14 comments/ 42972 views/ 10 favorites One More Life To Live By: ronde The morning sky was grey and cloudy, and a steady rain had been pouring down for about an hour when I got there. The uniforms had found the guy sitting up against a plastic dumpster behind a dingy little neighborhood bar on West Elm. At first they thought he was just drunk. Down in that part of Chicago, anything can turn up, and drunks are just part of the normal alley garbage. When they tried to roust him, he didn’t move. That wasn’t all that surprising since he had a bullet hole in his gut. The lab boys had beat me by a few minutes. They were taking pictures when I ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. “Whatcha got Harry?’ “White male, one bullet in the belly with a close-range powder burn around the entry. He’s still a little warm, so he’s probably been dead about two hours or so. The bullet hole looks like a small caliber. I’m guessing it’s a twenty-five, because we found a twenty-five auto next to the body and a casing over by the wall. Looks like he was standing, and whoever shot him had the barrel pointed up at an angle. The exit wound’s just under his shoulder. Bullet probably got a lung. I think we may get the bullet too. There’s a hole going into the dumpster at the right height, but none coming out. As soon as we get this guy on his way to Doc Mason, we’re gonna sort through it.” “ID?” “Yeah. Tony Clay, according to his driver’s license. Address on the license is 12467 South Union. No pictures and no credit cards. Just a couple hundred in cash and a receipt from some tailor over on Sixth. Guy must have liked nice clothes. He’s wearin’ a silk shirt.” “How about the auto? Any numbers?” “Nope. Ground off. So’s the front sight.” “Anything else left that might tell us who popped this guy?” “With all this fuckin’ rain, not likely, but we’ll let you know. Hey Jack, you really cashing in next month like the rumor mill says.” “Yeah. Got two more weeks to go. Figured it was time you young guys started earning your pay for a change.” The uniforms were over by the ambulance. The youngest, a kid named Sorenson, looked white as a sheet. The other one, Grady, I’d worked with before. “How’d you find him, Grady?” “I didn’t. Sorenson did. We were cruisin’ by and saw a kid take off down the alley. Looked like he was up to something, so we stopped. Sorenson went after him while I called it in. I got there about the time he found the guy. Rick, you tell him.” Sorenson was pretty shaken up. He talked about a mile a minute. “The kid was really fast on his feet. He was almost at the cross street when I started down the alley. By the time I got to the end, he’d disappeared. I was walking back to the car when I see this guy sitting against the dumpster. Must have missed him when I went by the first time. Looked like he was asleep or drunk or something. When I shook the guy to wake him up, he fell over. That’s when I saw the blood on his shirt. I checked for a pulse, but he was already dead” “Grady, think your kid had anything to do with it?” “Nah. He was just walkin’ down the street, and ran into the alley when he saw the car. I figure he was either pushin’ or carryin’ a piece and that’s why he ran. Doubt he saw the guy either.” Sorenson still looked like a ghost. “This your first stiff, Sorenson?” “Yeah. Just got out of the academy last month. Didn’t figure I’d get one so soon.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “First one’s a bitch. You’ll get over it.” I knew how Sorenson felt. Mine was thirty-one years ago, and I’d puked up the chilidog I had for lunch. He wouldn’t get over it, but there was no sense telling him that. He wouldn’t get over this one or any of the others he’d find during his career, assuming he stayed on until retirement. He only had a halfway reasonable chance of learning to live with it without getting divorced or crawling into a bottle. I wasn’t so lucky. I did both after five years on the street. It took eight months to wean myself off the bourbon, but there was no fixing the marriage. Mary couldn’t handle my moods and worrying all the time. Since Tony had seen fit to pass his last minutes just outside the back door of the bar, I figured that’d be a good place to start. Besides, it was still raining like hell, and I wanted to dry out a little. The sign on the door said Phil’s Tap opened at one, so I went back to the station instead. Maybe Tony had a past. DMV had nothing but a speeding ticket and a couple parking violations. I didn’t get anything when I ran his name except the same address that was on his license. On the surface, it looked like Tony was just a guy who found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doc Mason called me about ten. They had a preliminary and had lifted his prints. I walked downstairs to the morgue. Janet Mason’s been opening up stiffs for fifteen years. I don’t know how she does it. The OD’d junkies aren’t too bad, but the rest…. She was slicing into a glob of something purple when I walked into the examining room. “Hi, Jack. Be with you in a minute. He’s on the table by the door if you wanna have a look.” Tony Clay was about five-ten, and he was in reasonable shape for his age. There was a tattoo of a dragon on his right bicep. I couldn’t see any other distinguishing marks except the charred little hole just under his breastbone. It looked like Harry was right about it being a twenty-five, although we didn’t see that caliber often. The twenty-five is a ladies gun. These little pistols aren’t very accurate and they don’t have much knockdown power. Women like them because they’re small enough to fit easily in a purse, and their double actions make them just point and shoot. I figured there wouldn’t have been much sound, either. A twenty-five isn’t all that loud to begin with, and the body would have silenced much of the muzzle blast. “My guess - hey, Jack, take it easy. It’s only me. My guess is whoever shot him was on the ground. The angle’s right for that.” Janet had startled me. I’ve spent a lot of hours in the morgue, but I still feel creepy down there. Janet knows that, and never misses the opportunity. She was chuckling when I turned around. “So I’m jumpy around all these stiffs. So what? Anybody in their right mind would be.” “Then you’re saying I’m not in my right mind.” I knew from experience Janet loved playing this game and that I’d never win. There wasn’t much about Janet that wasn’t right. If she hadn’t been married, I might have tried showing her just how right she was. “Never mind. So what can you tell me?” “One shot, probably with the muzzle touching him. There’s burned powder as far as I can see inside the entrance and a muzzle imprint that matches the gun they found. The bullet didn’t expand much, but then, twenty-fives don’t have the velocity to do much. The exit wound is about the same size. Time of death I’m putting at sometime between two and five AM, for now. I’m gonna pop the hood in a minute if you wanna hang around, but it looks like the bullet got his heart and went out through his left lung. Oh, I have the prints here along with a picture of his face and another of the tattoo.” I sent the print card to the lab, and then drove back to Phil’s Tap. It was one of those cozy little neighborhood bars nestled quietly in the middle of a block of deserted storefronts. When the neighborhood had been full of people, Phil’s would have been the center of the nightlife. Now, it was just a dark little place hanging on to the old life of block parties, the corner grocery and the butcher who always had fresh veal. The bar and a dozen stools occupied one long side of the building. On the other side were eight booths with padded seats. The hardwood floor was almost black from the years of beer stains and foot traffic, but it fit the general atmosphere of neglected age. Except for a dim bulb over the cash register, the neon signs seemed to be the only light in the place. Three old men sat at the far end nursing mugs of beer and talking quietly. They were probably local residents who started coming here when the place was in better shape, and just never stopped. If Phil’s was like most of these little places, the real drinkers would get here later tonight. The local hookers would be here, too, either to do a little inside marketing, or maybe just to piss or get a little something to loosen them up. The bartender didn’t seem impressed when I flashed my badge. “I seen one before. So whadda you want? The Liquor Commission send you down?” “You’re Phil, I take it?” “Phil lives in a fancy apartment downtown. I’m Dave, the manager.” “You know a man was shot in the alley behind this place early this morning? “Yeah, I know. The cops were out there digging through my dumpster when I opened up. What about it? Some jerk-off decides to get himself dead behind this place, it’s no skin off my ass.” I showed him the pictures of Tony and his tattoo. “You see this guy any time during the night.” “Nah, but I left at ten. Angie closes up at night.” “Who’s Angie?” “Angie Carpenter, the bartender who works the late shift. She gets in about four.” I couldn’t see spending three hours inhaling stale beer and cigarette smoke, so I gave him my card and went back to the station. If the prints had turned up anything, maybe I’d find out some more about Tony. I got lucky. The lab boys had matched Tony’s prints to one Anthony Cardone. He’d done a couple years for selling some stereo equipment that was a little warm, and had been a suspect, but was never arrested, for selling bootleg VHS tapes. Other than that, he was clean. Didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get himself shot in an alley. On the other hand, he didn’t appear to have a job of any kind, but he wore silk shirts and had two hundred dollars on him. The shooter hadn’t taken the money, so the murder wasn’t just a simple robbery gone bad. Tony must have really pissed off somebody. The lab had lifted two sets of prints off the pistol. One belonged to Tony and probably confirmed it was his piece. From what I’d found out about him, that figured. Tony wouldn’t be the kind to carry something bigger, even if some people would laugh at the little pistol. He wasn’t a big-time shooter, and probably carried the piece just to feel a little tougher. We didn’t have a match for the other prints. The lab had sent them to the state police and to the FBI. I could only hope their maker had been fingerprinted at some time. It’s surprising how many people haven’t. Tony’s tailor was a little old man wearing a vest stuck full of pins. He knew Tony well, although he didn’t know much about him. Tony bought a new silk shirt every week, and he always paid cash. I told him Tony wouldn’t be needing any more shirts. By the time I got back to the station, my shift was almost over. I didn’t have anything to do except go home, heat up a can of ravioli in the microwave, and watch television. Talking to Angie seemed like it would probably be more interesting, even if she didn’t know anything. She looked to be forty-five, maybe fifty at the outside, but she’d done pretty good at looking younger than that. Life had etched a few lines in her face that she’d smoothed out with makeup, and I was pretty sure her long, dark red hair had also benefited from a little touchup. There were a few lighter roots showing in her part. The low-cut tank top was filled to overflowing, and the little shorts did a nice job of showing off her round ass. I figured she made a lot of her income off tips. Hell, when I was drinking, I’d have tossed her a ten just so she’d stand across the bar from me. She drew a pitcher for a guy in mechanic’s coveralls, took his money, and then walked down the bar to my stool. “What can I get you? It’s happy hour. Two of anything for the price of one.” “How about a coffee?” A flash of fear crossed her face and turned into a frown. “You a cop? Nobody comes in here and orders coffee, so you must be a cop.” “It’s not against the law to order coffee in a bar, is it?” “No, and you didn’t answer my question. Are you a cop or not?” I showed her my badge. “I knew it. If, if it’s about that kid last week, he was already drunk when he came in. I had Dave throw him out before he could order anything.” “No, I don’t know anything about any kid. I just want to talk to Angie about the murder last night. You’re Angie, aren’t you?” “What if I say no?” “Then we’ll take a ride down to the station and find out who you are.” “OK, I’m Angie. Dave said you’d be looking for me. I was here last night, but I don’t know anything. I closed up a little after three, and took a cab home. I handed her the pictures of Tony. “Was he in here, or maybe out back sometime during the night.” Angie studied the photo for several seconds and then shook her head. “No, don’t remember him. He’d have stuck out. We get mostly regulars in here.” “Where’s your bouncer? Maybe he saw this guy.” “Haven’t had one for a month or so. Last one got a little greedy and helped himself to a couple hundred from the drawer, so Dave fired him. It’s just me by myself, but the guys who come in here are a pretty close group. They take care of each other, so we don’t have much trouble. If there was, there’s Jules, that big guy over there. He helps out if I need it. Jules was a Marine in Vietnam, and he kinda likes things peaceful. Not many guys mess with Jules.” I wouldn’t want to take on Jules either. The big man sitting at the end of the bar sipping his beer was about six-five and I guessed him at close to three hundred. “I see what you mean. You sure this guy didn’t come in, even for a couple minutes?” “Look, this is a little bar. I’d have seen him if he came in. Besides, why would a stranger come in here? These guys would throw him out on his ass. They don’t like strangers much.” “Maybe he came in to see you?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well, you’re pretty good looking, and –“ “Hey, listen. I’m a bartender and that’s all, got it? You want a little fun, you go talk to Sandy or Jackie. They’re taking a break at that booth right over there.” “Hey, calm down. I wasn’t asking you for anything. I just said you were pretty. You always get mad when somebody tells you that?” “No, not if they mean it that way, but they usually don’t. They’re looking for a quick blowjob or something. This place is about the bottom of the heap, but I’m not ready to start hookin’ yet. “Ok, Ok, I believe you. You think Sandy or Jackie might have seen something?” “Might have, but they weren’t here last night. You’ll have to ask ‘em yourself.” As soon as they saw my badge, Sandy and Jackie claimed to be secretaries on their way home from work. I laughed and said I should have a secretary who dressed like they did. Once I convinced them I didn’t work for Vice, they said they didn’t know any Tony or Anthony, and anyway, they’d been at a party that night. When I asked for someone who could vouch for them, Sandy grinned and told me to ask a uniform named Richardson. It seems the party was in honor of his coming wedding. I made a note to talk with Don’s partner later. The Captain would be pissed if he ever found out his squad had sampled some of the street girls. I went back to my barstool and waved at Angie. She walked back down the bar to my seat. “So, you satisfied yet?” “No. Won’t be until I get whoever popped the guy.” “Why you so worried about him? Anybody stupid enough to walk around in that alley after dark is too stupid to live anyway.” “Just doing my job, that’s all. Somebody gets shot, we have to find the shooter.” “You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?” Sometimes it’s better to keep quiet and see what happens. I didn’t have long to wait. “You bastard. If I did it, do you think I’d be standing here talking to you? I’m not stupid, you know.” I believed her. Angie was nervous as a cat, but there was strength and plenty of street smarts under that scared look. She’d have been long gone if she’d pulled the trigger on Tony. “Ok, Ok. You’ve convinced me. Now that we’ve got that settled, can I have my coffee?” “You still want it? I figured you’d leave since I didn’t know anything.” ‘Nah. I’m really off duty, and the only thing waiting for me is an empty apartment. I haven’t just sat in a bar since…, for years. I think I might hang around for a while, if that’s all right with you, that is.” “Suit yourself.” I really did want to relax, and a bar is a great place for relaxing. A lot of my job is reading people, and it’s become a hobby of mine. People in bars change as the drinks go down, and it’s fun to guess how this one or that one will turn out. As the hours passed and the coffee went down, I found my watching centered mostly on Angie. She joked with the guys at the bar, but was…, I guess I’d describe it as a little bit sad and a lot defensive. I figured the defensive attitude came with her job. There were few women in the bar, and those who were there hadn’t come in for a drink. Their goal was to entice any and all willing guys to part with twenty bucks for a blowjob in the can, or more if he wanted a little extra attention in someplace more private. Angie was the unattainable prize. That would have to make her a little defensive. As for the feeling I got that she was a little sad, I couldn’t pinpoint the reason. It was just there. The more I watched, the more interested in her I became. I hadn’t thought about getting to know another woman for a long time. My job just about guaranteed any serious involvement would end in a remake of my marriage, and I didn’t want to go through that again. Angie stirred something I’d kept buried for years. Maybe I felt sorry for her because she seemed unhappy. Maybe it was the knowledge that I’d be taking it easy in a couple weeks, and a woman wouldn’t have to compete with my job. She was a younger than I, but at our age, a few years wouldn’t make that much difference. All my attempts at making conversation with Angie failed miserably. She seemed to be avoiding me except when I waved for more coffee. At about eleven, I gave up and left. The next morning brought more dead ends and an interesting trip through Tony’s apartment. Tony Cardone had no relatives on record, and though my eyes and ears on the street, a greasy little guy who went by the name of “Twist”, had heard of the shooting, he knew nothing about Tony Clay or Anthony Cardone. The only new information was that the lab had found traces of oil in the right hip pocket of Tony’s pants. The oil was the same as that on the pistol. That would also explain why the front sight had been filed down. If the front sight was there, it might hang up when he tried to pull it quickly, and he probably didn’t need the sight anyway. Those little pistols are difficult to aim because of the short sight radius. It’s more of an instinctive pointing weapon. I know. I’ve carried a snub thirty-eight since I made detective. Tony’s apartment was in a pretty nice neighborhood. I spent a little time with the super before asking to see it, but I didn’t get much. All he knew was that Tony paid his rent on time, and sometimes threw parties involving several women and a couple men. Once in the apartment, the reason for the so-called parties became evident. One of the three bedrooms had been set up as a kind of film studio with a bed on one side and a fake fireplace on the other. There were lights on tripods placed around the room, and a professional video camera and a stack of blank tapes sat by the door. In another bedroom, there was a desk and several boxes of DVD’s, but these weren’t the copies of theater releases that almost got him into trouble before. They were porn films that catered to specific tastes. There were titles like “Tickle My Pink”, “Sweet Pee, the Shower Girl”, “Big Clit Grandmas”, and “Enema Queens 6”. The fine print on each said “Copyright 2002, TC Video, Inc.”. In the desk, we found a book of orders and receipts to various adult bookstores, and a file of releases from his models. It looked like he was a legit, if pretty sleazy, filmmaker. We took it all downtown. One More Life To Live So, Tony decides the bootleg business is too risky, and starts up his own private Hollywood in his apartment. Wouldn’t be too hard. He’d easily find some girls who’d do about anything for the hundred or so he paid them. He probably got the coke addicts for less. I’d scanned through a couple of the flicks. The models were pros, all right, but they were in a different kind of acting profession. The guys were pretty rough looking. He’d probably gotten them off the street, too. I didn’t even try to find any of them. Somehow, I doubted Rocky Shank or Kitty Furr were in the phone book. I called a couple of the adult bookstores in his receipt book. They knew Tony Clay. He had the best deals on specialty porn of all their suppliers. Four-ninety-five a copy in lots of twenty-five. There were about four hundred receipts in Tony’s book for the last month alone. He wouldn’t be doing too bad with about twenty-thousand a month in sales. I had lunch at a little pizza place before going back to the station. There were two faxes on my desk. The first, from the state print lab, was a washout. They didn’t have any prints on file that matched my mystery person. The second, from the FBI, made me smile. I had a name. The prints belonged to a Debra Hastings from Cincinnati. I had to look twice at the fax. The prints were taken in 1968. Debra had been nineteen when she was arrested at a campus anti-war rally. That would make her fifty-four now. The black and white photos of the little brunette weren’t very clear, but I could tell she was scared to death. The description said five-six and a hundred twenty pounds, no distinguishing marks. I called Cincinnati information and got the numbers for every Hastings in their listings. After talking to three people who said they’d never heard of Debra, and one five-year-old girl whose mommy was in the shower, I found Debra’s brother. “Sorry Detective, but you’ve made some sort of mistake. Debra was killed in 1969, a boating accident in Duluth, Minnesota.” “I really hate to ask you this, but are you very sure?” “If you mean did I go to the funeral, no. Mom had me late, and I was only two then. I don’t even remember Debra except from pictures.” “Could I have your parent’s phone number?” His voice choked a little. “Mom passed away two years ago. Cancer. Dad’s been gone six months now. He never got over losing Mom. The doctor said he just gave up.” “I’m very sorry for asking. Is there anyone else who could confirm her death?” “No, I doubt so. Debra and I were the only children. The rest of the family lives in California, but it’s been years since we’ve been in contact. I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with any of them. There was a death certificate and some pictures in Dad’s stuff, but I threw all that out when he died. It reminded me about him too much. “That’s all right. I can get one from the recorder’s office in Duluth. Sorry for bringing up bad memories, and thanks for your help.” So, either the FBI was confused, or I had a corpse walking around the city shooting people. I asked the lab to confirm the identification, and called the recorder’s office in Duluth. The clerk was very apologetic. The city had only gotten as far back as 1980 in the conversion of paper files to electronic data. She promised they’d do their best to locate Debra’s death certificate, but it would probably take a couple days. About five, I gave up trying to think and grabbed a burger at Del’s for dinner. The TV got boring after nine-thirty so I called it a day. At a little after eleven, I got tired of tossing and turning. Angie was bothering me, but not because of the murder. She recognized me when I walked into Phil’s. “Didn’t believe me, huh? Well, I still don’t know anything.” “This is just a social visit. Got any coffee in that pot?” She sat the cup in front of me. “So, you gonna go talk to Sandy, or you like Jackie better? According to what the guys in here say, Sandy’s the best at blowjobs, but Jackie will let you, uh…, take the road less traveled, so to speak.” “I’m not really into either, and besides, I’d feel like I was doing it with my daughter. I was hoping to talk with you, actually.” “You have a daughter?” “No. I was married once, but uh, well, it’s hard being a cop’s wife. We split up before we had any kids. That probably was the only thing I did right with her. I’d like to have a daughter, though.” “Too bad. I always wanted kids, but I never got around to it. Life kind of fucks you over sometimes, doesn’t it?” Some guy down the bar yelled for a refill, and Angie left. In a few minutes, she was back. “So, why’d you want to talk to me? Your apartment really that bad?” “The apartment’s OK. It’s the company that’s boring. I figured you’d be better.” Angie let herself relax a little, and grinned. “This is the first time in my life I’ve been told I was better than an empty apartment. Is that a good thing?” “It is from where I’m sitting.” We talked, between her bartending demands, until eleven. It was then I realized we’d only talked about me. Angie was very good at her job. “So, Angie, how’d you come to be a bartender?” “Just fell into it, I guess. I was waiting tables uptown, and when things got slow, I’d go talk to the bartenders. They taught me how to mix drinks and talk to customers to keep them buying. I liked it, and it paid better. I didn’t get felt up all the time, either.” “Seems like you could do better than this place. Must get really scary around here after you close up.” She looked at me for a few seconds. “You sure this is just a friendly talk? I already told you I don’t know anything about the other night.” “It’s friendly. I just figured you’d be afraid of being here by yourself, especially after what happened.” “I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a lot of years. I have some pepper spray in my purse for the guys who won’t take no for an answer. I’ve used it a couple of times, too.” ‘I’d be better than pepper spray.” “And how would that be?” “Oh, for instance, I could stick around here until you close up, and then take you home. Save you cab fare, too.” “I usually hit this all-night diner right after work. Sorry.” “Hey, all the better. Nothing like a plate of eggs and bacon at three in the morning to get me ready for the next day’s work.” I ended up having pancakes and sausage. Angie had the eggs. I dropped her at her apartment a little after five. Wasn’t any use trying to sleep for just an hour, so I showered and went in early. I’d just sat down when the Captain walked up and tossed a file folder on my desk. “I know you have that alley murder on your plate already, but this one should be easy, and it’s in the same part of the city. Old whore they found yesterday afternoon in that abandoned factory out on Jenson. She probably OD’d. Check it out and see what you come up with. You oughta have enough time before you bail, you lucky son of a bitch.” I opened the folder and looked at the photos taken at the scene. The woman was old for a hooker and she looked used-up. I could imagine she’d spent the last few years doing anything for anybody in order to buy dope. A length of rubber tubing, a bottle cap, and a syringe lay beside her body. Janet’s report would say an overdose of heroin was the cause of death. The only difficult question would be if she had injected herself or if someone else had done it. There were two sets of prints in the folder, one from the body and one off the syringe. I sent the prints to the lab for a match, and tossed the folder in my inbox. Like Joe had said, this one would be easy. My murder case wasn’t going any better. Ballistics had finally gotten around to matching the slug from the scene to the little pistol, so I didn’t have to look for another murder weapon, but Duluth hadn’t yet found Debra’s death certificate. The same clerk promised “Maybe tomorrow”. I spent the day showing Tony’s picture to every hooker, wino and bag lady in a three-block radius of Phil’s. By four, all I’d learned was that Tony had often asked hookers to star in his films. There were a few who said he’d gotten a little rough with them, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. I needed a shower and some sleep. A funny thing about getting older is that sometimes you can’t sleep as long as you’d like. Angie seemed almost glad to see me when I walked into Phil’s at two. “You must be desperate. My coffee’s not that good.” “Maybe it’s not the coffee.” “Well, unless you’re into toilets, it sure as hell isn’t the atmosphere.” “Maybe I like eating breakfast with you at three in the morning? Ever think of that?” Angie seemed stunned for a few seconds. She just looked at me like she was trying to decide what to say. “Why would you like that?” “You’re a woman. That’s a good start. You’re a pretty woman. That’s even better. I think I like you. That’s three reasons. Need some more?” “But I’m just a bartender in a lousy bar. You’re –“ “I’m just a burnt out old cop who’s been alone for a long time. I don’t like being alone. It sucks.” “You don’t look that old, and you don’t look burnt out. You’re respectable, and I’m…, well, I’m not.” “I’d like to be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. Can I take you home again? I’ll buy breakfast this time.” Angie locked up the bar at three-fifteen, and I drove us to the diner. We left at four-thirty. I was pleasantly stuffed with more pancakes and sausage. Angie’d had french toast. We did a lot of talking over the meal, and I was starting to like Angie more all the time. She seemed to enjoy being with me, too. When I walked her to the door of her apartment building, she slipped her arm in mine. She checked her mailbox, then let us in and led the way to the second floor. The building wasn’t fancy, and I imagined the apartments didn’t rent for much. Angie stopped at number 206. “Well, this is home, such as it is. Would you like to come in for a while?” She looked at the floor. “I could make us some coffee…, or something.” “I’d like that.” Her apartment was furnished in a hodgepodge of styles and there wasn’t really much of that. The living room had a couch covered by a colorful throw, a matching chair, and a coffee table. Under the single window was a table with a typewriter and a chair. A couple pictures hung on the walls, and a worn, flowered rug camouflaged the beat-up wood flooring. The kitchen wasn’t really a kitchen at all. It had a tiny stove and refrigerator, a sink, a few cabinets, and a bar with two stools, all tucked into one corner of the living room. Angie filled the percolator with water and coffee, and sat it on one of the stove burners. Blue flames licked at the bottom when she turned the knob. “I’m going to get into some different clothes. Make yourself at home.” The couch was old, but comfortable. Mine had a soft spot in the center cushion, but Angie’s seemed to have survived the years without breaking any springs. I looked at the coffee table. There were a couple of women’s magazines and one picture in a small silver frame. The young girl with long brown hair who looked back at me would have been twelve or thirteen. Behind her was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Angie. “That’s my mom. It was taken a lot of years ago.” Angie had changed from the tight top and short skirt to a sweatshirt and jeans. In the top and skirt, she had been a little hard looking, but pretty and erotic. The jeans and sweatshirt made her look small, vulnerable, and beautiful. I had a sudden urge to take Angie in my arms and hold her. “You look just like her. The little girl is you?” “Yes, but I wasn’t a little girl. I was fifteen.” Angie shrugged. “I was kind of a late bloomer.” “You’ve bloomed out just fine, in my opinion.” “Well, lately, I’m blooming in places I rather not.” “Not from where I’m sitting.” “You don’t have to cram your butt in those little skirts or shorts every night, either. Now, it’s cream and no sugar, right?” Angie sat the cups on the coffee table and plopped down beside me. “So, what does a cop do when he’s not chasing bad guys or sitting in my apartment?” “I already told you. Not much of anything.” “No hobbies…, no…, women?” “I get in some fishing when I can. I like the quiet of just sitting in a boat and letting the world go by. And, no, there are no women.” “Why? You’re a decent looking guy, and any woman would feel really safe around you. I do.” “Safe doesn’t make a relationship.” I gave her what I remembered as my best flirting smile. “Besides, most women don’t like the handcuffs.” Angie giggled. “Oh, a kinky cop. Should I be afraid?” “No, not really. Not unless you’ve done something illegal.” Angie’s face turned from a smile to a frown. “Like shooting that guy, huh?” “Yeah, that’d do it. It’d be hard to arrest you, but I would.” “Why hard?” “Because I like you. I like you a lot.” The smile came back a little. “I’m glad you like me. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed anybody to like me, and now….” “Now what?” “Oh, nothing. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.” “Feeling sorry for yourself? Why?” “Because I’m getting old and I’m tired of being who I am. I want to have fun again, like I did when I was younger. Instead, I work all night in a lousy bar in a bad part of town, and sleep all day in this crummy apartment.” “So what was fun when you were younger?” “You’re going to think this is silly, but when I was in college, we used to have parties on the beach. We’d build a big fire, and drink wine and swim and…” Angie grimaced. “See, I said you’d think it was silly.” “No, it’s not. It wasn’t on a beach, but we did the same things. There was this one place, back up in a field on a riverbank. I have a lot of fond memories of that place. So, you went to college?” “Yeah. Never finished, but I went for a couple years. I was young and stupid and thought I was in love, so I quit to marry him. He took off before we made it to a church, and I never went back.” “What was your major?” “Journalism.” “That would explain the typewriter, then.” “I’m trying to write again. Thought maybe I’d get something published and I could get out of this hole.” “So, what do you write about?” “It’s going to be a romance novel. You know, Elizabeth gazes into his steel-blue eyes and something melts inside her. She pulls him down on the blanket and kisses him, etcetera, etcetera. Won’t get me the Pulitzer, but they pay pretty good.” “You’ll have to let me read it sometime, especially that etcetera part.” Angie chuckled. “It’s going to have a lot more et than cetera. Women who read romance novels like lots of cuddling and kissing and just enough sex so they can imagine for themselves, not naked people doin’ the dirty.” “And how about you? Does Angie like to cuddle and kiss, or would she rather get down to the nitty-gritty?” Angie grinned shyly. “Well, that would depend on who’s doing the cuddling, kissing and how nitty the gritty is.” She wiggled across the couch and put her hand on my chest. Her lips were only inches from mine, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. “I, uh…, suppose we could find out, if you’d like to.” Angie closed her eyes when I kissed her. I felt her slip her hand around my neck and pull herself closer. She kissed back for a few seconds and then pulled away. “That part’s pretty nice. How are you at cuddling?” She felt great in my arms. Angie was all softness and warmth against my chest and her breath was warm against my neck. I gently stroked her back through the sweatshirt and she wiggled against me. “Mmmm, so far, so good. You have nice hands, you know that?” I kissed her again and let my hands explore their way down her side to the curve of her hip. The soft, rounded swell felt good. So did the length of her thigh. I let my thumb slip around that thigh and gently caress the inside as I slipped my hand back up to her waist. Angie caught her breath when my thumb reached her tummy. Without thinking, I slipped my hand under her sweatshirt and touched her bare skin. Angie jumped. “Sorry, your hand is a little cold.” I pulled my hand away but she grabbed it, slipped it back under the shirt, and whispered in my ear. “I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.” Her bra was a flimsy thing and I could feel every curve through the thin material. I found her nipple and brushed my thumb over the small bump. Angie caught her breath again as the nipple pushed back at me. I brushed over it once more, and she moaned, “Yes”, in my ear. It had been years since I’d tried to unhook a bra with one hand, but it all came back to me. The band pulled against the weight of her breasts when I released the last hook. I caressed around the little width of skin the band had wrinkled. Her breast was full and felt cool against my hand. The nipple rose taut from the rippled surface. I’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to lift and fondle a woman’s breast. I’d also forgotten how nice it felt to have a woman fondle my crotch. Angie felt for my belt buckle and unfastened it. She had a little trouble with the waistband snap, but presently I felt her pull the zipper down. When her fingertips caressed me through my shorts, it was my turn to shiver. “What’s the matter? My hand cold too?” “No. It’s just been a while, that’s all.” Angie slipped her hand under the waistband of my shorts and felt down through the hair on my belly. With just a little effort, she pulled my cock up and began to gently stroke. I kissed her again and rubbed firmly over the tight nipple in my palm. Angie’s tongue searched for an opening between my lips. When I parted them, that soft little tongue found mine and sent shivers all through my body. Angie moaned again, squeezed my cock and pulled away. She stood up, took me by the hand, and led me to a doorway. We kissed again before she led me into the bedroom and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand. The teddybear on the bed looked old, and Angie carefully placed it in the chair against the wall. After pulling back the spread and covers, she turned, put her arms around my neck and hugged me. I heard a throaty whisper in my ear. “I…, I haven’t done this in a long time. Go easy, OK?” I pulled the clip holster from my belt, sat the Smith on the nightstand, and stripped off my clothes. Once we were under the blankets, Angie snuggled against me and lifted her thigh over mine. I felt the soft brush of hair and warm soft skin. She mashed her breasts into my chest and pressed her warm, wet mouth into my lips. Her butt was incredibly soft in my hands. I gently stroked her flanks and then moved my hands to the sides of her breasts. The flattened mounds were pure satin. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. It might have been a while since Angie had been with a man, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten how to excite one. She rolled to her side and stroked my belly. When her hand wrapped around my cock, I slipped a fingertip over the soft lips between her thighs. The little opening between them, just at the top, was parted slightly. I gently separated her curls before moving my fingertip inside. Angie stroked my shaft more firmly and opened her thighs. With her other hand, she pulled my face to her breast. My lips traced little kissing circles around the nipple, then nibbled at the wrinkles and tiny bumps around it, and finally sucked it into my mouth. Angie gasped and her hips lurched up into my hand. I slipped my fingertip deeper and found the opening to her passage. Gently, because she was a little dry, I pressed the finger into her satin warmth. She was wet, there, and got wetter as I made little massaging motions. It must have been a long time for her. She was sensitive to every touch and every movement. I slipped my finger up to the little soft bump at the top of her lips and gently rubbed above it. Angie began to breathe faster. My tongue licked across her nipple and she lurched. One More Life To Live I wanted to make this good for her, because that was the only way it would be good for me. She reached the brink three times, and three times I let her coast back down. The last time, she started pulling gently at the head of my cock. I’d never felt that before, but I knew she was telling me it was time. I slipped my finger over her inner lips. They were swollen into wet, wrinkled folds and she arched into my hand. She was ready. I entered her slowly, just a little, pulled back out, and then pushed deeper. I’m not particularly large, but Angie was tight and I didn’t want to hurt her. By the time our bellies touched, she’d opened to me and was trying to push me deeper. She put her hands on my back and started gently caressing me. I began moving in and out of her slowly, and Angie was responding. Then, something changed. I knew Angie was enjoying what I was doing, but it was like she’d switched into high gear. She groaned, “Oh, God, I didn’t think…”, and pulled me down on top of her. Her hands grabbed my ass and started pulling me into her with every stroke. Angie moaned again and again, and I felt her body squeezing the base of my cock. She writhed beneath me, forcing herself up to meet my thrusts and pulling at my hips at the same time. Wave after wave of warmth surged around my cock until, with a little cry, Angie buried her face in my neck and began to shudder uncontrollably. She cried out again when I tried to pull out of her. “No, it’s OK. Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.” The first spurt raced up my cock just as Angie wrapped her legs around my back and locked me inside her. I couldn’t move, but I didn’t need to. Her body took me the rest of the way with the little spasms in her belly and her cries of release. After a few more jerking spurts, I let my weight settle into the nest of her thighs and belly. We lay there panting and feeling the beating of our hearts. I figured I was crushing her, and rolled to her side. My lips touched wetness when I kissed her on the eyelid. “Angie, are you crying?” “Yes. Don’t worry about it. It’s just me.” She snuggled her cheek against my chest and hugged me. At about five, I kissed her good-bye and went home to shower and shave. There were two faxes on my desk. One was from the Recorder’s office in Duluth. The first page was an apology from Betty Johansen, the clerk who’d taken my call. The second was a death certificate for Debra Hastings. The only problem with the certificate was no body had been found. Debra had only been declared dead and the cause was listed as probable drowning. I called Janet to ask her opinion. “Could be. Lake Superior’s pretty deep and cold. A body could just sink to the bottom and not decompose. There wouldn’t be any gasses to bring it to the surface. It’s been documented before.” A second fax was from the FBI. They’d confirmed their computer match and double-checked it with two experts. They were confident the prints were Debra’s. Since I’ve never known the FBI to be wrong, I figured Debra had faked her death and was now in my city. It would normally be hard to find her after so many years. Women change their hairstyle and color, gain and lose weight, and sometimes surgically alter the aging process. In this case, I had a little edge. There was only one woman I knew had been in the area at the same time as the murder. The apparent age difference bothered me a little, but some women don’t age as fast as others. Something to do with their skin, or at least, that’s what my ex had once said. I hated to think about it. The right thing to do would have been to go talk to Angie again and tell her about the prints on the gun, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I saw a file folder in my inbox. It was Janet’s report on the dead hooker. The report was as I’d anticipated. The woman had somehow gotten a better cut than usual on her last buy. The heroin injected between her toes caused her to just nod off and never wake up. The body showed no signs of a struggle, so it was almost certain she’d injected it herself. Putting this case to bed would be easier than talking to Angie. All I needed was a name to go with the body. I called the lab and asked them about my unknown hooker’s prints. My explanation for rushing the ID was that I wanted to get everything tidied up before next Friday. Ned said he’d push it through. In an hour, the prints were back on my desk with a rap sheet for Linda Day. She’d been in and out of jail over the last thirty years for prostitution and drug use. Linda had never listed any next of kin. It was unlikely that Linda Day was even her real name. She would join the other discards of society in a plain coffin paid for by the state. At three, I knocked off and went home. Then came a few hours of fitful sleep and a few more of justifying to myself what I was going to do that night. At two, I drove to Phil’s. Angie smiled when I sat down at the bar. “You look tired. Did I wear you out that much?” “No. Just a really hard day. Got any coffee?” She sat the cup on the bar and touched my hand. “Are you going to take me home again tonight? I’m starting to like having breakfast with you at three in the morning.” Angie made little circles on the back of my hand with her index finger. “I like what happens after breakfast even more.” I wanted to tell her to slip out the back door and run like hell. I wanted her gone so I’d have a reasonable excuse for not hauling her ass to the station. Like she’d said before, sometimes life fucks you over. Tonight, I was going fuck over what was left of her life. “Yes. We’ll have breakfast again. The rest depends on you.” “That sounds like you think I might say no. Believe me, that’s the farthest thing from what I’m thinking.” My pancakes tasted like soggy cardboard and Angie didn’t help my mood any. She’d been happy since I’d walked into Phil’s, and talked about everything under the sun. To know I was going to smash that happiness into fragments was killing me. I couldn’t talk on the ride to her apartment. Neither of us saw the man standing in the shadows beside the steps of the old brownstone. Angie almost had her key in the lock when he spoke in a low, menacing voice. “Buddy, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll haul ass out of here. I got some business with Angie here, and it don’t involve you. Now, beat it.” I don’t like to be told what’s good for me. I’m plenty old enough to know for myself. Anyway, the guy was short and fat and slimy, and I didn’t like him. I didn’t know what he wanted with Angie, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be good for her if I left. “Nah. I think I’ll stick around. Angie might need me for something.” “You damn well better get your ass out of here while you still can.” He flicked his wrist and I caught the flash of light reflected by the knife. Probably one of those big lockback blades with a thumb button for opening. The fat guy evidently thought he could scare me off. He was wrong. My jacket hid the Smith clipped inside the waistband of my pants. I knew at this distance, I could put at least one shot in his midsection before he got to us. I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled my badge. “Hey asshole, you know what? You are the unluckiest bastard on the face of the earth. Drop the blade, and get down on the sidewalk. Now!” I really thought he was going to do it. The guy bent a little at the knees and leaned forward. Then, he spun around and ran. I pulled the Smith and yelled for him to stop, but he’d already turned the corner. By the time I looked around the building, he’d vanished. I went back to Angie’s steps. She was standing there with her hand still on the doorknob and shaking like a leaf. “It’s OK, Angie. He’s gone.” She didn’t move. “Angie, I said it’s OK.” She threw her arms around me and sobbed into my chest. “No, it’s not OK. He’ll be back just as soon as you leave.” “You know this guy? What’s he want with you?” Inside her apartment, Angie finally told me everything. “I had just started college when I met Bobby. He was a senior in political science and thought he and his Hippie friends could stop the Vietnam War. It was fun, and I felt we were doing what was right. I wanted to be a journalist, and being involved was giving me good experience, or so I thought until we went to a protest where things got a little rough. Both of us got arrested, but luckily, they let us go the next day. After that, I tried to get him to stop. It was obvious that it would take more than a few college kids to change what was happening. Instead, he burned his draft card in front of a bunch of TV reporters. “I was impressed by his commitment, and told him I’d stay through whatever happened. Amazing how dumb you can be when you’re nineteen, isn’t it? Anyway, Bobby told me he had to go to St. Paul for a meeting and asked me to come along. I cut my classes and we drove up for the week. On Wednesday, he came back to our hotel and said we had to leave. He was in a big hurry, but he wouldn’t tell me why. When we stopped for lunch, Bobby told me he’d robbed a gas station so we’d have some money to go away with. “See, there was this underground book that circulated through the peace groups about that time. It had instructions for how to do lots of things, and one of those things was how to get another identity if you were in danger of being arrested. That’s why Bobby had gone to St. Paul. What you had to do was look in the newspaper archives of a big city for the year you were born, and find a baby that had died. Then, you used that name to get a copy of the birth certificate. Most recorders didn’t cross check birth and death records, so it worked. “Once he’d found a new name, he had to have a Social Security Card and a driver’s license before he could get work. Bobby wanted to get them in another state, but he needed money to get there. That’s why he robbed the station. He told me I’d have to do the same thing, because the police would say I was an accomplice and arrest me too.” “That’s how you became Angie Carpenter, isn’t it?” “You knew?” “I didn’t suspect until this morning. I had Debra Hastings' fingerprints from the gun that killed Tony. Your brother said you were killed in 1969, but your death certificate said they never found a body.” Angie slumped down in the couch. “I guess you have to arrest me now, don’t you?” “I want to hear the rest of your story first.” Angie took a deep breath. “Well, Bobby couldn’t find a job that paid much. I mean, he got the card and license, but if you don’t have a past, you don’t have a chance at a decent-paying job. That’s why I’m working at Phil’s, too. Places like Phil’s don’t ask many questions. “Well, he started smoking more pot than normal, and then started using heroin. That was expensive, so he started selling, too. I was working nights at a bar when he got caught. There were police cars all around our apartment building when I got to our street. The apartment was full of drugs and I knew I’d go to jail if I went home, so I just turned around and started driving. I ended up in Chicago. It was a big city and it was easy to hide. That’s when I changed my name to Angie Carpenter.” “What about the boating accident that was listed on the death certificate?” “One weekend, I drove to Duluth and rented a motel under my new name. I knew a girl there from school whose parents had a boat and I took a cab to their house. All day Saturday, I talked to her about how school wasn’t going well and about Bobbie and that sometimes I wondered if it was worth going on. On Sunday morning, I took the key to the boat, motored out about a mile from shore, and jumped in the lake. It was a cold swim, but I’d been swimming since I was five and I’d read up on how distance swimmers do it. The grease I put on kept me warm, and by taking it slow, I made it to the beach at Erikson Park. That was only a few blocks from my motel, so I sat on the beach to dry off and then walked back to my room. The next day, I drove back to Chicago.” “So your family never knew?” Angie broke down and sobbed. “No. I couldn’t tell them…, I couldn’t tell Mom and Dad that I was mixed up in drugs. I know it hurt them to think I was dead, but if I’d gone to prison, that would have hurt them longer. It was best that I never went back.” I got Angie a glass of water and waited until she stopped crying. “Who was the guy out there tonight and what does he have to do with you and Tony.” “He was in prison with Bobby. His first name is Ed. I don’t know his last name. Bobby went to jail before I staged my death. I found out from a friend where they’d sent him, and called him one time to let him know I was all right. He didn’t care. He was just mad because I’d run out on him. Anyway, about a year ago, Ed came to the bar. He’d just gotten out. He told me Bobby had died in prison. Pneumonia, I think it was. Anyway, he also said he and Bobby had been friends, and that Bobby’d told him all about me. Ed said he’d turn me in to the cops unless I paid him two hundred dollars every week. “Since he was on parole, Ed didn’t want to risk getting caught taking the money, but he had another guy he said would collect from me. That guy was Tony. He’d set Tony up in his movie business and said Tony owed him. Well, two hundred dollars is almost half of what I make every week, but I paid him because I was afraid. On that night, Tony came in just before closing and said he was there to collect. I got the money out of my purse and we went out in the alley. As soon as I gave it to him, I started back to the bar. “Tony grabbed me by the hair and said he knew what was going on and wanted some for himself. I couldn’t pay more, not if I was going to be able to live, and that’s what I told him. He pulled out his little gun and stuck it in my face. He said if I wasn’t going to pay him in cash, I could pay him another way. He pushed me down on the ground and told me to unzip his pants. “I decided he might kill me, but I wasn’t going to do that. I hit him in the crotch as hard as I could. When he turned loose of my hair, I grabbed the gun. I was trying to keep it away from my face when it went off. Tony started wheezing and sat down in front of me. He stopped trying to breathe a little while later.” “Nobody came out to see what had happened? They must have heard the shot.” “Down there, the less you know, the better off you are. They didn’t even look at me when I came back in and said I was closing up. They just left.” “Why didn’t you call the police and tell them all this?” “Oh yeah, right. They’re really have believed me. I tell them this guy has been blackmailing me for a year, and when he asks for a blowjob, I shoot him in self-defense. Sure. Would you have believed a story like that?” “Probably not without another witness. So, why didn’t you just leave?” “That’s simple. I didn’t have any money left. Tony took it all. Then you started asking me questions. I was hoping you’d believe what I said and go away, but you didn’t. If I’d run then, you’d have suspected something. I hadn’t counted on you liking me. When you came back the second night, I figured if you were going to stay around, I’d have to make you like me more.” Angie started to cry again. “Dammit, I had it all figured out. I’d be nice to you and let you think I liked you. You’d never be able to arrest me then. In a couple months, I’d have enough money to leave town. Why did you have to make me fall in love with you?” It was the hardest decision I’d made in my thirty-one years on the force. “Angie, come on. It’s time to go.” My retirement party was nice. The guys chipped in and bought me a new fishing rod and reel. That meant more to me than the cheap plaque and the certificate for meritorious service in the black leather folder. At three-thirty, I handed my badge and the holster-worn Smith to the captain. He wished me well and then got a phone call. I left his office and told Hayes the captain wanted to see him about a murder case he’d been working on. There was a round of handshakes from the guys, and hugs and kisses from the women. I got home just as the super was showing my place to a young married couple. My stuff was already in the rental truck at the curb. I handed the super my keys, took a last look around, and said good-bye to the little apartment. By early morning, I was in Minnesota. A single man who works all the time doesn’t have many expenses, so I’d put most of my salary in the bank. A week before Tony’s murder I’d bought a little cabin on one of the lakes around Grand Rapids. I figured if I was going to spend the rest of my life alone, I might as well be in a place where I could do some fishing and try to forget some of the things I’d seen and done. Angie ran out the front door and into my arms when I got out of the truck. We’d only taken her clothes, the typewriter, picture and teddy bear that night. That’s all that would fit in the rental car. There’s a little diner about fifteen miles from the cabin, and we ate breakfast there. That night, we built a big fire on our beach and settled down to drink wine and listen to the loons and the quiet swish of the night waves. I don’t know if we’ll make it or not, but I’m hoping. So far, I’m doing lots of fishing, and Angie is half-way through her novel. In between, we’re getting to know each other all over again. I know I love having her with me and she seems to love being there. In all thirty-one years on the force, I never stepped across the line. That night, in Angie’s apartment, I decided she was telling me the truth, even though nobody else would believe it. When I left the station the next afternoon, both Tony’s file and Linda Day’s went with me. That night, I pulled Debra Hastings' prints and the FBI identification from Tony’s file, burned them, and flushed the ashes down the john. When I first started police work, an old cop taught me how to lift prints from a fingerprint card. He said it was a good thing to know if I needed a little more evidence to prove a case. If done correctly, a pretty fair set of latent prints results. I’d done it a couple times to see if it worked, but never resorted to that kind of evidence. Before I went to bed that night, Linda Day’s prints were on a card that labeled them as being found on the gun from Tony’s murder. I wrote both reports the next morning and sent them to the Captain for approval. The connection between Tony and Linda had been easy to establish. She worked the same area as his apartment and Phil’s Tap, so they knew each other. He’d probably been trying to force her into one of his dirty little movies. I’d interviewed three other hookers who said he’d tried that with them. Linda said she wasn’t interested, and Tony tried to scare her with his little pistol. The murder might have been an accident or she might have somehow taken his gun away and done it on purpose. It really didn’t matter since Linda was dead, too. I wasn’t too worried that Ed would come forward and change that story, but if he did, Linda’s fingerprints on the gun were better evidence than anything he could say. The captain was so pleased he barely looked at my files before initialing them. He could list each case as closed and improve his statistics without having to lose a detective to a long murder trial. The DA was also pleased. He didn’t have to spend his budget on a trial nobody cared about. In a city this big, nobody cares about the Tony Cardone’s. Nobody cares about the Linda Day’s, either. Somebody had to care about Angie, and that night, I decided it would be me. Her first life had ended in fear and the loss of her family. Tony Cardone had ruined her second. Linda Day gave Angie a chance at a third life. I thought Linda might understand. *********************************** One More Life To Live Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and leave comments if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing. Thanks again, Ronde.