by Dani Amore
"Yes, he was, as a matter of fact."
He looked at me, hoping I would continue. I decided not to.
"I don't know how to ask this, but I guess I'm wondering if you're...involved?"
"Involved?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
He held his hands out, palms up. "Like I said, I was just wondering."
I shook my head. "No, I'm not involved."
"Okay, I figured you wouldn't be, I was just wondering because...well like I said, Milwaukee's a small town. You hear all kinds of things."
"What kinds of things have you been hearing, Philip?"
"To be honest," he said and leaned forward. "I've heard nothing about it. I just wondered if this project would help take your mind off things.”
“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” I said. “But no.”
Before I could answer, his phone rang. He snatched it up listened, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. Spoke to me.
"Think it over. It’s a lot of money to piss away.”
"I’ll do that," I answered. "Think it over, I mean."
I stood and we shook hands. He still had the phone pressed against his shoulder.
"Good luck," he said, and I wondered to what he was referring.
Twenty-Two
There were only a few cars in the parking lot of the Soup Kitchen Saloon, which was fine with me. I went inside. A few people sat at tables. A few more lost souls at the bar.
I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. I swiveled around, took a closer look at the crowd.
"I don't know about you," I said to the bartender, a slim Hispanic guy I hadn’t seen before. "But this atmosphere simply screams auld lang syne to me.”
He smiled and moved down the bar.
The first beer came and went like a stranger passing through. The second stayed a little longer.
A few more people came in and before long, the place was nearly half-full. For the Soup Kitchen Saloon, this was an extraordinary feat. It was the kind of out-of-way place that had only a few regulars and it looked like we were all there. The rest of the crowd was probably made up of people lost and looking for the great end of the year party that they definitely wouldn't find here. I got the feeling that most people were having one drink and leaving. A fact I didn't mind so much.
A blues song, something from Muddy Waters I believed, churned from the speakers overhead. A fog of thick smoke hung over the place, casting a filter on the framed photographs of blues legends. A man and woman were playing pool at the far end of the bar, others stood near the window that fronted Port Washington Road.
The Muddy Waters song ended and it was replaced by Robert Johnson singing “Love in Vain.”
I listened as the words resonated in my mind until the chorus:
It's hard to tell it's hard to tell
when all your love's in vain.
The song was moving, and I must have shown it because I soon felt a hand on my shoulder.
“I see you like that song, too.” Eve Rochelle looked beautiful in the half-light. A simple black sweater, blue jeans and black shoe boots. Her dark hair was pulled back, a simple diamond stud adorned each ear and a small diamond solitaire necklace lay against her musky throat.
The fog of my mood instantly began to lift. Being in the presence of beauty of any kind always did that to me. "What are you doing out here? This is the very definition of a hole-in-the-wall."
"You think I give up easily?" she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Fred told me you come here.”
"So you're working tonight?"
"I'll expense the beer I'm about to buy you," she said.
"I don't mean to disappoint you," I said, "but I'm definitely off the clock tonight."
Eve's dark eyes flashed, or maybe it was just the reflection of the neon sign above the mirror.
"So am I." She caught the bartender’s eye and motioned for him to refresh my beer.
"Any reason you chose to end the year here?" she asked, seeming to take her first good look at the place.
“None that I can think of,” I said. “You?”
"I'll be honest," she said. "I wasn't going to do anything this year. So I turned down all invitations. I was sitting at home, ready for a quiet night when suddenly I thought, I don't want to do this! So I grabbed my coat, remembered some friends had said they might get together at some place near here. I couldn't remember where it was exactly, and I remember Fred mentioning this place, so I took a chance and dropped in."
"Well, I'm glad to be your fallback," I said. "So tell me what you do when you're not running a brewery."
She spoke for several minutes. Books she'd read. Movies she'd seen. The relatives in Chicago who she visited once in awhile.
I listened as best I could while I watched her lips move, watched the tiny laugh lines around her eyes crinkle when she smiled. Her fingers were long and slender, her smile easy. There was an aura about her of energy, of vitality, not so much an element of danger as one of vibrancy, like the steady hum of a powerful electric current.
I tried to think of how long it had been since I was with a woman, and it had been just that: long. Somewhere around the Cenozoic, I believed.
Suddenly, I realized she was smiling at me.
"I'm sorry?" I said.
"Your turn," she said. "Tell me what's not on the resumé."
I don't know how long I spoke. I gave her a rough outline, glossed over the bad parts. It was a pretty seamless edit. Practice makes perfect. When I finished, I felt good. Better than I had in a long time, in fact.
I feared that I'd bored her. That she was going to thank me for my time and be on her way.
Instead, she said, "Want to go someplace else? A little quieter?"
"Sure," I said. "I know a place downtown-"
"I was wondering," she interrupted. "If the Ashland house has a late tour I could catch?" Now I was grinning like an idiot and made no attempt to hide it. It would have been impossible anyway.
I made a big show of checking my watch. "If we hurry," I said. "We might just catch the last one."
Outside, I walked with Eve to her car, a dark blue BMW. Once she started it up, I walked back to the Audi, started her up, and left, Eve following behind me.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into my driveway. Inside, I hung her coat up in the front closet next to mine. "Do you want a drink?" I asked. "I think I've actually got a bottle of champagne around in here somewhere," I said, rummaging through the refrigerator.
"Sure," she said.
I found the bottle, popped the cork and ran through in my mind anything that was out of place, but I'd cleaned before I left, not wanting to start the New Year with a mess. I gave her a glass, we clinked, and then I gave her the tour.
"This is nice, Michael. Very masculine." I showed her the living room, the fireplace, the kitchen, and my office upstairs. I was very aware of her presence, of her perfume lingering around us as we walked. I liked seeing her in my house.
We ended up back in the kitchen. When I turned, she was facing me. She stepped closer and I felt the room spin. She reached up and put her arms around my neck and pressed against my body.
I responded and soon we were stumbling toward my bedroom, the fizz of the champagne fading in the empty, echoing kitchen.
Twenty-Three
The New Year broke fresh and pure. The breeze stirred gently outside, the sun peeked in through the windows. The snow in the boughs of the pine tree out front began to melt, their small droplets glistened.
I lay on my back, my hands clasped behind my head, and listened to the occasional sounds in my house as they obligingly carried over their rituals from the previous year. A rafter creak here, a wallboard pop there.
Eve stirred next to me and I turned my head to look at her. Her delicate face was made all the more angelic by her slightly parted mouth, her soft lips. Her left leg was thrown over mine, and I gazed at its muscularity, her firm thigh, her sculpted knee, and the smooth skin as it
tapered down to her delicate ankle. I let my hand slide gently over her hip.
I listened to her breath, felt the heat where our two bodies joined, and luxuriated in her warmth.
I went back to looking at the ceiling and idly traced a spider crack in my ceiling plaster, one I had patched almost a year ago, but that continued to separate nonetheless. It ran from the center of the ceiling and meandered to the right side of the room, disappearing finally beneath the ceiling molding.
Eve rolled onto her back and reached out lightly with her right hand, trailing it down my left forearm until she found my hand and then laid hers gently on top.
"Good morning," she said, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Good morning," I responded.
"Happy New Year," she said.
"Happy New Year to you, too." Her nostrils flared as she exhaled deeply. Burrowed into the pillow. "Do you want some coffee?" I started to get up, but she held my arm down.
"No, not yet."
I lay back on my pillow. I could still hear the wind outside. The noises of the house.
She opened her eyes. Watched me.
"Any New Year's resolutions?" I asked.
I heard her sigh.
"I'd tell you but I think it might scare you a little bit."
She ran her hand across my stomach. Circled a finger along my skin.
"I don't scare easily."
Another sigh. "Okay," she said. "I resolve to not wait until next New Year's to do this again."
I rolled onto my side and looked at her. Her eyes were wide, honest and vulnerable.
"Why would that scare me?" I asked.
Instead of answering, she said, "And you? What are your New Year's resolutions?"
My eyes ran over her body. Her skin was warm, much darker than mine, with soft curves and the occasional sharp angle.
"Ditto," I said.
We lay again in silence.
"That," I said, the slightest hint of hesitation and then I pressed on. "And to find out what happened to my best friend."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I told her as much as I knew about Tim's murder.
She sat up. "Oh my God," she said. "I'm so sorry, Michael." She crossed her legs Indian style. "Can I help?" she asked.
I looked into her eyes. She was serious.
"No." I shook my head but inside, I was touched by her offer to help. It seemed that as I got older, every day gave me the opportunity to feel a little more alone.
She brought her hand up and nestled it in the crook between my neck and shoulder. Slowly she pulled me toward her. My face met hers. We kissed, a slow, sensual union that built with urgency.
But then she broke it off by saying, "I know how it feels."
"How what feels?"
"Losing someone close to you."
I could hear the seriousness in her voice and waited for her to continue.
"My mother was an orphan. Then her poor excuse for a husband ran off on her. She raised us by herself. A strong woman, a smart woman. So proud. We were piss poor, barely enough food to survive even with her working two jobs and the rest of us chipping in. But you'd have thought we were damn royalty. She carried her head high and insisted that we all did, too. She died waiting for a bus to take her home from her job at the nursing home. All those years and she couldn't even afford a car. Some mugger got overenthusiastic with his knife. Snatched her purse and when she fought back, he stabbed her, a wild swing. Lucky shot, or unlucky, depending on your point of view. Cut her jugular and she died before the ambulance could arrive. I was a senior in high school. I'd been accepted to college, but I backed out, took a job and raised my brother until he was old enough. Then I went back and got a degree."
A tear escaped Eve's eye and I could hear a faint shudder in her voice.
"She never saw me graduate, never saw me own my own business. She died too soon. Too goddamned soon."
I told her I was sorry and for a long time we just held each other. I thought she had fallen asleep until she said, "Enough about people we've lost. Let's celebrate the people we've found. Let's do it by taking care of that first resolution we talked about...” she said, and her hand slid down my body.
Twenty-Four
It was early afternoon when I woke up. The clock next to the bed said it was nearly four o'clock. I pulled the sheets tighter over my body. I heard the shower running and felt the empty space next to me in bed. The sheets were still warm.
I looked out through the window, saw a dark cloud roll by. A few stray flurries hit the glass and melted upon contact.
My stomach rumbled. I sat up and swung my feet out of bed, walked down the hallway to the bathroom. Inside, I could hear Eve singing in a soft voice in the shower. I listened. Not a bad if a bit tentative. A helluva lot better than mine.
I walked back down the hallway toward the kitchen. I saw through the living room windows that the snow was picking up quite a bit. I would probably have to throw down some salt-
A flash of color.
Flesh.
The fist rammed into my mouth. Snapped my head back. I saw black and then stars. I staggered back, stumbling for balance. A futile gesture.
He barreled into me, his head down like a battering ram. The breath went out of me with a whoosh.
My head cleared enough to register blonde hair and big arms.
He picked me right off the floor and drove me to the ground. I felt pain shoot up my spine.
With incredible quickness he leapfrogged onto my chest. Pinned my arms beneath his knees.
A huge ham of a fist crashed into my face. I saw more stars. Tasted blood.
I twisted and got an arm free just as another fist crashed into my temple. A wave of blackness surged toward me. Panic and fear exploded in my head. My free arm went beneath his leg and I surged upward and bucked with my pelvis. I raised him six inches off the ground, enough to twist all the way around onto my stomach before he crashed down on top of me again. His huge hands clamped onto my neck, my windpipe sealed shut.
I arched my back and brought my knees under my stomach. He slid forward, landed on his hip, rolled and sprang to his feet just as I got to mine.
We came face to face at the same time.
His left fist flashed out at me and I stepped back, but not fast enough. It knocked me backward. Blood poured from my nose.
And then he laughed.
I got a good look at him. Well over six feet. Broad shoulders. Flat nose. Beady eyes.
Mary Schletterhorn's nurse.
"Tell me where it is and I won't hurt you anymore," he said, his fists raised in front of him. One of them was dripping with blood. My blood.
I rushed him.
He wasn't expecting it, but still managed to sidestep me. I swung a sweeping right, missed. I rushed him again. His strong hands grabbed my shoulders. Stopped me. But before he could do anything, I lunged upward and headbutted him.
I heard his teeth grate, maybe even crack. He backed up. Tried to kick me in the groin but I sidestepped it, then threw a right with everything I had. I flattened his lips. Blood squirted. A tooth fell to the floor.
A straight right intended for his midsection landed, but my fist seemed to glance off his abs.
He smiled, blood on his front teeth, then stepped toward me, a whirling dervish of giant fists swung like wrecking balls. An uppercut nearly lifted me off my feet and a series of short, brutal punches knocked me back into the living room where I sank to my knees.
He grabbed me by the hair and wrenched my head back. "Tell me where it is," he said, his voice coming through clenched teeth.
"Who?" I asked. The blood in my mouth tasted like copper. I spit something out onto the carpet. A filling.
He shook my head back and wrapped a hand around my throat, began to tighten. "I won't ask again," he said.
My head floated. Stars appeared on the far wall. I thought I could make out the Big Dipper.
From far away, a different voice spoke.
&
nbsp; A woman's voice.
The hand left my throat and I turned with him. Saw a flash of silver whipped through the air.
The blow caught him on the temple with the sound of a sledgehammer braining livestock at the slaughterhouse. He sank to his knees, toppled to the side, and fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Eve stood over him, a pewter flower vase in her hands.
She helped me to my feet. I stood there swaying.
“My God,” Eve said. She looked at my face. At the blood.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine…”
Her eyes suddenly widened and I turned. Watched, unbelieving, as the man's hand slowly reached out and grasped the fireplace poker.
I grabbed Eve by the arm, pulled her toward the bedroom. She was buck naked. Still dripping wet from her shower.
I heard the sound of the fireplace poker being dragged across the floor. Heavy steps plodded toward us.
In the bedroom, I grabbed my gun from beneath the bed. It was a Ruger .357.
A shadow filled the doorway.
I turned, held the gun with both hands, kept the front sight centered on his chest.
"Whatever it is you want, I don't have it."
He shook his head. Not good enough, apparently.
"Put it down," I said. "You don't have a chance. Besides, didn't you take a Hippocratic Oath or something?"
He took a step toward us.
I aimed at his chest and fired. He stopped. Blood seeped from his chest. He took another step. I fired again. And again. And again.
Twenty-Five
"What's the deal with her?" Gabby asked me. I sat at the kitchen table, she was leaning against the counter, scanning the room.
Eve sat on the couch, a blanket around her, staring with dull eyes at a spot on the floor.
"I guess she's a little upset," I said. "Not everyone is as used to seeing dead guys like you are."
It had been a whirlwind of activity after I called 9-1-1. Eve had sobbed into my shirt before putting on some clothes and taking a seat on the couch to wait for the cops. A few minutes later, a gang of squad cars arrived, the uniforms all taking a look at the body. Standing around. Staring at me. Staring at Eve. Murder in the Washington Highlands didn't happen all that often. It was a must-see event, apparently.
