracking it, and using the shards to cut his own wrists. There was talk about him being drugged or him not being there by choice, but since half the fun to be had in the abuse of the people in the Paine Room was their own reluctance, it was hard to tell if it was put on or not. Either way, it got the users of that room even more excited.

Many of the sadists who had abused this man had talked of his mania, of how his crazed eyes had been so wild, and how amazing it was to force a blowjob from a man with no teeth and no tongue. They did wonder at why there were so many copies of a picture of a man in American desert combat gear all over the room, posted so the sex worker would always see it, but the Madam of the brothel just spread her hands and told them it was a condition of his employment there.

The body was dumped in a shallow grave and no one mentioned him again.

Aaron Glasso changed his name at the earliest opportunity to Aaron Sullivan. Manny and his crew came to see him one Saturday, to take him out with them and tell him stories of his old man. When Penny wouldn't allow it, Manny stepped into the kitchen with her, talked for ten minutes, quietly, and after that, she never stopped him going out with the Cambridge Crew. Every time one was in town, they'd stop by and take him out to some museum or such and regale him with stories. April even went with them, when she wasn't out in the field. She made the cabin available to anyone of the crew who asked, and it was in frequent use. She was sure Joe would have liked that.

Tara Western retired days before "An American Life" was published, after first having agreed with April that she was allowed to – that her duties with the local homeless sheltered would be picked up by the Cambridge Crew. She relocated to Austin, Texas, where she bought a market gardening farm. They grew palm and fruit trees that were sold in Lowe's and Home Depot. She found more local homeless shelters to volunteer with. April was not about to let her off her pledge, and to her credit, Tara wasn't either. Hillier also quit and retired to Austin. Tara married him as soon as she was decently able, if only to get his last name and rid of hers. Anytime Ambrose Hillier was mad at Tara's behavior towards him, he called her Mrs. Sullivan, and it made her stop and think.

They try and keep in touch with April, and invite her every year to their annual 4th of July party, as well as Thanksgiving, but she never comes. She's not over her anger yet. She wasn't ready to see Tara happy. She knew it was wrong of her, and very unprofessional, but it was there.

April Carlisle went back to work at Ingrams. She still sees Marianne Dubowski professionally from time to time.

April Carlise and Ingrams & Assoc will be back in Life After Death.