by Paul Sating
It didn't last.
Her thoughts turned dark, knowing Janis might just walk into a trap if she wasn't careful. "The sad thing is, he won't let this die. I promise."
"What you mean?"
Angelique lowered her voice, just in case those nearby parties were still interested in what was being discussed between the women. "Just that. He will be on your ass the entire time. You dropped the ball on something, anything, and he'll be there to make sure Monica knows about it. You're going to need to be very methodical. No room for mistakes, girl. Just a word of advice from a friend. Watch your back with him."
6
The coverage was glorious.
Stimulating.
Every channel in the city, from television to radio, talked about it. Even a local true crime podcast featured a short segment, with promises of dedicating an entire episode to the Memphis Murders, as more and more people were calling them.
It had a name now.
After just two women, the other murders were unlinked, the authorities were wrong about that. What did that mean for the next ones to come?
The storm swirled. Grew.
The blackened sky of fear, apprehension at every flickering street light, anxiety of walking through a silent parking garage; all of it, everything ... building.
And, yet, this was only the beginning of the terror Memphis was going to feel.
7
Janis was retracting into a protective shell. Angelique frowned, disappointed in allowing the conversation to get so far that damage had been done to her fragile friend.
But like always, in a flash of attitude, Janis rebounded. They'd ordered another round and Branson hadn't circled back to their table. In fact, Branson stayed to the furthest edges of the bar, seemingly unwilling to risk being within earshot of the two women. "Since when do we ever have room to make mistakes as women? This isn't my first dance with the good old boys' network. You know that."
"I know," Angelique acknowledged. "Branson is just, well—"
"A dick?"
Angelique snorted. Janis could be so cute. Too bad she's straight. And a friend. "Yes, but he's also very focused on his career and doesn't like feeling threatened by what he perceives as others on an upward trajectory. He can be vindictive, and I don't want to see him hurt your chances of landing something permanent with the paper."
Janis scooted forward. "Wait. What? Permanent?"
"Come on, girl. This isn't only about the story. This is your audition. You get that?"
Janis squinted, quickly squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. What was that? Another migraine or was Janis oblivious to this opportunity?
"I hadn't thought about that."
There it was again. That dichotomy of personality; one minute the greatest writer Memphis had known, and the next, a fragile woman who struggled with the fact that she was wanted by the paper. Janis was a rebounding superstar, but a superstar just the same. "Well, the pressure is on now."
Janis grunted, "Just what I needed."
Angelique lightly wrapped her thumb and middle finger around the glass, shifting it back and forth across the table top. Coworkers milled around, near. Too many of them. People aware of Janis's past and maybe even a little envious of her future. God, I hate Happy Hour. "You going to be okay doing the story?"
"What you mean?"
Angelique bit her lip. "This will be tough, Janis. This is ugly. You're awesome. I think you are. Monica knows that you are. But I worry about you because I care, and this story, it's going to take a toll on you. Hell, it wrecked me to go poking around in the details and ..." careful, Angelique, "and with your, well, the things you've got going on, I worry this could do a number on you."
The mannequin face remained intact as Janis answered. "I'll be fine. I promise."
"You'll push yourself too hard, is what you'll do. We both know that."
"I'll be fine." This time, the comment was much more forceful.
Repeating the same mantra over and over didn't make the stance more convincing. It might work for Janis, but it did nothing to alter Angelique's. "Like every time, right?"
Then the mannequin face slipped, the color of fire returning. The top of Janis's freckled lips peeled back. "Don't give me that."
"Because you haven't given me cause for concern?" Angelique barked. "Ever?" She couldn't be sure whether anyone was watching the exchange, she was too focused on her friend, caring for her in a way Janis never seemed willing to do for herself.
But Janis' spark didn't become a flame. She remained even, more animated, but not angry. Angelique had seen Janis' type of angry before, and it was consistently R-rated. Branson didn't know how lucky he was. "Listen, I know you're looking out for me and I appreciate it, I do. But—"
"Don't start, Janis," Angelique said. "You can fool Monica all day with your charade. But I know. I've been there and have seen what can happen, and I don't want that for you. This is your chance to get back into the game and I don't want to see you lose it because you don't know when to stop or how to keep it all in balance when the shit starts flying." Janis's face twitched at that. "Don't look at me that way. You know it will. It's just a matter of time. Who knows what this'll turn into? It could end up being a months–long, years–long investigation, and you're going to be working the feature the entire time."
Janis laughed briskly, looking down at the table. "Good, it might get me out of debt."
"I'm being serious!"
"And I'm not?"
Angelique pointed at her friend. "I think you're stubborn to a fault."
Janis didn't respond right away, giving Angelique the right amount of time to regret having this conversation in the middle of the Lamplighter. Janis continued to spin her empty beer bottle. Round and round. Like a lot of my conversations with Janis, Angelique thought. "Stop playing with your beer and talk to me. This comes from my heart; I'm not trying to be an ass."
Janis protested with a smirk so strong that her head bobbed. "Well, you're missing the mark. I don't like being babysat."
"I'm not babysitting you! I'm looking out for you because my gut tells me this will put a strain on you. Don't like me playing mama bear? Fine. Take care yourself and stay on your damn meds and go to your appointments and I won't."
Janis was good at avoiding responsibilities of self-care. Over the course of their friendship, Angelique had spent too many tear-filled nights trying to reduce the room for Janis to evade looking at herself. This emotional dance was exhausting.
Janis looked down at her beer bottle. "There's been no cheating, I promise. Don't you think you would have noticed if I had?"
Janis was right about that. She had so many times before. Like the time Janis went through a string of boyfriends so quickly that Angelique failed to keep track of who was who. Some were hot, for men, but many were downright sketchy. Life went beyond sketchy when Janis didn't manage her health. Too many times, Janis scared the hell out of Angelique with her dangerous behaviors. But the damn fool couldn't see it and this story wasn't the time for her to test her limits.
"Yes," Angelique answered, "I would have. And I have noticed that you've been doing well lately. But you haven't been in the race in a while and I'm reminding you of that because, Lord knows, you're going to go into this a thousand miles an hour. Especially if you find some fucked up shit."
"You're so paranoid," Janis answered. She wasn't wrong about that either. "Hate to tell you this sis, but evil isn't lurking around every corner."
"Tell that to Lacy Michaels."
"Nichols."
"What?"
"Her name was Lacy Nichols," Janis responded. "See? You're so damn busy being paranoid about these murders you don't even remember her name. I swear, you get too worked up about this stuff. Chill a little."
"You sound like Branson."
Janis' voice softened. "Maybe he's right. A little. I won't give him too much credit, but he might be onto something about not exhausting energy over two murders in a
city that sees nearly two thousand people per hundred thousand murdered."
"Gang members shooting up a rival gang over turf is a little different than two women, with no criminal records, having their fucking uteruses ripped out!"
More than a few heads turned in their direction, and this time no one tried pretending they weren't listening. Janis tapped Angelique's hand in admonition. "Keep it down! The police haven't released that information yet. Want everyone in the Lamplighter in on the scoop?"
"Why aren't you upset?" It sounded accusatory even in her own head, and Angelique regretted it as soon as it was out.
Janis didn't flinch. "I already told you."
"What? Because people are being shot up all over the place means the horrible shit that happened to these women doesn't matter?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?" Angelique was genuinely confused. "I watched your face during the report and heard your voice when I called you this morning. It doesn't seem like you're as bothered as you should be about all of this."
Janis threw her hands into the air. "What do you want me to do? Jump on the mayor's desk and demand he dedicate all available resources to finding out what happened to these two? Find out if they're really linked? Maybe even uncover if there is some sick fuck of a serial killer in the city?"
"No, but I was saying—
But Janis was on a roll, and when she got on a rant there was no stopping her. "Or maybe call on Monica to give me a raise and a full staff? Hire my own secretary, huh? That way I can concentrate solely on the story and influence six hundred thousand people to demand action?"
"Oh, come on, that's not what I'm saying."
"I'm not sure what exactly you expect out of me," Janis said, her tone edged with familiar hostility. "Honestly, you're being ridiculous. First you're worried about my health, then I might exhaust myself by worrying more! It's not reasonable. Not at all. I promise, I will take care of myself and keep going to therapy. Then, or better yet, while I'm doing right by me, I will keep myself emotionally distant from the story. Want to know why? Because I want me to stay healthy! Okay? I can't do both. I can't do my best work while getting wound around the axle about these killings."
And just like that Janis was on her feet and collecting her things, even before Angelique realized what was happening. She tried to lay a hand on Janis', to stop her, but Janis pulled her hand away.
"How about I promise you something," Janis said in a flat voice. "By the time all of this is over, you won't question my involvement in this story or my investment in myself. Okay?"
"Where are you going?" Angelique groaned. "Come on, Janis. Sit down. I didn't mean to piss you off."
But Janis had mentally checked out, distanced herself, the status confirmed in those cold, green eyes. "I'm done with my beer and, like you said, there's a story to cover, and we both know those other outlets won't get what I can." Janis looked across the small expanse of the bar. "I've got to get to work. Marshall's here and I want to grab his attention and then get home. It's been a very long day."
Angelique looked in the direction of Janis's gaze. A tall, slim figure carved out a place of honor in the crowd of hustlers a few social cliques away, his salt and pepper, close-crop hair distinguishable among the throng of disheveled writer heads. Janis was smart to grasp the opportunity to catch Marshall in this setting, away from Monica. But if Janis wasn't in the right head space to have a conversation with the lead investigator, it could all blow up in her face before it even began. Marshall gave the media a very narrow margin of error.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Angelique said. "I didn't mean to lash out."
This time, Janis was the first to reach out, touching Angelique's hand in a loving manner. "You're scared. I get it, I do. And it's totally legitimate. You should be scared." Janis paused and took one more glance and Marshall's direction. "Now, let me catch up with that sexy man before Branson gets to him."
Angelique laughed weakly, it was the best she could muster. "You do that. Love you."
"Love you too."
"God, I fucking hate Happy Hour," Angelique bitched to no one in particular as Janis hunted her prey.
8
The sky was black by the time Janis walked out of the Lamplighter, tinted only by a faint orange light cast up toward the heavens from the streetlights dotting Madison Avenue. She'd gotten to the bar later than everyone else, the cost of being the new person in the office and not having her shit together, and the Lamplighter's parking lot was full. So she had a lonely walk to get back to the car. Not far, and it provided the opportunity for a little exercise and to process what just happened.
"So much damn drama," she shook her head. Branson. Angelique. Even Marshall, though his was different. His drama was good. She smirked at the thought of her conversation with him, feeling 15 years younger in an instant.
She crossed over N. Belvedere Blvd. without breaking her stride and quickly got into her car parked in the empty parking lot of a pizzeria. They wouldn't complain. It was late, and the pizzeria had been closed for hours. She started the short drive home, her thoughts anchored to what happened at the bar. Too many people and too much politics. It left a bad taste because it was her weakness. Every job had its politics and a lot of them required social engagement, exactly her enemy, each time, leaving her absolutely drained, especially after a long day in the office after a night with such little sleep.
But the night ended on a high. Something came out of the social time in a bar that seemed incapable of ridding itself of the smell of smoker-friendly policies of days gone by. Marshall had accepted her invitation to meet, to talk. Tonight. Before that happened, no matter how thrilling the opportunity was, she needed to get home, freshen up, and get out of the clothes that had survived today's battles.
And how incredible was it to catch Marshall before Branson did? His spiteful gaze tracking their every smile, every casual touch of the detective's arm. Once in a while, when Marshall wasn't paying attention, Janis even shot Branson a victory glance. Because he was a caricature of all men, aggressive to a fault and blind to the harm they did to everyone. It was absolutely enjoyable to have beaten him at his game, on her first day.
Angelique had it all wrong when it came to men like Branson. You didn't have to watch your back with this type, as her friend suggested. Instead, if you bit first, they tended to back away for good. And if he didn't, Janis was determined to keep biting.
Thankfully, Marshall wasn't Branson, and he was looser with information than Monica indicated. Alcohol or being in a social event, it didn't matter to her, because all she cared about was the result. Marshall gave up more than she anticipated, which encouraged her to aggressively ask for more.
The Lamplighter Lounge was far too small to keep anything secret, Janis learned. So they'd agreed to leave and meet later for coffee. Already late, it was unbelievable that he'd stay longer for this conversation. But busy professionals made these types of sacrifices. Being back in the game required adjustments.
Flickers of Marshall's face made Janis giggle. He was fine, stunning for a man, actually. Thin, but fit, he wore his four decades of life well. You could always tell when a man lived a healthy life, mentally and physically. It was easy to pick out the guys who hated themselves, their physical shape announced it like a megaphone. But it was the mental health that really excited her, guys who knew how to live, chase excitement, who had a confident sense of humor. Those were the harder traits to pick out for a lot of women. But not her. She could tell when a man had his head on straight. It was in their eyes. And Marshall's sparkled with sexy intelligence. Even in a loud and crowded bar, he made her skin tingle throughout their conversation, and he was gracious when she made a fool of herself more than once before they were done. In hindsight, using Angelique's limited disapproving glances as a metric, the night was a success.
Ah, Angelique. What was she going to do about that woman? She was the mother Janis didn't ask for, though she was a definite ste
p up from Janis's actual mother. Angelique cared in her unique way, deep and invasive. The predicament was, Janis didn't have a lot of those types of people in her life, and maybe that was subliminally intentional. She didn't like being watched, having a hawk following her every move, no matter how well-intentioned it was. And she didn't like being suffocated. Angelique did that, a lot.
Bringing up her condition was unexpected. Uncouth, unprofessional, and unnecessary. You didn't do that in a bar with a couple dozen coworkers milling around. Yet Angelique had.
Janis rolled her bottom lip between her rows of teeth as she contemplated what that meant in the bigger picture. From the first moment, she knew Angelique was going to be a challenge, even her mother warned her of that as the one outsider who knew the true nature of the pair's relationship. But Janis had developed a strategy to deal with Angelique that would keep them away from each other's throats, though her mother disagreed with that as well, and she just had to implement it. This was the first time Angelique had the upper hand and it would take some getting used to.
Janis turned down her street, almost home, with the goal of getting back out to coffee and to Marshall before he had a chance to analyze how much information he should give away to her that he hadn't provided to anyone else yet. Monica assured her that Marshall fully intended on cooperating, just with clear lines drawn. The conversation in the bar didn't leave her with any other impression, but it did provide a glimmer of chance, and Janis fully intended on jamming a finger in that crevice and opening it up to reveal more than Marshall appeared to be willing to share.
The streets were dark and empty, allowing Janis to speed across the city, her mind freed to think about the detective. How long had it been since she crossed his path? Years. Too many. Janis was working a story for the television station she'd been fired from only months later. They didn't work closely by any stretch of the imagination. Impatiently tapping her fingers on the steering wheel along to the rhythm of the tires on blacktop, the thrill of landing a job with special access to Memphis' homicide division surged through her. A true exclusive.
