The Queen

A shout out to migbird for acting as my muse and to Chloe Tzang for her tribute to Mike Hammer and good old fashioned pulp fiction. Max Pemberton has been with me for years now and eighteen stories later I feel I can channel her. Enjoy.

This story is the eleventh in the timeline of eighteen Max Pemberton detective stories.

Here's the breakdown of Max's stories in chronological order:

Maelstrom

Deception

Blindsided

Jackknifed

Tailspin

Crash Landing

Rebound

Breaking Point

Guardian Angel

Heartbreak

The Queen

Cold Steel (written first, followed by Hot Steel)

Hot Steel

Pink Ice

Betrayal

Loss of Innocence

Revenge is Best Served Cold

To Hell ... And Back

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

* * *

It was July in Cincinnati and a late afternoon summer downpour made it a steaming cauldron of humid air and hot tempers. I was sweating in my dress blues, standing on a grassy hillside covered in stone markers and monuments, watching an empty black Hearse drive down a winding road on its way out of the cemetery. I was the last one there, looking down at the dark polished wood of Lesley's casket in a freshly dug grave, rain dripping off the bill of my black police hat.

Lesley Groesbeck, my partner, my confidante and my friend.

She gave her life in the line of duty, a senseless death caused by a henchman of my nemesis, Jumbo Williams, a drug lord who ruled Cincinnati's notorious West End. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of remorse and guilt. I was the one who created the situation that led to Lesley's death. In a sense, I killed my partner. Max Pemberton, ace detective turned royal fuck-up.

I reached around to the back of my neck, unclasping a fine gold chain with a cross as a pendant, a gift from my parents for my first communion. Though I wasn't a practicing Catholic I wore that necklace as an homage to my parents. I kissed the cross and then dangled the chain over the casket, letting it slip through my fingers and watching it drop into the open grave. With my parents deceased she was as close to family as I'd ever have.

"Goodbye Lesley," I whispered to the wind. Her infectious spirit and undying optimism would always be with me - - always. I dabbed a tear away with the back of my hand, blinked my eyes hard, and turned away.

Life was hard, but death was final.

* * *

The mood in Vice was somber. Everyone took Lesley's death hard and the usual good natured banter in the coffee room was conspicuously absent. My new partner Lanny Woodford was preoccupied with his phone when I came in. Lanny was a good kid, just a year out of the academy, acting more like a spirited Labrador than a real police officer. It was my job to make him into one if it killed me, which it might do. His heart was in the right place but his instincts in the streets weren't honed fine enough for the rough and tumble West End. Just ask my former partner, now deceased, about the hazards lurking in Cincinnati's most notorious neighborhood.

My dress blues were soaking wet, though I didn't feel cold. I felt numb. Losing a partner I truly loved, maybe as much as anyone I'd ever loved, was the most painful experience of my life. I couldn't stop reliving those last few minutes when one of Jumbo Williams's minions let go a wild shot that caught my partner in the neck. If it had only been me, where the shot was intended, then the world would be a better place with Lesley in it and without me. But that's not the way this cookie crumbled. Like everything in my world, I had no control over my fate or anyone around me.

I dropped my hat on the table Lanny was sitting at. He looked up to me with puppy dog eyes.

"I'm sorry Max."

"I know."

"Is there something I can do?"

"You can bring Lesley back," I said.

"That I can't do," he said.

"Then you can get me a cup of coffee."

Ginny Hamilton, a boot fresh out of the academy who I worked with on my last case, poured me a cup and put it in front of me. She was a big girl, as big as me, pushing six foot with a chiseled body and not an ounce of fat - - someone who could bench press a refrigerator. On her first adventure with me she took down three bad guys with two volleys from her shotgun. I wasn't worried about her even though she was a rookie. She had serious game. It was Lanny who I worried about.

"I used your coffee beans," Ginny said proudly, mindful of my disdain for the station's coffee. She was shaping up to be a champion ass kisser, at least to me. I wasn't complaining.

"Teach Lanny. That big lug has to pull his weight as well."

"Hey, I'm here," my new partner said, pointing to himself.

"So next time make the coffee," I said to him.

I took a sip. The dark, fragrant elixir warmed my belly, temporarily easing the cold I felt inside from Lesley's death. The fresh innocent faces of Lanny and Ginny also warmed my heart. They weren't yet jaded by the harsh realities of life in the West End. Just like a prison guard, it was hard not to get sucked into their world -- the world of drugs, prostitution, gambling and loan sharking -- and not come away soiled and stained by the underbelly of civilized society.

"Hear we got a new Lieutenant?" Lanny chirped. Our former department head, Billie Odette, recently resigned. We had a temporary department head since Billie's departure.

"No," I said. Ever since Lesley's death I hadn't paid attention to anything going on at the station.

"It's Paul Muenster."

"More like monster," Ginny whispered.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He was formerly in IA in the Canton police department," the rookie said. "Scuttlebutt is that he cleaned house after an internal investigation. My guess is that he wore out his welcome there."

"Great," I said glumly. "Just what we need."

* * *

I moped around all day Saturday in my room, mindlessly watching television and drinking beer. Lanny came over unannounced and uninvited, knocking on my door at dinnertime. I'd just twisted the cap off my second pint of vodka when he knocked on the door. I answered it in a tank top and shorts. I wasn't wearing a bra or underwear. I think his eyes widened when he saw the size of my tits and my nipples poking out of the thin material. Ordinarily my uniform would at least soften the size of my boobs. It was the second time I flashed him.

"Like what you see?" I asked him. He was wearing jeans and an old t-shirt and holding a pizza box and a six pack of beer. He looked cute with his buzz cut, square jaw and chiseled body.

He looked like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Sorry Max. It's just that . . ."

He struggled to find the right words so I helped him.

"They're so big?" I said.

"Uhh, yeah," he said sheepishly.

"Too bad they're for girls only," I said.

"I guess," he said. Then he rallied.

"I brought pizza and beer," he said cheerily, showing me his booty after I showed him mine.

"And I just turned on the Reds game," I said, "so your timing couldn't be better."

Lanny had only been to my room at the Royal Palms Motel one time, and that was to retrieve me for a trip back to the station. He'd never been inside. This establishment, once a sparkling oasis for cross-country travelers in the 60's and 70's, had devolved into a fleabag motel catering to pimps, prostitutes and drug addicts. "Housekeeping," such as it was, hadn't visited my room in a week. The trash can was overflowing with empty vodka bottles and fast food wrappers, the bed was unmade, and there were enough food scraps on the floor to reconstruct a dinner.

Lanny cleared some Chinese takeout cartons off the table so he could put the pizza box on it. He popped a can of beer and handed it to me. It was ice cold. Bravo for Lanny.

"Nice place you've got here Max," he said to me, though I knew it wasn't a compliment. I took a long draw off the cold beer. Divine.

"It's just temporary," I said, making my usual excuse for the accommodations.

"So how long have you been here?" he asked, demonstrating his innate detective skills.

"Five years."

"Uh huh," he said, trying not to laugh.

I sat down in my chair. There was only one guest chair in the room so Lanny sat on the bed closest to the window. The game had just started about an hour before. They were playing the Tigers and the Reds were trying to crawl out of the cellar. There couldn't have been more than a few thousand fans in the Great American Ball Park. It wasn't that great with the Reds already down by five runs in the third inning.

"Who's winning?" Lanny asked me, munching on a slice of pepperoni pizza. I was already finished with my first beer. I crumpled the can and threw it towards the overflowing trash can. It hit the side of the can and fell on the floor. A small puddle of beer appeared on the stained carpeting. Lanny gave me a puzzled look.

"Who cares?" I said. "It's baseball and we're going to get shitfaced."

"Fair enough," said Lanny, finishing his beer and tossing his can like I did.

I reached for a second beer before asking a question I'd had on my mind.

"So Lanny, how did it come about that you were assigned to me?"

"I asked for you," he said. Lesley did the same thing. Insanity must have been prevalent in the department.

I was rightfully incredulous. "You did? Didn't you know what happened to my partners?"

Lesley's death was always at the forefront of my mind. Lanny must have heard the whole story about how she died [ed. note, see Heartbreak].

"It wasn't your fault Max."

"That's what I keep telling myself, but I'm not convincing enough," I said.

"I wanted to work with you Max. Everyone knows you're a good cop."

"Everyone?"

"Well, almost everyone."

I drained my second beer and immediately went for a third. "So who's not a fan of mine?"

Lanny chuckled. "Did you want it alphabetically?"

I threw my empty beer can at him. "Fuck you Lanny."

He easily swatted the can away before it hit him.

"That's an empty threat. You told me you're a rug muncher."

"That may be, but maybe I'll change my mind."

"Really?"

"Lanny. Let's be clear about something. I'm never going to fuck you, OK?"

"Understood boss."

Our attention turned to the television when we heard one of the Reds hit a homer.

"I'm getting pretty fucked up," I said, reaching for my fourth beer, which after a pint of vodka was making my vision blurry. I couldn't tell who hit the homer.

"I better quit. I'll hang out till the end of the game and then I'll drive home," Lanny said. He looked at me, at my surroundings and my current condition. He let out a big sigh.

"Not exactly what you pictured for your mentor, is it?" I asked him. I knew what he was thinking.

"Not exactly," he said.

"Let me tell you something Lanny."

Lanny reached over and took the beer out of my hand.

"I think you've had enough Max."

"I wanted to tell you something," I said, trying not to slur my words.

"What is it Max?"

"I'd gladly give up my life, sorry as it is, for you."

Lanny came over and gave me a big, long hug.

"I know Max," he said, getting teary eyed. "That's why I wanted to work with you."

We watched the rest of the game in silence. When it was over Lanny picked up his jacket and slung it over his broad shoulder.

"See you tomorrow boss."

"Thanks Lanny. You're a good man."

"Boss, I like working for you."

I'll never forget Lesley but I was lucky to get Lanny as my new partner.

* * *

Sunday was my day to do my laundry. I hated laundry day. Of course the Royal Palms, being a sleazebag motel, was lacking in that particular amenity, which meant a trip to the laundromat, conveniently located only a short drive from my morning hangout, Happy Donut. I rescued my dirty clothes from a pile that also included fast food wrappers and empty vodka bottles and dropped them into a scruffy plastic basket. As dreary a duty as it was, it felt worse suffering this injustice while mourning Lesley's death.

The laundromat I used since I moved into the Royal Palms was Spin City Suds, a West End institution wedged between a tattoo parlor and a Kwik Cash. The presence of the check cashing center and the all-night laundromat attracted a lot of undesirables to that area so I'd been called there more than once on a vice related felony. It was in Jumbo Williams's territory and Jumbo controlled most of the good stuff, or bad stuff to be technical - - drugs, prostitution, gambling and of course protection. Everyone in Jumbo's territory paid the King his ransom. That was a nice cash flow for a kid who grew up a promising left tackle and ended up the Kingpin of the West End.

It was a year ago to the day where at Spin City an event occurred that changed my life. I usually went to Spin City early on Sunday morning with a donut and coffee from Bea's, reading some trashy detective novel or watching a movie. My routine got interrupted when I got an urgent call to organize a security detail for a mucky muck's speech in a hotel ballroom. It was last minute and paid double time. I usually blew off that crap because Sunday was my day. I had a nice routine - laundry in the morning, lunch at Nicky's, and then drinking myself shitfaced at the Royal Palms.

That Sunday morning I was two months behind in my rent to the Royal Palms so in a moment of weakness I accepted the gig. Where did all my money go? Probably women and booze. But that's another story. Anyway the owner, Vito Spanos, a balding, leathery complexioned man in his sixties was just shaking me down for the rent payment earlier that morning. I knew he wouldn't kick me out. He always threatened but loved having a cop live at his fleabag. Most of the violent crime in the West End avoided the Royal Palms.

My Sunday assignment turned out to be a complete waste of time, other than the double time and the opportunity to gorge myself on the food laid out for the work crew. I didn't get to Spin City until right before its midnight closing time.

It was an unusually warm and humid night. I was wearing a thin white t-shirt, scruffy jeans and black lace-up boots. I was carrying my white plastic basket of dirty clothes down the sidewalk, but blocking the entrance to the laundromat were three of Jumbo's crew. I'd heard there was a new person controlling the area between Hyde and Fifth, which included Spin City. Her name was Deidra Darnell Johnson. Everyone called her "The Queen," though her good friends called her Dee Dee.

She was a formidable presence in the West End, running the protection and loan sharking operation for Jumbo and providing additional muscle for his drug trade. Dee Dee was a tall, good looking plus size African-American woman with impeccable make-up on flawless cocoa colored skin, full lips painted with her trademark red lipstick, and an impressive bust, probably in her thirties, born and raised in the West End. Her mother died young - overdose - and her father was a ghost. She bounced between foster homes and learned how to survive in the harshest of environments. She joined Jumbo's crew when she was in her 20's, working the corners and running errands as Jumbo's personal assistant.

"Excuse me," I said politely, trying to get by. They blocked my way. Dee Dee was in the middle. I'd never met Dee Dee before because I was always there early. Dee Dee usually didn't show up at Spin City till after dinner and hung around until closing. Dee Dee was recently given the part of Jumbo's territory between Hyde and Fifth for saving Jumbo's life. She was with him when a Haitian gang member tried to kill him in front of Spin City. Dee Dee was quick with her gun and shot the banger dead. Now she had her arms folded at her chest, feet apart, and staring at me eye to eye.

I was in my civvies so she knew I wasn't there to shake her down. The two guys with her were young'uns wearing white t-shirts like me (though for them it was a uniform, for me it was because I didn't have anything else that was clean) with baggy jeans, holding tall boys wrapped in brown paper bags. Dee Dee was wearing a tight fitting leather jacket, unzipped, with a low cut V-neck black t-shirt underneath showing massive cleavage. She wore her hair in tight, immaculate cornrows, braided straight back into a short ponytail. Her earrings were thick gold hoops, about the size of a shot glass rim - bold but not flashy.

She stepped out in front of her sidekicks and used the barrel of her gaudy chrome plated revolver to poke around in my basket to see if I had anything other than dirty laundry in it. She then looked at me and studied my face.

"You Max?" she asked me.

"Uh huh," I answered.

"Word is you like women," she said bluntly.

"Is that so?" I answered.

"Word is you were banging Lily Chao."

So she knew. Everyone in the West End knew. Lily was in Jumbo's seat until Lily met the wrong end of a Russian handgun that was the size of a bazooka. I fucked Lily in the back of her Bentley. I knew it was wrong but I couldn't resist. She was the best piece of ass I've ever had. I always wondered if my relationship with her contributed to her death.

"So?"

Dee Dee shrugged. She was stacked but she was staring at mine. My tight t-shirt hid nothing. I wasn't ashamed of the size of my tits and Dee Dee was admiring them. It was a free country.

"So, seems like you like the female persuasion. I like girls too," she said. She was now openly leering at my breasts. I had enough of her sexual innuendo. The laundromat was about to close so I tried to push by them.

"Excuse me," I said.

I was jostling to get past her and her two young hoods. One of them tried to pull his gun out of his pants and point it at me. I grabbed hold of the gun and twisted it, hearing a sickening crack as one of the bones of his trigger finger snapped.

"Motherfucker!!" he shouted, dropping the gun and his beer on the pavement and clutching his broken finger.

"Don't ever point a fucking gun at me again," I barked, admonishing him and at the same time giving his mate a cold stare to stand down.

"Take that fool to urgent care," Dee Dee said, pointing to the banger with the broken finger who was still howling in pain. Then she looked at me.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I had no choice. He was going for his gun," I argued.

"That little pissant killing you? You could have taken his gun without breaking his finger."

"Maybe," I said, getting my back up, "but it's also a message that I'm police and I don't like to be fucked with."

Dee Dee got right in my grill. "This is Dee Dee's territory. You're here because I let you."

I held my hands in mock surrender to The Queen.

"Fine, fine," I said. "You're the boss. I'm just here to do my laundry."

Dee Dee put her hand on my butt as I passed by.

"You got one fine ass Miss Police Woman. Someday I want some of that."

"Not today," I said, opening the door to the laundromat.

* * *

The owner of Spin City Suds was Tien Le. Tien was Vietnamese, and a first cousin of Binh "Bea" Nguyen, the owner of Happy Donut. They opened up their businesses around the same time. He was a wiry man, probably in his sixties, thinning gray hair that poked up in patches and steel horned rimmed glasses. He smoked Lucky Strikes. Tien couldn't have been more different in personality than his cousin. Bea was brash and Tien was reserved. When I walked in he was sitting in his usual spot in the front of the laundromat at a card table that doubled as his office. He could see everyone coming in the door and also had a clear view of the sidewalk outside.

The laundromat was relatively empty, just a couple of machines working away. I remember what was playing on the sound system - it was John Lee Hooker's "It Serves You Right to Suffer," and his unmistakable growl reverberated in the steamy air. Tien and I would often chat, mostly about old vinyl. I had a decent collection of vintage blues -- Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf -- and if I did have spare time I'd hit up the thrift stores to troll for these treasures.

Tien peered over the Vietnamese newspaper he was reading to greet me.

"Nice to see you again Miss Max," he said, letting go of the paper to wave at me. He knew I was a cop. Being a cash business, he liked cops doing their laundry at night. He also knew I was a regular at Happy Donut. Bea and Tien were close.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to speak to him, happy to see his smiling face. "Tien, how are you? Got any new vinyl?"

He shook his head. "No . . . no time for that. Business slow."

"How's Bea? I asked. Tien lived in half of the duplex apartment building he and Bea bought together twenty years ago.

"What can I say Max? Bea is Bea," he said, holding his arms wide, grinning and showing me his tea-stained teeth.

"You're right," I said. Bea was a smart, sharp tongued woman who had no filter. It was amusing except when she was talking about me.

"She say you have a lot of girlfriends," he said, suppressing a giggle.

"Bea never listens to me," I argued.

Tien gave me a broad smile. "Bea don't listen to anyone."

"On that we can agree."

I carried my laundry basket to an empty washing machine in the back and started loading it. Tien went back to his newspaper. I passed the time my usual way, reading a dog eared crime novel left on a "library" shelf Tien kept next to my bolted down plastic chair. It was Pale Kings by Robert Parker. I liked Spenser, the Boston PI, who in this novel was dealing with a town riddled by drugs and corrupt cops. I laughed at the line, "Being a hero is about the shortest-lived profession on earth." Amen to that. I saw the truth of that saying every day on the streets of the West End.

I was two chapters into the book when my attention was interrupted by a heated argument. I recognized one of the voices as Tien's. I sighed and marked my page, putting my book down on the adjoining chair and walking to the front to see what the commotion was all about. It was Dee Dee, waving her ridiculous gun at Tien.

"Pay up old man," she shouted. She towered over the diminutive Tien, whose brow was beaded with sweat. "You're two months behind."

"I no have your money," Tien said, holding his empty hands out. "Business slow."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a beat-up mid-90's Chevy Caprice, dark green, with mismatched primer gray fenders, that was slow rolling by the laundromat. The windows were down and a hoodied banger in the back seat was pointing a 9mm Glock at Dee Dee with his hands braced on the window sill of the car. Instinct kicked in.

"Down!" I shouted.

I lunged at Dee Dee, knocking her into the card table, which in turn pushed Tien to the floor with both of us piled on top of him.

I saw muzzle flashes as glass shattered, scattering shards everywhere. A woman folding Bluey pajamas screamed and hit the floor. I heard the Caprice peel out, tires screeching. I poked my head up and saw the tailpipe belching black smoke, the rear license plate covered with mud. My heart was banging like a big bass drum.

I stood up, brushing glass out of my hair and off my clothes. My right arm was bleeding. A triangular piece of glass was sticking out of it.

"You OK, Max?" Tien asked, watching me pull it out and toss it into a nearby trash can.

"Just a cut," I said. "Got a band aid?"

Tien muttered something in Vietnamese and went to the back to retrieve a first aid kit. Dee Dee's eyes were still wide open and she was breathing fast.

"I . . . I . . ." Dee Dee stuttered. She was in shock. Having someone try to kill you does that.

I helped her up. Her hand was soft and warm.

"You . . . you . . . saved my life," Dee Dee gasped.

A shiny black Suburban screeched around the corner and pulled up in front of Spin City. Three of Jumbo's gang jumped out to secure the scene.

"Are you OK?" I asked her. I took a quick look at her. She got nicked in a few places and was bleeding but it didn't look serious. I'd literally saved the Queen.

"Yeah . . . yeah . . . I think so."

She was getting in control of her breathing when one of Jumbo's crews came into the laundromat.

"Dee Dee, you OK?"

The man who asked was short and squat, built like a fire hydrant. He took Dee Dee's hand as they walked over a bed of broken glass. Dee Dee was still shaking.

"You did good Max," Dee Dee said, looking back at me. "Tell Tien that he's paid up."

She was whisked away in the Suburban.

Tien came back with the first aid kit. I opened it and wrapped the cut to stop the bleeding.

"You hero, Max," Tien said, his voice trembling.

"Just give me a five star Yelp review," I said.

* * *

After the shooting incident Dee Dee kept her word. There was apparently honor among thieves. During that next year Tien was freed of his protection "debt" and Dee Dee steered customers Tien's way. Saving the Queen gave me a free pass in Dee Dee's territory. No one fucked with me and no one fucked with Tien while we were in her territory.

It felt good to drive up to Spin City that Sunday morning seeing the laundromat teeming with people and Dee Dee leaning against the wall taking a drag off a cigarette. I hadn't seen her in a month of Sundays. After I saved her life she took a break before getting back on Jumbo's crew. Seeing death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Believe me, I've been there. I heard that Dee Dee took three months off. She claims she had a medical issue but I knew the truth. Her hands shook too much to hold a gun.

It would be the first time that I saw her since the shooting. She did her promised good deeds but I never heard a word from her. People didn't start seeing Dee Dee back at her post in front of Spin City until recently. She still controlled the area between Hyde Street and Fifth but was seen in other places in her territory but not Spin City for almost a year.

I pulled up my Honda Civic in a "No Parking" zone in front of the laundromat and carried my basket of dirty clothes, encountering Dee Dee as she was about to stub out the cigarette with her stiletto heeled black leather boots. Underneath her open black leather jacket was a deep crimson tank top that hugged her curves, the color bold and defiant against her dark skin. A heavy gold rope chain rested above the neckline, catching the morning sun, and her signature thick hoop earrings swung ever so slightly as she moved.

She looked down as she ground the butt with the toe of her boot and then looked up at me, blowing the smoke from her last drag sideways out of her mouth. Her lips were red and ripe and begging to be kissed.

"Thought I smelled pork," she said with a grin on her face. "You always come back to this dump. Is there somethin' about mildew and dryer lint that makes you feel at home?"

"It quiet most of the time, except when someone's riddling the place with bullets," I answered. That was always a winning comment. I saved her life and would remind her every time I saw her. I got a smile from her before she resumed her air of nonchalance.

"Takes more than a couple amateurs in a beat-up Chevy to send me packin'," she drawled, showing me her dazzling smile and flashing a bare tit as she shimmied her wide hips. She was a big girl with big tits like me. The last time I saw her I thought she was coming on to me but now I knew for certain she was.

She was a big, busty woman whose not so subtle racy chatter weighed on my mind. Lily Chao was devious, manipulative and oh so elegantly beautiful. Dee Dee was a siren of another sort. She was tough, brash and built like a brick shithouse. I imagined she was an amazing fuck. The kind of fuck that would test my loyalty to the guys at the department, guys that depended on me.

But I was a woman of uncontrollable urges and Dee Dee was a sexy woman. My eyes were focused on her massive cleavage, and how her unbuttoned shirt opened as she moved. I couldn't help but see her tits. She came over to me and put her hand on my hip.

"You lookin' for a piece of ass? How 'bout you joinin' me and my new hot little bitch in my crib?"

"No thanks," I said. That didn't discourage her from running her fingertips up the curve from my hip to my breast. This was her territory and I was in it. I saved the Queen but I was still one of her subjects. Everyone still bowed to her, and saving her life made me a local hero. Turning her down was done at your own risk.

"I'm seeing someone."

"You mean that coroner lady?" she asked.

Shit. Her intelligence was good. Did everyone know this too?

"None of your business," I said.

Dee Dee relaxed her position. "I'll give you a pass . . . for now."

"Since I saved your life," I said.

"So you said before."

It looked like we were done with that. I wasn't going to be her fuck buddy. We know how that would end.

"So did you track down those punks who took a shot at you?"

Dee Dee lit up a Newport and took a puff.

"Yeah, I found them. Small Haitian crew out of Covington - trying to make their name by takin' out Jumbo's Queen."

"How'd you find'em?" I asked.

"Same way I always do," she said. "Word on the corner. One of their own, Fabrice, owed me from back in the day. Told me they holed up in that old meat-packing warehouse off Gest Street. I found them playing gangster shooting beer cans with stolen guns."

"Real geniuses," I observed.

"Uh huh. I rolled up on them with Freddy and Noelle. Didn't go in loud. Just waited and watched. One of them came out to take a piss in the alley - Noelle bagged him quiet."

"Knife?"

"I ain't sayin'. You ain't gonna tell anyone, are you?"

"Fuck no," I said. "I got enough problems without fucking with you. Besides, it's not in my jurisdiction, and as far as I'm concerned they had it coming. There's no place in the world for idiots spraying a laundromat with innocent people inside. We're lucky no one got killed."

"I feel you Max."

"So the other two?"

"We got creative. It was a meat packing house so we put them up on meat hooks and then Freddy rigged a propane tank underneath them. Went up like the Fourth of July."

"Shit," I said, trying to forget the visual in my mind.

"No one fucks with Dee Dee, 'specially when they come into my backyard. You gotta remind people who holds the leash." Then she winked at me. "Except maybe you honey."

"How's Tien?" I asked, trying to move away from the sexual innuendo (but definitely not forgetting it).

"He's happy."

I looked through the plate glass window. The laundromat was humming, filled with customers. Tien was sitting at his card table. I went in and he waved me over to his table, the song "Mojo Hand" by Lightnin' Hopkins playing out of the little red JBL speaker that Tien had clipped to a laundry cart handle.

"Here Max," he said, holding out a plastic bag filled with tokens.

"How's business Tien?"

"Very busy Miss Max. Ever since . . ." he said, pointing out the window at Dee Dee.

"Yeah, I know. I'm happy for you Tien."

"You go wash Max."

"I like your choice of music."

I sauntered to the back and loaded the one unused washer, the din of the machines and the smell of detergent permeating the air. I had almost a full load and started the machine using the tokens that Tien had thoughtfully given to me. I settled into a nearby chair, putting on my headphones and tuning out the noise and rewatching Season One of "The Wire" on my iPad.

I was laughing at the episode where in one scene McNulty and Bunk said only the word -- "fuck." Classic. I looked up when my washer buzzed, announcing it was finished. I went over to the machine to pull out the damp clothes and transfer them to a nearby dryer. I noticed there were panties in there that weren't mine, along with a couple bras, shirts and shorts I didn't recognize. I examined the tag on the bra. It was a "C" cup (and mine were "DD"). As I was musing as to how this bra made its way into my washer a young brunette came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"That's mine," she said.

I looked at her. Dark shoulder length hair that looked like it hadn't seen a proper brush in days, greasy strands clinging to the side of her face, dark bushy eyebrows and a narrow nose and lips. She was slightly shorter than me, wearing torn jeans and a long sleeve Cincinnati Reds t-shirt. She had the sharp cheekbones and hollowed out eyes of someone on drugs who hadn't had a decent meal in months. Outwardly, she looked like she was rode hard and put away wet, but I could see under the patina of street living, and under that dirt and grime, was an attractive young woman.

I held up the bra and then looked at her breasts. "Of course," I said, handing it to her.

"I'm a little short on cash," she said apologetically. "You had some room in your washer so I put my clothes in with yours. I hope you don't mind." I hadn't seen her around before and was taken aback by her youthful innocence.

"No, not at all," I said. I separated out the wet bras so they would air dry and started throwing the rest of the clothes, hers and mine, into the dryer.

"Thanks," she said, extending her hand. "Moira."

"Max."

"Thanks Max. I take it that Max is short for what, Maxine?"

"That's right," I said, "Maxine Pemberton at your service."

She noticed the faded police academy t-shirt I was wearing.

"Cop?" she asked me.

"Guilty as charged."

"You live around here?" she asked.

"Royal Palms Motel. It's not far from here. And you?"

"Uhh, I'm from Mt. Adams but right now I'm temporarily unhoused."

"Homeless?" I asked.

"You could put it that way."

I finished transferring the clothes and started the dryer.

"Did you want me to contribute?" Moira asked, pulling a crumpled bill out of her pocket.

"Not necessary," I said, pointing to the hand-lettered cardboard sign above the token dispensing machine. Moira read it out loud, amused.

Max Pemberton Wash for Free

"So you're the Max that sign is referring to?"

"Yours truly."

"What did you do to deserve that?"

We had at least twenty minutes to kill. I took my time and spun out the entire story, standing up during its telling to point out Tien and Dee Dee. Moira craned her neck to see them over the machines.

"Wow, Max. That's quite a story," she said when I finished. "Are all your days like that?"

"Seems to happen to me on a regular basis."

The dryer slowed and then stopped. I unloaded the warm clothes into my basket. Moira extracted hers and put them into a battered overnight bag. She was cute and I was bored. For me, boredom led to impulse.

"Did you want to get a cup of coffee?" I asked, trying to be neighborly. She looked to be in her early 20's and I honestly wasn't hitting on her, even though I would have if we'd met in a bar.

"I'd love it," she said.

She followed me out to the street. I opened the passenger door to my Honda Civic. I brushed some crumbs off the seat and picked up a flattened fast food wrapper.

"Sorry about the mess," I said.

She got in. I admired her youthful body and her thick mane of tangled dark hair and wondered what she looked like when she was younger. From what I could tell she came from a family that had money, but something had gone terribly wrong.

"Didn't your Dad warn you about getting into a car with strangers?" I asked her as I got into the driver's seat.

"You're a cop, aren't you?"

"Uh huh."

"I'll be OK."

* * *

It was a two minute drive to Happy Donut. When we went in the shop was filled with people and the air was thick with the smell of freshly fried donuts. Bea was busy behind the glass display case waiting on a throng of customers. She stopped what she was doing when she saw me.

"Max," she called out. "You bring new girlfriend."

We pushed through the crowd to the front of the line. Her eyes glowed as she gave Moira the once over. Bea thought every woman I brought with me was my girlfriend.

"She pretty," Bea said, unconcerned about voicing her honest opinion, even if it wasn't requested.

"She's not my girlfriend," I said. "We just met."

Bea's playful face turned serious.

"Sorry about Lesley," Bea said. Word spread quickly in the West End when Lesley was killed. I brought her to Happy Donut on a regular basis. I think Bea loved Lesley more than me.

"Thanks," I said.

Bea looked carefully at Moira.

"You like custard filled donut."

Moira's face broke into a smile.

"How did you know that?"

"I look at your face. It tell me," Bea said.

Bea reached into the glass display case and retrieved a custard filled donut for Moira and a chocolate old fashioned for me.

"You take this for your new girlfriend," Bea said.

"She's not . . . never mind," I said. "You know I just was at Tien's."

"Tien? He crazy," she said, waving her hands.

"No he's not," I fired back. He was as level headed as they came.

"He listen to that music. I want to kill myself."

"It's called the blues," I said.

"I stick to Mozart," she said. "So you go now and enjoy your donut with new girlfriend."

* * *

We were seated at the front table, the one next to the large plate glass window. There was a fair amount of vehicle traffic. People were starting to line up outside the store. Bea closed at 1:00 p. m. for lunch and gave away the previous day's unused product for free. The giveaway was still more than an hour away and there were already twenty people in the queue.

"What that?" Moira asked, pointing to the people right outside the window.

"Bea gives away whatever she doesn't sell. She's been doing it for years. When she closes for lunch the line will go down the block. Bea sets up in the parking lot and hands it out."

"That's nice of her."

"She can be that way," I said.

"She's got some strong opinions. I liked Tien's music. But I can see how it's depressing."

"She's got opinions on everything. You can see she thinks you're my girlfriend."

"I like you Max."

"Thank you Moira. I like you too."

"So how did you become a cop?" she asked me, taking a bite out of her donut.

"The usual. I went to the police academy right out of college, then joined the force."

"This is a good donut," she said, holding it up and examining it. Then she took another bite.

"I'd always wanted to be a cop," I confessed. "Don't ask me why. I don't know. I've asked myself that question more times than I can count. All I know is it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do."

I looked at Moira while she was eating. To the casual observer she was just another lost soul living in the street in the West End. But I was anything but a casual observer. I was trained to observe, and something told me that there was something wrong with the picture I was seeing. Something didn't make sense.

"So how long have you been on the street?" I asked her. I expected it was a while, and it was.

"I dunno. Maybe a year. Maybe more," she said. "It's hard to keep track of time."

"Do you mind if I ask you why you're living on the street?" the detective in me asked. "Mt. Adams is a pretty ritzy neighborhood to be from."

She drew a deep breath, making me fear the answer.

"Well, after I graduated from high school my mother remarried. Then she passed away. My stepfather, he . . . he . . ."

Her voice faltered. It was easy for me to fill in the blanks. The loud conversation in the donut shop faded to the background. It was just me and her, and this lovely young woman had just told me her life was already spoiled.

"Shit Moira, I'm sorry," I said.

"It's OK," she said, though it was plain she didn't mean it. Her eyes flicked to the door every time the door jingled. She was clearly on edge.

"No it's not," I said. "It's not OK."

"I didn't ask you to save me."

Maybe she saw it in my body language. I tended to want to do that.

"I didn't ask you here to save you," I said. "We came here so I could listen."

I shut up and let her think about what I said. I watched the steam curl off her coffee and she played with the donut on her plate.

She finally decided to open up.

"Ray was different when Mom was alive. Cold but quiet. Always had to be somewhere. Board meeting. Golf tournament. Work. No one talked about his work. I heard whispers and they weren't good. I think Mom turned a blind eye. I just stayed out of his way."

She took a bite of her donut and followed it with a sip of coffee.

"After she died he started hanging out more. Talking to me. Looking at me. And not in the way a father looks at his daughter. I could tell. Believe me."

Her voice caught as she put into words something she may not have told a soul.

"It was spring. I was eighteen. Home from school for the summer. I was supposed to enroll at Oberlin in the fall. I thought that was going to change everything . . . but . . ."

I knew she wanted to spill it all. I gave her a gentle nudge.

"So what happened?"

She closed her eyes as if to recall the facts, long buried. "He came into my room one night. I was in my pajamas - a loose fitting short sleeve top and short bottoms. He said he wanted to talk about college and sat on the bed next to me."

She paused, and the din of the donut shop filled in the silence.

"His hand rested on my bare thigh. I froze. I figured he was tired, and maybe it was innocent. He said he was proud of me. That I was growing into a beautiful woman. Then he gave me that look. The look of a man who wants me. Sexually. His hand crept under the hem of my shorts and I knew for sure his intentions."

She started to sob.

"He was a big man. A powerful man. I was just a teenager. Before I could say anything his fingers had penetrated me and then he was on top of me. I tried to say no but his hand went over my mouth. I still remember what he said."

"Shhhh sweetheart. Don't make this into something ugly. Just let it happen. You're grown up now."

Tears were streaming down her face.

"Sometimes I still hear his voice when I'm falling asleep. The voice. The lie. He came back. Over and over. Until I ran away to live on the streets."

I was horrified. "That wasn't love. That wasn't fatherly. That was power, lust and a sick mind."

Her eyes were glassy and filled with fury. "I know that now."

My emotions, and my heart, always ruled my head.

"Why don't you crash at my place for tonight?" I asked. Maybe I couldn't save her but I could give her at least one night of peace. I kept forgetting the saying that no good deed goes unpunished.

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Sure, I said. "It's no problem. Don't expect much though."

"It couldn't be worse than the shelter on Franklin Street."

I'd been to the shelter on Franklin Street and knew the folks that ran it. In fact I placed a battered woman, Jan, who I found in the parking lot of my liquor store, in that shelter.

"Well actually . . ." I started to explain and then stopped. I wanted to tell her that the shelter was actually cleaner than my place.

"I'm grateful for the offer Max."

"I'm warning you. I snore and I like to drink . . . and my place . . . it could use a bit of tidying up."

I was the master of the understatement. Moira was nonplussed by my caveats.

"Max, I've been living on the street for over a year. As long as you don't try to stab me I think I'll be OK."

* * *

We ended up talking at Happy Donut until they closed at 1, then went to a fast food burger place and talked more. Before we realized it the day had passed and it was getting late and I needed to get up the next morning early. I went home and parked in my usual place next to the abandoned swimming pool.

"So this is your place," Moira said to me, clearly underwhelmed and unimpressed as she soaked in the view of the Royal Palms from its pothole filled parking lot. Even a homeless person found my accommodations less than desirable.

"It's cheap," I said, defending my housing choice.

"I hope so," she said, staring at the weed choked swimming pool that had last seen service in the 1970's.

"Beggars can't be choosers," I said, reminding Moira I was offering my place for free.

"Don't get me wrong Max, I really appreciate you doing this for me," she said, realizing her error. She clutched the few belongings she had in a dirty designer bag that looked like it was expensive when it was new.

We walked up the outside concrete stairs to the second floor, turning the corner and arriving at Room 204. I jiggled the key in the lock until the door opened. I'd sort of turned my room upside down, trolling for dirty clothes for laundry day. Moira's eyes opened wide at seeing the unholy mess inside.

"I'm not going to win the Good Housekeeping award," I admitted, kicking aside an empty vodka bottle. I walked quickly around the room, gathering trash and putting it into the waste basket until it was overflowing.

"Why don't you put your stuff over there?" I said, pointing to the one clean area of the room, part of the floor in the closet that had no door.

Moira dropped her overnight bag there and pointed to the bathroom.

"Is it OK if I use it?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "Feel free to use the shower. There's soap, shampoo and conditioner in there and clean towels on the rack."

While she was showering I took the opportunity to straighten up the room and make the bed. I took the waste basket to the dumpster behind the building, returning to find Moira sitting on the bed closest to the window reading one of the magazines I had on my dresser.

"Enjoy the shower?" I asked her, guessing she hadn't taken one in days, if not weeks.

"Yeah, thank you Max," she said. "It felt great."

Moira cleaned up well. She looked cute in one of her faded t-shirts and bikini panties. I tried not to think about what I usually thought about when a cute woman was in my room. As I approached her I couldn't help noticing the needle track marks on her arms.

"You're using," I blurted out. I don't know what possessed me to say it.

She gave me a sheepish smile, drawing in her arms so her needle marks weren't so obvious.

It wasn't my intention to put her on the defensive.

"I'm just observing, not judging," I said to her. "I'll just ask you to be respectful. What you put in your body is your business. I told you I'm a borderline alcoholic. Some folks would question the use of the word borderline."

Moira held her hand over her mouth, suppressing a giggle. "Thank you Max."

My room was a small one, so there wasn't a lot of opportunity for modesty.

"Do you mind if I strip down for a shower?" I asked her. She shook her head so I took off my clothes and walked to the bathroom.

"You have a nice body Max," she said to me, though not in a way that sounded like she was hitting on me.

"Thanks," I said. I tried not to think about what it would be like to make love to her. It was just the way my mind worked.

I showered and went to bed, seeing Moira in her bed staring upwards at the ceiling in the muted light. I closed my eyes for a spell and heard her get up and then close the bathroom door. A few minutes later she came out, bumping into my bed on the way to hers.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"No worries," I said in a clear voice, "I'm still awake."

She stood next to the bed.

"Can I get in with you?" she asked.

"I snore," I reminded her.

She lifted up the sheet and slid her petite body under the covers. I could feel her bare legs touching mine.

"Are you high?" I asked her.

"Uh huh," she said dreamily.

She needed a friend, not a fuck buddy, and so did I.

"You can snuggle with me," I said with my back to her. I felt her body spoon against mine, her arm draped over my waist and her hand cupping my breast under my nightshirt. It felt good to have someone holding me.

"Good night Moira," I said.

She was already asleep.

* * *

I got up the next morning early. Moira had rolled over and was still asleep, probably the best rest she'd had in a long time. I decided not to wake her and left her a note just asking her to make sure the door was locked when she left.

There was a noticeable buzz in the station that morning. The new head of Vice, Paul Muenster, was going to be introduced to us by the Chief during our morning briefing. I got to the station early so I'd be sure to be on time (for once) to the morning briefing.

Ginny and Lanny sat on either side of me in the back row. We enjoyed our coffee while watching the room fill with our colleagues, all yammering about the new boss. I was actually hoping he'd be just like Billie. She was good to work for. She understood me, which meant she understood I'd do things that weren't exactly kosher but I'd get results. I wondered if Paul would be the same or whether I was going to have a battle on my hands.

Paul was standing in the front, deep in conversation with Chief Caldwell. Muenster was tall, lanky and distinguished, with a touch of gray on his temples and a square jaw. Ginny mentioned he was in IA before taking this job. I considered the guys in IA, my former lover Sky included, to be the enemy. The Chief went up to the podium and opened his notebook. The room quickly became silent.

"I'd like to introduce Paul Muenster. He comes from the Canton, Ohio police force where he served as a Watch Commander for seven years. Before that he was a beat cop in Toledo. He's got a ton of experience both working for and running Vice. He's going to run the department his way, not yours."

Then he and everyone else in the room looked at me.

"That means you Max," he said.

"Yes Sir," I answered. I was on notice that Paul's way was not going to be my way.

Paul's remarks were intentionally vague. He wasn't yet familiar with our department so he didn't yet have a game plan to reorganize it in his image. I got things done, but also rubbed people the wrong way, so it was anyone's guess whether I'd survive the shake-up. The meeting broke up and there was a crowd around my new boss so I opted to leave and catch him when he was more available. I wasn't really in an emotional state to grapple with this situation so deferring my first impression was a good move.

I'd been assigned some of the cases where Lesley was the primary, and one involved a drug-related death where a drug bust turned into a homicide. I had a meeting with the medical examiner to go over the cause of death after the autopsy was completed. I dreaded the morgue. I saw enough dead people as it was. I had no desire to be surrounded by them. I gritted my teeth and called to make an appointment.

"Excuse me," I said. "May I speak with Dr. Elaine . . . uh . . . Fujimoro," I asked, reading Lesley's bad handwriting.

"That's Fujimoto, and speaking," the female voice on the other end of the line said, sounding annoyed.

"Sorry. Max Pemberton. I'm taking over for . . ."

"Oh yes," she said, the tone of her voice softening. "I'm so sorry about your partner. She was waiting for the results of the autopsy that I just completed."

"That's why I'm calling," I said.

"It was blunt force trauma to the head. Possibly a hammer that could be purchased at a hardware store. Did you recover the murder weapon?" she asked.

I fumbled through Lesley's notes. "No . . . I don't think so."

"Well, if you do, the hammer made a round indentation in the skull and left traces of metal at the impact area."

That was good to know. It was really a Homicide case now, but Lesley had busted the guy before on a drug charge. He was out on probation when his noggin was used for hammer practice.

"I'd like to see the body," I said. There was no substitute for seeing. Pictures never did this kind of thing justice.

"Suit yourself. I should be here for the next hour or so. We're going to release the body to the next of kin, so it's best you get here quick," she said.

The morgue was a short drive away. "I'll see you in ten minutes," I said.

* * *

When I met Dr. Fujimoto she was wearing a white blood spattered smock, rubber gloves and a face shield in the up position. She was a short woman with smooth, porcelain skin and delicate facial features. She wasn't wearing any make-up.

"You must be Max," she said. She took off her rubber gloves and started washing her hands in a large stainless steel sink.

She looked over at me while she was rinsing the soap off. Her dark brown eyes seemed to be assessing me.

"So you want to see Miles Cavendish?"

"Uh huh," I said.

"Nasty business," she said. "It's was a terrible way to die."

"Most drug related killings are," I said.

"I've heard of you," she said, now drying her hands with a paper towel. She dropped the wadded towel into a tall wastebasket.

"Is that right?" I asked. This could be very good or very bad. It was kind of exciting not knowing which.

"You iced Mikhail Volkov."

Ahhh. The Russian motherfucker who sanctioned the hit on my then girlfriend, Skylar Hobson, trying to send me and the department a message. The message was received loud and clear and my reply was a bullet in his skull.

"I did," I said, somewhat proudly.

"Dead center. I did the autopsy," she said. Did I detect admiration in her voice?

"I didn't like him," I said.

"Apparently. I wonder what folks look like who you hate."

I was beginning to like her. Only my friends made fun of me and she seemed pretty good at it. Besides, she was probably cute (given what little I could see behind all the protective gear).

"There's not enough left of them to perform an autopsy," I said in jest, like a gangster.

"Don't shoot G-Man," she said, holding up her hands.

"Edward G. Robinson," I said.

"Bingo," she said.

"Want to get coffee after I see the body?" I asked impulsively. What a great pick up line. Only in a morgue.

"Sure," she said, to my surprise. Then she went over to the compartment door holding the body of Miles Cavendish. She slid out the long stainless steel tray holding his body. I looked at the skull. It'd been caved in with a hammer. Definitely not the way to go. We needed to find the hammer.

After inspecting his body for a few minutes she looked at me.

"About done?" she asked.

"I think so," I said. Now the report would make more sense.

"Got a copy of the report?" I asked.

She reached over to a nearby desk and lifted a neatly stapled sheaf of papers.

"Right here. I'll trade it for a donut."

"Deal," I said. "You drive a hard bargain."

"You get me the donut first. I'll be the judge of that," she said.

"I'll wait for you in the parking lot," I said.

* * *

I sat in the car wondering why in the fuck I asked her out for coffee. I was ruled by my impulses, which is why I ended up working a job in the shittiest neighborhood in Cincinnati risking life and limb to rub noses with the scum of society. Those impulses led me to issue an invite to someone I'd known for what . . . five minutes?

I watched the door of the morgue using my rear view mirror. A few people went in and out but none were her. A striking Asian woman breezed out wearing a tight fitting dress and heels, reminding me of Lily Chao, the West End drug lord I had an affair with shortly before she was executed gangland style. I wondered if it was Elaine, and was elated when she approached my car.

"Can I get in?" she mouthed to me through the passenger window. She must have taken a few minutes to apply make-up and change. I hardly recognized her.

"Didn't think it was me?" she asked as she slid into the passenger seat. My eyes weren't on her face. They were drawn to her shapely thighs, revealed when her dress pulled up as she sat.

"Uh . . . no," I answered. "You look nice."

"How about above my waist?"

Busted. I looked her in the eye. "Uh huh, you look nice there too."

"So . . . coffee?"

"Right, right," I said, starting the car. My crazy idea suddenly seemed like a good one.

* * *

I promised a killer donut and the only place I knew that had one was Happy Donut. I dreaded going through the gauntlet with Bea, just having been there with Moira, but a promise was a promise and Bea's donuts were the best. I'd just gut it out.

I pulled up in my usual spot just down the street from the West End institution. It felt a bit weird going there in uniform with a woman who was in a sexy dress. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

"Like what you see Max?" she asked me. I did like what I saw. A lot.

"Sorry," I said. "Occupational hazard."

"I know you had an affair with Skylar Hobson, and if my information is correct, with Angela at the Landing Point and Shannon at the Cincinnati Enquirer. Do you fuck everyone you meet?"

She was matter of fact when she asked me, like she was asking me about the weather.

I almost spit.

"Only the ones I want to," I said. I thought I'd done good with my answer.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

We both stopped on the street short of the entrance to the shop. Traffic was whizzing by but I didn't hear it. Did I want to fuck her? Of course I did.

"Yes," I said. "Yes I would."

"Let's have the donut first. We can fuck after," she said. "I've got the afternoon off."

I was supposed to spend the afternoon filling out reports, but surprisingly sex with an attractive woman took priority.

* * *

There was a line out the door at Happy Donut. We stood at the back, behind a portly man who used his body to prop open the screen door. I could see Bea, who was prattling away behind the counter that she ruled as her kingdom.

"You . . . you Max . . . you come up here," she shouted at me while pointing at me as well so there was no mistaking her order. She was about the same height as Elaine, but in my eyes she stood ten feet tall. Everyone in line turned around to see who had received royal dispensation. They could see I was in uniform and parted like the Red Sea. I went to the front of the line with Elaine in tow, slightly embarrassed.

"Now you . . now you are a naughty girl," she said to me and everyone else in the store. The folks I cut in line in front of were both pissed and amused. There was no better entertainment than Bea cutting up an unwitting customer. I was the customer of choice at that moment.

"I am?" I asked innocently. Everyone was staring at me.

"You . . . you bring in second girlfriend in two days. We have a word for that where I come from but I not repeat it here," she said.

"Bea . . . Bea . . ." I said. "She's not my girlfriend. She's the medical examiner. We're having coffee to discuss a case."

Bea was skeptical. She turned to Elaine to ask her.

"So that true?" Bea's eyes narrowed as she drank in Elaine's sexy dress and demeanor.

"It is," Elaine said. She pulled out her business card to prove it.

Bea leaned over the counter, squinted, and read it out loud.

"Elaine Fujimoto, M. D. - Medical Examiner - Hamilton County."

She stood up straight looking unimpressed.

"You up to no good," she said to Elaine, handing the card back. "You want a blackberry jelly donut," Bea added.

Elaine looked startled. "Why yes," she said. That's what I was going to order."

I wasn't sure how Elaine was going to address Bea's remark and was surprised when she didn't. Most women would take offense, but Elaine seemed nonplussed. Was what Bea said true?

"I can tell by looking at face," Bea said. "You trouble."

Bea gave Elaine her blackberry donut and a chocolate old fashioned for me and two cups of coffee. Elaine and I retreated to a table while others watched us. Bea had a big mouth but an uncanny sense about people (and their donut proclivities) as well. Elaine was trouble. Sex trouble. But that was the best kind. Elaine enjoyed her donut. She washed down the last bite with the dregs of her coffee. I was watching her, studying the finely chiseled features of her face, the swell of her breasts under her tight fitting dress, and imagining what she'd look like naked in my bed.

"That was worth the trip," she said, breaking my reverie. "You know. I should have been offended by what Bea said but I'm not. I see the bodies of murdered people every day. Bullets, knives, axes, razor blades, you name it. I smell like death. I have to wash my hair three times every night to get the smell out. No, what she said didn't bother me because she's right. I am trouble."

She reached across the table and took the last piece of my chocolate old fashioned, popping it into her mouth and then giving me a smile of satisfaction.

"I also appreciate that you weren't turned off by my directness," she added. "Not too many women want to hook up with a medical examiner. I remind people of death. So when I see something I want I ask for it. No reason pussy footing around and waiting for a sign, a phone call, or divine inspiration. Otherwise I'd wait forever. I like you Max. I don't know why but I do."

Her honesty inspired me to share. "Maybe we're kindred spirits. I see death on a daily basis as well. You get numb to it. Just like you get numb to the shit people say to you. I'm past the point of giving a fuck. I drink two pints of vodka every night just so I can get to sleep. Is that fucked up or what? If you're trouble, I'm double trouble - - full disclosure," I said, holding up my hands.

She didn't seem to be concerned about my admissions. Elaine put down her coffee cup and looked at me like it was time to get going.

"We finished the donuts . . ." she started to say.

"So now the fucking?" I said, completing her thought.

She got up from the table. "Precisely."

* * *

The last time I brought a woman back to my room I didn't have the best of experiences. I had Shannon O'Flaherty with me and Angela, my then fuck buddy/girlfriend, had gotten off work early and was waiting for me in my room. Awkward. I didn't have Moira's phone number and I didn't know if she'd left or was still there. I decided to risk it.

"How about my place?" I asked her. "It's close."

"I've heard about your living arrangements," she said.

"What don't you know about me?" I asked her. She followed me to my car.

"That's what I intend to find out Max. You seemed to be quite . . . experienced."

She shut her door and carefully buckled her seatbelt. Her dress was fairly lowcut and afforded me a clear view of her breasts.

"You seemed to be quite interested in me. Is it because you're a detective or because you're addicted to sex, like me?"

I'd never met anyone so direct. Maybe dissecting bodies for a living did that. I thought I was direct but I was an amateur compared to her. I thought about her question while I started the car.

"I think it's both. It's instinctive to look at you, but I can't look away," I confessed.

Her hand slid over and ran along the top of my thigh to my crotch. I didn't take the car out of "Park."

"Do you want me to fuck you now Max?" she asked me, probably more for her benefit. She knew the answer. She just wanted to hear herself ask me the question.

I nodded my head "yes."

I couldn't believe were going to have semi-public sex in a police cruiser. But it was the West End, and no one there paid attention to anything that went on there. Hookers routinely gave their johns blowjobs in the alley. So what was the big deal about a woman fingering me? It sounded kinky and fun. I needed fun.

Elaine didn't hesitate. She ignored the people walking by and unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned and unzipped my pants with one hand. She had a small, delicate hand that was as deft as I've seen. She slipped it inside the waistband of my panties and found me to be wet - very wet.

Just being with Elaine was exciting enough, but knowing she was an unabashedly sexual being made me think she'd be fantastic in bed. I was anticipating going to my room with her and my body reflected my level of excitement.

"Kiss me Max," she said, not giving me a chance to answer. We kissed and she was the aggressor with her hand behind my neck. Her other hand was busy with my pussy. She'd already wet the tips of two fingers with my copious cream and had her tongue in my mouth and her fingers all the way inside my pussy. She was a great kisser too. Her fingers worked quickly, finding my "G" spot and coaxing a quick orgasm from me. She'd made me cum in less than a minute. It felt fucking great kissing her and her holding me while I was cumming.

Elaine broke off the kiss and looked down at my breasts.

"You know I wanted these from the moment I saw you. Your uniform can't hide your luscious tits."

I was already pressing my luck with the quick finger fuck. I stopped her hand before she could unbutton my uniform.

"That was great Elaine but I think we're going to have to save that for my room," I said, for once being the prude.

She didn't argue. Instead she looked at me while she licked the two fingers that were inside me.

"Let's go," she said.

* * *

We were in a part of the West End that Elaine had probably never seen. Cars on blocks. Trash on the streets. Guys dealing out in the open, even with my cruiser rolling by. They knew I wouldn't bother to bust them. Elaine looked out her window at the boarded up storefronts and the occasional liquor store or pawn shop with windows covered by heavy security screens. It felt dark even though it was still broad daylight.

We entered the main drag of the West End. The part that was bypassed by the interstate twenty years ago. The boulevard in the middle was choked with weeds and trash and the sidewalk was buckled. And there, amidst that splendor was the 1960's style gaudy neon sign announcing "The Royal Palms."

It was once a popular spot on the old state highway. The pool was the centerpiece of the motel and surrounded by a chain link fence. You could drive right up to the rooms on the ground floor. My room was on the second (and top) floor.

There was nothing "Royal" about my accommodations and the palm trees next to the pool were removed in the 80's, with only stumps remaining. The pool now was filled in with dirt although the pool decking still remained, as did the chain link fence. I pulled into the space about to offer Elaine an apology.

I guess she could read my face. She held out her hand.

"Don't say it," she said. "You don't have to apologize to me. It's just who you are. I've accepted who I am," Elaine said in the same matter of fact fashion. "I work in a morgue and cut open people. This is nothing."

OK then. All I could think of was "this is going to be an adventure." I had no fucking idea what was going to happen.

"Elaine. I need to leave you here for about a half hour. I need to return this cruiser and drive back. It might be quicker than that. Are you OK with that?"

Elaine smiled. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"I've got vodka and beer. I can pick up something on the way back," I offered.

"No," she answered without hesitation. "I think what you have is fine. Give me your room key, and you don't have to hurry. I've got the rest of the day and tomorrow morning."

She got out of the car and then leaned in to talk to me.

"Don't worry about me," she said.

"I wasn't," I said.

She smiled again. "I think we understand each other," she said before she walked off.

I watched Elaine look at my old fashioned embossed room key and then the numbers on the motel rooms to figure out where room 204 was. I made sure she made it up to my room and was in before I left.

* * *

Returning the cruiser turned out to be a snap. I got another cop to fill in some missing paperwork in exchange for providing security at some bigshot's daughter's 21st birthday party. I was pulling my Honda Civic in its usual parking space by the pool in a record twenty minute round trip. I wasn't going to miss a second with Elaine.

I went up the steps by two and knocked on the door. Elaine opened the door with two drinks in her hand in the red plastic cups I use for beer. They had a good amount of vodka in each of them.

"You made it back quick," she said, sipping on her drink.

"Wouldn't you, if you were in my place?" I asked.

"Of course I would," she said.

I sucked down half the vodka in the cup. It was the shitty stuff I bought from the bargain bin in the local liquor store. I noticed she wasn't drinking with me.

"Don't like it?" I asked.

"No," she answered. "It's hideous. It tastes and smells like the stuff I use to embalm dead bodies. How do you drink this shit?"

"I guess I'm used to it."

She looked at me again and sighed. "Oh Max. There's so much for you to learn."

"Don't I know it," I said.

She went over to my mini-fridge and opened it. She looked in and pulled out a can of a local beer.

"I'm switching to beer," she said.

I finished the vodka in my cup.

"Give me yours," I said, holding out my hand.

She handed me her cup. I started drinking it.

"You like to drink Max," she said, stating the painfully obvious.

"Not as much as I like to fuck," I answered.

"We're wasting time," she said.

"I've already finished two cups of vodka. I'm good to go," I said.

"I'm a cheap date," she said. She swilled down more of her beer.

"I wondered what you look like naked," I said. She liked direct so direct is what she got.

"I was about to show you but you'll have to wait until I finish my beer."

She downed more of her beer and then put down the can and pulled her dress over her head. She was in a matching set of bra and panties. They looked perfect on her slender frame. She was petite, but well proportioned.

"You're beautiful Elaine," I said to her.

She picked up the can and tipped it almost upright to empty it.

She handed me the empty can and then reached around her back to unfasten her bra. I threw the can towards the waste basket, not caring where it landed. My eyes were on her when she let the bra slip off her arms, showing me smallish breasts with light glimmering off her pearlescent skin.

"Suck on my tits Max."

It was my turn to put my arms around her, drawing her close and lowering my head to capture her erect nipple. I sucked it into my mouth and circled her tit with my tongue.

"That's it," she said.

I went back and forth between her breasts, licking and sucking and using my other hand to help her off with her panties. The skin on her thighs was soft and supple. The straight black hairs of her pussy were glossy and wet. I slipped my fingers into her wetness and then drew them out to caress her clit between the "V" of two fingers.

"Yes . . . that's it Max . . . fuck me."

I felt as if my whole consciousness was focused on her. On pleasing her. My fingers wiggled inside her, exciting the spongy walls and causing them to clamp down. We stood face to face while her body undulated in time with the fucking motion of my hand.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . ." she said breathlessly. The only sound in the room was the sucking noise from my fingers moving in and out of her wet maw.

"Cum for me babe," I whispered in her ear.

"Oh . . . oh . . . oh . . ." she grunted. My hand slammed into her pussy while she was cumming against it. I kept fucking her until she begged me to stop.

Elaine was a serious person and usually had a serious look on her face, but at that moment it was the face of contentment. She tenderly put her hand against my face.

"That was good Max."

"Just good?" I asked.

She slapped me playfully. "You know it was great."

"It's nice to hear it," I said.

She was naked but I wasn't, but it was a problem I remedied by taking off my clothes. Elaine helped me take off my bra, cupping my heavy breasts in her small hands.

"Ummm," she purred, her hands clenching and unclenching around my breasts like a cat. "I love your tits Max."

"Will you respect me in the morning?" I asked her.

She laughed. "Max, I don't respect you now. Roll over on the bed so I can see your ass."

I did, lying face down on the bed and wondering what was in store for me. She gave my ass cheek a hearty slap with her open palm. It stung like a motherfucker.

"Fuck!" I shouted at her. "What was that for?"

She didn't answer. Instead she slapped my ass again, this time even harder, while she perched on my back, straddling me, to weight me down. I didn't fight her. I was used to feeling pain, so her spanking didn't make me want to buck her off. I was hoping she was doing it for a reason. The spanking continued until I was sure my ass was beet red. I was feeling prickly hot.

"Why?" I finally asked.

"Wait for it . . ." she said.

I felt her weight on my back and tensed my stomach muscles. She reached underneath me and ravaged my clit. I couldn't believe how the heat in my ass was making me cum so hard. I was riding a wave as her hand expertly fucked me and her mouth rested on my shoulder, licking and biting it as she rubbed her crotch against my ass. No one had ever made me feel this way.

"Jesus . . Elaine . . ." I shouted between taking in gulps of air.

"I know," she said back to me. I believe she did.

She brought me down slowly until I was a blubbering mass. No one had ever taken me to a place beyond sexual gratification - a place of serenity and peace.

Elaine had moved off me, sitting with her back against the headboard and staring ahead. She seemed nonplussed by my over the top reaction.

"I enjoyed that Max," she said before I could say anything. She leaned over and rested her head in the crook of my arm, nuzzling my breast.

"You have big tits Max."

"So I've been told."

"I love them. I like my breasts but I wish I had ones like yours. Can I suck on your nipple?"

Ordinarily I like to come down after sex. I'm too sensitive. But Elaine seemed to have a deeper (no pun intended) understanding of the human body.

"Sure," I said.

Her tongue flicked at my erect nipple, then circled it before she sucked in whole in her mouth like a tiny penis. It felt great until she bit down, just hard enough to make me whelp.

"Owww!" I cried out.

Then she scraped my nipple lightly with her teeth. Somehow it made my pussy sizzle.

"What the fuck Elaine," I said.

"Pain's the new pleasure," she said. This time she crammed three fingers inside my pussy without much effort.

"See how wet you are?" she asked me. "That's your body talking."

I groaned. "Just do what you will," I said, relaxing and letting it happen.

She went back to teasing and torturing my nipple while she fingered me. I felt like I was going to be launched into outer space.

"Fuck!!!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. My temples were pounding in my head and I could swear I could hear the ocean roar.

It took me a while to gather my wits. To remind myself I was in my room with a woman I'd met that morning, yet seemed to have a strong physical connection with her that couldn't be denied. She was beautiful, forward, and into some very kinky sex. In other words, the perfect woman for me.

"I think I love you Elaine," I blurted out.

"No you don't," Elaine fired back quickly. "It's your fucking hormones talking."

"They have feelings too," I said.

"Apparently they're feeling pretty good."

"They love you Elaine."

Elaine chuckled. I don't think she laughed a lot so it was good to see she had a sense of humor.

"I'll accept that. For us to fall in love, I think we'll have to see where this goes."

"The sex was fantastic," I said.

"There is that," she answered.

"Isn't that enough?" I asked. I knew the answer but wanted to see what she was going to say. Her response was perfect.

She opened her perfectly proportioned legs and showed me her pussy, straight black hairs glossy and wet, lips puffy and wanting.

I straddled her as she sat on my bed with her back against the wall, facing her. My pussy was inches from hers. My hand went between her legs seeking her slickened hairs, finding them and going for her clit, hard and distended. I pinched it between my fingers and she gasped, the words she was about to utter swallowed by the burst of pleasure she felt. We started kissing, feverishly, while Elaine's hand returned to my white hot cunt, and we fucked each other, cumming and never breaking our kiss.

It was past dinner time when we took a break. Four hours of fucking with no rest. Elaine was the master and I was the eager student. We were standing on the concrete second floor walkway just outside my room sharing a cigarette. It was a warm summer night and both of us were wearing a white tee and bikini panties. There was a fair amount of activity in the parking lot below, pimps with their girls and dealers with their customers. I could smell marijuana wafting upward.

"I can see why you like this place," Elaine said to me. She was leaning with both elbows on the metal railing watching cars cycling through the parking lot and the working girls negotiating their deals through rolled down driver side windows. "Sex anytime you want it, just down the stairs."

I slipped my hand under her shirt and fondled her breast. "Even better if it's delivered to your door."

She didn't bother to brush my hand away. It was the Royal Palms after all. If I got my binoculars I could watch men getting blowjobs in their cars. A couple dykes feeling each other up attracted zero attention.

"I'm glad you asked me out for coffee," Elaine said, then taking a long drag off the cigarette. I watched her make a smoke ring that drifted upwards. "I usually don't get all day sex on a weekday."

Elaine was a fascinating woman, highly intelligent, exceedingly blunt, highly sexed and of course pretty. But what really got my attention was her skill in lovemaking. I wondered how she got to be so good. Being a detective, I asked after taking back the cigarette from Elaine.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did you learn to . . ."

I paused for a moment to reach for the right word.

"Fuck?" Elaine guessed, correctly.

I sucked in hot smoke. "Uh huh," I grunted, then exhaling.

"I studied," she answered.

"So what we did was lab work?" I asked.

Elaine chuckled. "In a way it was. Max, don't forget I'm a coroner. My profession requires an intimate knowledge of the human body."

She kissed my cheek. "I know how to make you feel good."

"Then what about the pain? How did you know that would make it better?"

"It's a funny thing, science. Did you ever study it?"

She took the cigarette from me. She took a drag and let out a puff of smoke as she turned her head to look at me for the answer.

"No, not really," I said. I hated science courses. I took chemistry and physics in high school and that was it for me.

"Pain triggers a physiological reaction in your body. It releases endorphins that relieve pain. Those same hormones are released when you have sex. I bet you didn't know that, did you?"

"It makes sense, but no, I didn't know that. All I know if that you made me cum harder than I ever have."

I took the cigarette from her. It was pretty much done so I crushed it on the cracked concrete.

"I'm a student of sex, not just a casual participant. Let me show you something."

She came over behind me and started massaging the back of my neck. It felt good enough that I closed my eyes.

"Yes," I said. "I like that."

"Your neck muscles have stress, but it's also an erogenous zone."

I looked out at the parking lot. There were two prostitutes fighting over some piece of clothing, pulling it between them. One of them got pulled to the ground. I felt Elaine's fingers pulling aside the crotch of my short pajama bottoms and feeling around until they were dancing on my clit. My knees wobbled and I grabbed the railing to keep me steady.

"Fuck Elaine."

She knew how to play me. It was fun but it was also scary.

She pressed herself against me and her hand cupped my pussy.

"That's right Max. Fuck. I love to fuck."

"Do you want to go back inside?" I asked. It wasn't really a question.

* * *

Elaine went in first and was stripped and in bed before I came in. She was sitting on the bed with her legs spread apart, eager to start again.

I was up for it, but I had to get something to eat before I passed out.

"Last time," I said.

She gave me a hurt puppy look.

"Honestly, I've never met anyone like you," I said.

"I can't help it Max, it's just the way I'm wired."

"Nobody outfucks me. But you win. I've gotta get something to eat," I said.

"OK, last time, for now."

"Name one thing," I said.

She put her finger to her lips, replaying in her mind what we'd done.

"I want you to eat my ass," she said, pronouncing the winner.

That was my favorite. I guess she was a fan.

She was kneeling, and put her face into her pillow. Her hands pulled her ass cheeks apart.

I felt a growl come out of my lips. She had a lovely, tight cheeky bottom and it was going to be mine.

"Did you know how many nerve endings are in the anus?" I asked my doctor friend.

"I don't know the exact number Max."

"Well, there's a fucking lot of them and I'm going to lick all of them right now."

I started with the tasty center of her asshole and worked my way around, swirling my tongue around her backdoor.

"Yes Max . . . oh God yes," she babbled. It was my turn to show her what I knew.

I stabbed her gaping asshole with my tongue, fucking her while I reached underneath her to massage her clit. She raised her ass up and her legs started shaking. Her wet cunt was weeping for me, leaking on the palm of my hand. I used the copious discharge to wet my fingers and jam them into her pussy while my tongue was deep into her ass.

"Cumming . . . uhhhh . . . uhhhh . . . uhhhh . . ."

I wasn't done until she pushed me away. I kept licking and she went up again, this time higher.

"No . . . no . . . yes . . . fucking shit . . ."

Elaine's body tried to twist away from me but I was too big and too strong to let her. She didn't tell me to stop.

"Oh God . . . uhh . . . uhhhh . . . ohhhhhhhh . . ."

Then she finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop Max. Please . . ."

I let her enjoy her post-orgasmic bliss then patted her bare bottom as she laid splayed out on the bed face down.

"You are one tasty piece of ass Elaine."

* * *

I took Elaine back to her office, gobbled down two fast food burgers and then went back to the Royal Palms. It was almost 10 p. m. when I got back. I was dog tired and wanted nothing more than to fall into my bed. It was a moonless night, pretty much pitch black in large swaths of the motel's ill-maintained parking lot. I was paying attention more to where I was walking than what was in front of me.

There was a shadowy figure under the open stairwell to the second floor. Even though I was off duty I was carrying my service revolver. I pulled it out along with my flashlight, shining it forward.

The person shed the blanket that was wrapped around for warmth. It was Moira.

"Jesus Moira. I could have shot you."

"Sorry Max. I don't have anywhere to go. I came by here a few hours ago and you had company. I just came back. I'm sorry." Her teeth were chattering.

"Come here," I said, holstering my firearm and wrapping my arm around her. "Let's go to my room."

* * *

Moira set down her overnight bag in the corner of my room. She marveled at the neatness of the interior, given the state of it when she left earlier in the morning.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I have a neat friend," I answered glibly.

"You mean the one you were sleeping with today?" she asked.

"Uh huh."

"Sounded like you were having a good time."

"You were listening to us?"

"Not really. But when I came to the door to knock I heard you screaming something like 'Fuck Me Elaine!!!.' I presume the woman's name is Elaine."

She was right. I think everyone at the Royal Palms could hear me cumming.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry Max. I'm happy for you. Do you like her?"

"I think I do."

"Thank you for letting me stay at your place again."

"Happy to do it," I told her. She seemed like a good kid who was done wrong.

"I know you asked me about Mt. Adams. I didn't answer your question."

"You didn't have to, Moira."

"Well I want to. I didn't tell you my last name. It's Kinnison."

Moira was the stepdaughter of Ray Kinnison, the patriarch of the family. The Kinnison family was one of the wealthiest families in Cincinnati. There were numerous questions raised about the source of their fortune. I knew that Ray Kinnison was mixed up in everything that was bad. He was politically connected and considered untouchable by the higher-ups at the station. I'd never personally tangled with him, but those who did shortened their career on the force.

"What Ray did to you was unforgiveable," I said. "No amount of wealth or power entitles a man to do that. Did you tell anybody?"

"Seriously? Who's going to believe a pill popping teenager over a man who has several fortunes and every politician and judge in his pocket?"

"I see your point," I said.

"But I'm going to get him back."

She sounded defiant.

"How are you going to do that?" I asked.

She went into her purse and pulled out a thumb drive.

"I've got a copy of the ledger he keeps in his study. It proves he's up to his neck in loansharking, gambling and prostitution."

"The Holy Trinity of vice."

"Scumbag asshole. He's got it coming. Even if it's with my dying breath."

I pointed to the thumb drive she was holding.

"Better be careful with that," I said. Her wish might come true.

"I'm not worried. I have a back-up drive hidden in the teddy bear in my bedroom."

She opened her purse to drop the thumb drive back in. I could see a length of rubber tubing and discolored spoon in it.

"You got to quit that stuff Moira," I told her. I was sure I wasn't the first to give her that advice.

She instinctively used her right hand to cover the needle track marks on the inside of her left elbow.

"I can't help it. It's going to kill me," she said.

"Are you hooking too?" I asked. It was one of the oldest tricks in the pimp playbook. Get the girl addicted and then you can control her.

"Yeah. Same old story. My pimp started me on the drugs."

"Did you leave him?"

She showed me the inside of her thigh. There were several cigarette burns on it that looked recent.

"A going away present," she said.

"Who was it?" I asked. I knew most of the pimps in the West End and someone would finger this bad dude.

"I'm not going to tell you that," she said, acting as if it was a stupid question.

"He'll never know I found out from you," I said.

Moira paused for a moment. "Let me think about that."

"Don't think long. I want to seriously fuck him up."

"Not now," she said with finality.

I couldn't take my eyes off the ugly burn marks. "When?"

"Max," she said.

"OK."

Aside from the obvious wear and tear, she looked like a lovely young woman who was a fish out of water in the West End. She'd been knocked around good. Her stepfather was a piece of shit.

"I'd be happy to help you," I said. I pointed around the room. "As you can see, I don't have a lot else going on."

She broke into the first smile I'd seen. "Thanks Max. I've got to figure it out for myself. Specially . . . you know . . ."

I got it. Only she could break her addiction. I couldn't do it for her. She was right.

"You know where I live. You can come here anytime."

She came over and hugged me. "Max, you're the first nice person I've met since I left home."

When she hugged me I could feel that her body was shaking and her skin was damp.

"Max . . ." she said to me. Her eyes looked hollow, like the life had been sucked out of them. She needed a fix, and right away. What was I to do? I couldn't fix the problem and I wasn't about to kick her out.

"Where's your stuff?" I asked.

"In my bag."

I went over to the end of the bed and picked up her bag and set it on the bed next to her.

"Go ahead," I said. It's not like I hadn't seen it before. I just didn't enjoy seeing it, knowing what it was doing to the person. Moira poked through her bag and pulled out a rolled up cloth bag with her paraphernalia in it. When she was ready to cook the heroin I took notice of the brown paper envelope holding it. It was stamped on the outside with two gold stars. It was Jumbo Williams's mark.

Moira had the end of the length of rubber tubing between her teeth and injected herself. Her eyes wavered and then narrowed. I helped ease her down onto the bed. She'd left me, at least for a while.

I popped open a can of beer and watched her sleep, innocent as a lamb.

She was going to give me the name.

* * *

It was about midnight when Moira screamed and woke me up, scaring the living shit out of me. I flipped on the lights and went to her bed where she was sitting up. Her whole body was wet, as were the sheets.

"Oh fuck Moira," I said to her as I sat next to her and held her.

"I had a bad dream," she said. She was crying.

"It'll be OK," I said to her, not knowing what else I could say. In no way did I think there was going to be a good outcome her, but I needed to comfort her, at least for that night.

"I love you Max," she said to me. Her head was on my shoulder. She tried to kiss me on the neck.

"No Moira, you don't," I said. I wasn't looking for a relationship with her. She was attractive enough, but that wasn't in the cards. I was probably twenty years older than her.

She started crying again.

"My life is shit," she said.

Still holding her I said, "Mine is too."

"At least . . . at least you have a job . . . an important one."

She was right. I did. Maybe this was a wakeup call to me. I was still in a deep funk over Lesley's death. I needed to do my job, and my job was protecting women like Moira.

"So now you're going to tell me the name of your pimp," I said. "Tell me now goddamn it, or I'm going to shake down every pimp I know until I find him. You won't be free of him until he lets go."

It wasn't in Moira's nature to snitch. I knew that. But this was as vulnerable as I'd seen her and having a pissed off pimp after you is not a good thing.

"OK, it was Derek LeMay."

I'd heard that name before. When I was working prostitution instead of drugs. He was some short French Canadian guy who had an inferiority complex and a wicked temper. He would not win any HR awards. It would make sense for him to beat the shit out of Moira. Now he was on my list.

"You won't hurt him, will you Max? Promise me."

I always got that question and I always promised. Many an abused woman tried to protect her abuser, why I didn't know. In any event I'd break my promise.

"I promise," I said with sincerity. "I won't hurt him [much].

"Thanks," she said, hearing me absolve her of any guilt. I would disappoint her but she'd get over it. I wasn't sure she'd survive another beating from Derek. I'd rather her be mad at me than dead.

"You get some sleep, won't you?" I asked her.

"OK," she said, and then promptly fell asleep.

I was becoming attached to her and in the Max world that wasn't a good thing. I prayed I wouldn't fuck up her life.

* * *

Moira went out into the world and I went to work. She knew where I lived. I had no idea if she'd come back, but I wasn't her keeper. She was a young, troubled woman who had to figure it out for herself what she was going to do with her life. I was going to do my part and track down this Derek LeMay guy. Asshole. I'd heard enough about him and it pissed me off that he used a cigarette to burn Moira.

I spent most of the day finishing a stack of overdue reports and dealing with other bureaucratic bullshit, all the while stewing over Derek LeMay. It was almost quitting time when I went to the break room to find Lanny. He was fucking off, making clown faces and telling an attractive female cadet about some goofy show he was watching on TV.

"Sorry to interrupt your fun but we have police work to do," I said to him, tugging on his collar.

He stopped his conversation and looked at me.

"You look like you're head hunting Max."

He read me correctly.

"We need to find a certain Derek LeMay," I announced.

"I know that asshole," Martinez said. Martinez started with me and also patrolled the West End. I thought he worked prostitution after me.

"Tell me."

"He's blonde, about five foot three, had a bit of a limp. French Canadian I think. Nasty motherfucker. Get his girls on dope and then beats the shit out of them. That's what I know."

I pushed Lanny down into one of the chairs and sat across from him.

"See Lanny. This is why you joined the Cincinnati police force. We're going to hunt down this bad motherfucker."

Lanny chuckled. "Nothing but choice assignments, huh?"

"You stick with me kid. We're going to have some fun today."

"Max, your kind of fun gets us both in trouble."

"That's the best kind, isn't it?"

* * *

We went cruising the streets that night after we were done with our shift. I wasn't going to do this in uniform. Lanny and I were in our civvies in my Honda Civic. Moira told me he worked the area between Cleveland and Arthur Streets, an area known for flagrant prostitution. Most of it was left alone as long as it was orderly. I was told to look for a tricked out black Mecedes G-Class Wagon. That wouldn't be hard to spot.

Lanny was driving slow down Cleveland Street and I was looking for Derek. It was as scummy as you could imagine, newspaper and trash in the streets and randomly parked cars with people performing some sexual act in them. Women and men were approaching cars like ours. A woman wearing a wig with curly blonde hair came up to the car. I rolled down the window.

"You a cop?" she asked me straight out.

"Yes," I said.

"I think I recognize you. You helped out Sharon, right?"

I did. More than once. Sharon was a prostitute who worked with Eddie the Pimp. She'd been with me, if you know what I mean.

"Yeah, that's right," I said.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"Looking for Derek LeMay," I said.

"That fuckwad?"

"Unfortunately yes. Is he your pimp?"

"Fuck no. I hate his guts. What do you want with him?"

"To be frank I'd like to kick the living shit out of him," I confessed.

She gave Lanny the once over. She tugged down on her tube top to expose more of her breasts.

"Who's he?" she asked.

"He's my new partner."

"Is he . . ." she started to ask.

"He's got a girlfriend," I said, cutting her off.

Lanny leaned forward.

"No I don't . . ."

I used my arm to push him back.

"Down boy," I said. "We don't have time for this."

Then I turned to Sharon's "friend."

"So . . . Derek LeMay . . ."

The blonde thought for a moment about whether she'd squeal on the piece of shit. I got the nod.

"Go down another block and a half. He usually parks on the right hand side," she said, pointing the way. It was chilly to be wearing pink hot pants and a white tube top.

"Thanks," I said. I handed her a twenty dollar bill and then rolled up my window.

"Next stop, Derek LeMay's ass," I announced.

* * *

The intel was spot on. We drove another block and a half and Derek's shiny new G-Class SUV was parked exactly where she said it would be. Derek was leaning against the door of his car with a toothpick in his mouth. He looked a scumball. He was wearing a track suit for some English Premier League team I'd never heard of and designer tennis shoes. He had sunglasses on, even though it was the middle of the night. I signaled to Lanny to pull over.

Derek spotted us out of the corner of his eye. He came up to the car, talking to Lanny through the open passenger side window.

"Whaddya want?" he asked us. He was slouched against the car, standing on the grass boulevard that was between the street and the sidewalk. The grass was of course grown over with weeds and there was dog shit visible that no one bothered to pick up.

"We just want to talk," I said, leaning over and talking past Lanny.

"Fuck you," he said, then turned his head.

Lanny reached out of the window and grabbed his collar, shaking him and then pulling him tight against the car.

"She's trying to talk to you scumbag."

Lanny let him go. It looked like I was training Lanny well.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, standing up straight and then fixing his collar.

"I want you to leave Moira alone."

"That fucking whore?"

That wasn't the answer I was looking for. "Yes sir" would have sufficed. That didn't.

I looked around. There wasn't anyone who could see what we were doing and God forbid there wasn't any CCTV. It was just my word against his and I knew who was going to be believed.

"Cuff him Lanny," I said.

Lanny jumped out of my car and grabbed him firmly by the ear.

"Hey, that hurts!" Derek protested, trying the wrest Lanny's fingers from his ear. Lanny was a big dude and a strong one. Derek was unsuccessful.

"Help me," Lanny said to me, holding his hip out where he had his cuffs clipped. I took them off him and snapped them so hard on Derek's wrists that they pinched his skin.

"Owww!" the scum bucket shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Listen fuckface," I said to him in the most impolite fashion. "I'm going to give you a small sample of the hurt you're going to get from me if you get near Moira."

"Fuck you, and why should I believe you?" he spat out. The little weasel wanted to show me he had spunk. He was sadly mistaken.

"Because I'm an off duty Cincinnati police and so is my partner. You're fucking with a friend of the police and I'm here to deliver our message."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

I went behind him and grabbed the short length of chain between the two cuffs, pulling them up and forcing his head downward. I told Lanny to push him down to his knees on the garbage strewn boulevard and steered his head over a pile of fresh dog shit.

"Hey . . . you wouldn't," he said, kind of begging. It was pathetic.

"You hurt Moira. Now I'm going to hurt you. But my way isn't going to leave any marks. Now eat shit motherfucker."

I forced his head down to where shit oozed around his face as I pushed it down.

I could hear muffled crying. I let him wallow in the shit for a little while before I let him up, gasping for breath and trying to throw up at the same time. There was dog shit all over his face and running down his precious track suit. There was shit dripping off his expensive sunglasses.

I grabbed the lapels of the track suit and pulled him up, not caring I was touching the shit on his jacket.

"Now do you hear my message motherfucker or did you want me to repeat it?"

"No," he said weakly. "No more."

"Take off his fucking sunglasses," I said to Lanny.

Lanny didn't want to use his fingers to touch the shit so he used a disposable ballpoint pen he had in his pocket. Both the sunglasses and the pen hit the ground.

Derek's eyes didn't lie. He was defeated. Moira was avenged, at least to my satisfaction.

"Let's go Lanny. Uncuff him. I think it was unfortunate when he tripped and fell into that dog shit."

"That's what I saw," Lanny said.

"Now YOU go fuck yourself," I said, shoving him towards Lanny.

Lanny uncuffed him. I kicked him in the ass and watched him stumble towards his vehicle.

"God Max, remind me never to piss you off," Lanny said to me, inspecting his hands for traces of dog shit.

I reached into the back seat to retrieve some wet wipes. I gave a couple to Lanny before I cleaned off my hands.

"Good guys one, scumbag zero," I said to him.

* * *

The next morning Lanny came up to me while I was fussing with the coffee maker. It was an old machine, definitely past its prime, and it looked like it was on its last legs.

"Fucking coffeemaker," I shouted, not that it would do any good. It was 7:30 a. m. and I hadn't had my first cup of coffee. I was still slightly hungover from the previous night and had a headache that would only go away after my first cup of joe.

Even though Lanny was behind me I could tell it was him from his aftershave.

"Hey Max, dancing with the coffeemaker I see. Wanted to let you know Chief called a red ball on this missing person. We're meeting in five minutes."

Fuck. A red ball meant I had to drop everything. I still had a couple open cases that Lesley was handling that I took over. They'd have to wait.

I got into the flow of cops filing into the conference room where Lieutenant Muenster was addressing the group. Being a red ball, this was an important case. That meant that management would be watching the Lieutenant closely. He looked good in his freshly pressed uniform and addressed the room with the Chief standing in the back. There was an attractive woman standing behind the Chief who I didn't recognize. She looked to be Middle Eastern with long dark hair, thick eyebrows, smoky dark eyes and a heart shaped face. She was about a head shorter than the Chief.

I got into a row that was empty and took a middle seat while Lanny took an aisle. We were settling in when Ginny came in from the other side holding two cups of coffee. She thrust one into my hand.

"I heard the office coffeemaker is on the fritz. I've got a fresh cup from Happy Donut and a chocolate old fashioned in the bag," she whispered, pointing the wax paper bag at her feet.

"Bless you," I said to her after taking the first heavenly sip. "I'd kiss you if there weren't all these people around."

"I've got your back Max," she said to me. She got an "A" in ass kissing. I reached down and opened the bag. The scent of the chocolate wafting out attracted the attention of the people sitting around me. I enjoyed my coffee and donut while the room filled. Lieutenant Muenster turned on the projector and the image of Moira popped up on the screen. I think I gasped because Muenster spoke to me instead of starting his prepared remarks.

"Max, do you have something to share?" he asked me in the crowded room. All eyes went to me.

"I know that person," I said.

I described how I befriended her at a laundromat and let her stay the night at my place.

"And when I came back to my room the next morning she'd already gone," I said, concluding my answer.

"And that's it?" Muenster asked me.

"Nothing happened between us, if that's what you mean."

I could hear sniggers from some of my compadres. I had a well-earned reputation for promiscuity in the station.

Muenster let the laughter die down before he continued. "This red ball concerns Moira Kinnison. She's the daughter of Ray Kinnison. She's been missing since Max last saw her two days ago. We have reason to believe she's been kidnapped. Mr. Kinnison has already posted a $100,000 reward. This is not to be shared with the press, but he also received a ransom note.

Muenster paused and signaled to the woman standing behind the Chief to step forward.

"This is Special Agent Majedah Saliba. She's been assigned by the FBI to this case. She's from their Columbus office. Although we'll retain jurisdiction over the case, the FBI has offered its resources to assist. We'll be providing her with a desk with Vice. I'll be taking lead on our side. Questions?"

Majedah was an attractive woman in her twenties, of Middle Eastern descent, medium height and thin, wearing a field jacket over her blouse, dark slacks and sturdy shoes. The Lieutenant scanned the room and seeing no hands he closed his binder.

"OK, come see me for your specific assignments. Dismissed."

* * *

Lanny and Ginny joined me in Muenster's office. Majedah was already in there. Muenster was pacing while he talked.

"You probably know that Ray Kinnison has some serious juice in City Hall. All of the top brass will be watching us on this one. The press is all over this. I can't emphasize enough how important it is to conduct this investigation by the book and to keep me updated at all times. Is that understood?"

Muenster was looking at me when he said it.

"Yes," I said, along with the others in the room.

"Good. So Max, I want you to work the West End. You know it the best and there's a good chance that she's there. There's plenty of places to hide there and of course no one sees nothing there so you'll have to rely on your informant network for information. I want you to take Agent Saliba with you. It's up to you how you'd like to utilize Woodford and Hamilton."

Muenster's cell phone rang. He held his hand over the microphone.

"It's the Mayor," he said. "I've got to take this."

We took that as our cue to leave.

* * *

Detective work is the process of gathering and analyzing information. My network of informants kept me abreast of what was happening on my turf, the West End. I decided to hit up my most reliable informant, Bear Nellis, and take Agent Saliba along with me. I tasked Lanny and Ginny doing background research on Ray Kinnison and assembling whatever information the department had collected on him.

We were preparing to take an unmarked car to Belvedere Terrace, the most feared residential address in the West End. One of the two towers was controlled by Jumbo Williams, who openly conducted his drug trade in the hallways. Police cruisers might as well be painted with a bullseye on them. We were in the station's parking lot loading our gear. I handed the shotgun to Majedah, who slid it into the mount between the driver and passenger.

"Been with the FBI long?" I asked her, throwing a duffel into the trunk and then closing it.

"About three years. Did a stint at Quantico for special training on kidnapping."

"So you're what, 27?" I asked.

"28."

She knew where I was going. She looked young, maybe too young.

"I know how to handle myself in the field," she said. "I get that all the time from the guys. I'm surprised I'm getting it from you."

I pulled out onto the main thoroughfare. "It's not a sex related thing Majedah . . ."

"Just call me Maisey. That's what everybody calls me."

"Majedah . . ." I started to ask.

"It's Lebanese," she said, before I could finish. "My parents are from Lebanon. Beirut. I'm first generation."

I thought she was Middle Eastern. She could have been a model.

I looked over at her for a split second.

"I'm straight," she said, maybe getting a vibe from me, and from her comment obviously knowing I was gay.

"That's good," I said.

"You have a reputation . . ."

"Don't I know it," I said.

"So who's this Bear guy we're going to visit?"

I turned the cruiser onto the service drive for Belvedere Towers, a rat and drug infested high-rise on the edge of the West End.

"His name is Bear Nellis. He's been a CI for me ever since he got out of prison. He's at least six and a half feet tall and three hundred pounds. You don't want to fuck with him," I told her.

I took a sideways glance at Maisey. There certainly wasn't anything to look at on that road other than car frames resting on blocks, busted shopping carts and crumpled newspapers blowing down the street.

"What was he in for?"

"Manslaughter," I said. "He beat someone to death with a lead pipe . . . or maybe it was a shovel . . . anyway I testified on his behalf because he was acting in self-defense, though it's really hard to say who started it. Anyway, he got out in two years and believes my testimony shortened his sentence. He's right about that."

Maisey looked out the window as we pulled up to the front entrance of the North Tower. Jumbo controlled the drug trade in the North Tower. A group of Haitians controlled the South Tower. There were two burly dudes in matching black leather jackets standing at the entrance. Sort of an informal security arrangement compliments of Jumbo. The guy on the left was Asian, about my height, with a pockmarked face. The guy on the right was short and stocky, built like a fireplug, African-American with a short-cropped Afro. They were both clearly packing. Our appearance in an unmarked but obvious Cincinnati police cruiser did nothing to alter their slouch against the graffiti sprayed glass doors.

I recognized the guy on the right. I knew him as Pudge. We approached him, me leading. We were on their turf. I needed a pass unless I wanted to get into a fight right then and there. It was not the time to fight.

"Hey Pudge," I yelled to him as we approached. He let his jacket fall open so I could see his Glock conveniently holstered on his hip.

"Max . . ."

He lifted up his sunglasses and gave a hard look at Maisey.

"Who's this fine lady you brought here Max?"

"She's a federal agent," I answered.

He spread his hands out wide. "Makes no difference to me. She can't help it."

Maisey stepped forward, clearly agitated.

"Fuck off asshole," she spat at him.

The Asian dude made a move for his gun. I leapt forward and grabbed his wrist.

"No need for that," I said.

I turned to Maisey. "Not the time for this," I said. She knew she should have kept her cool. She backed off.

"Dee Dee gives her regards," I said to Pudge. That stopped him in his tracks.

"You know her?" he asked me.

"Call her," I said. I showed him my phone. She was one of the contacts on my list. Then the lightbulb went on.

Pudge took a step back.

"You're the pig who saved her in that drive by."

"That's right."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't give me a chance," I said. "So can we go?"

Pudge stepped aside and his compadre did likewise.

"Thanks," I said, as we walked by.

Maisey went through last.

"Asshole," I heard her say in a loud whisper as she passed Pudge.

* * *

"Watch your step," I said to Maisey. There were used needles littering the stairway up to the sixth floor. The elevators were out of order when I was a cadet. We all looked down at our feet while we ascended the dank staircase, winding our way up and avoiding trash littering the stairwell. It was Maisey's first time in the projects. Her face registered both pity and disgust as we listened to men below barking their drug wares while smells of home cooking wafted in the hallway.

I knocked on Bear's door with the butt end of my flashlight. I heard loud footsteps and then the door opened. Bear opened the door. The zipper of his jeans was down and his denim shirt was unbuttoned, showing a thick mat of chest hair. Bear was a big, burly guy, heavily tatted African-American with a bushy beard. His heavily muscled arms bore the tattoo of a motorcycle gang he belonged to. He gave me a toothsome smile when he saw it was me.

"Max . . . long time no see."

He saw Maisey standing behind me.

"That your new partner?" he asked, pointing to Maisey.

"Nope," I answered. "His name is Lanny."

"Then who's the lovely lady?"

I could swear Maisey blushed.

"She's Special Agent Saliba," I said.

"Who's there?" a female voice called from the bedroom.

"Just some friends," Bear shouted back.

A woman came out clutching a white terry cloth robe with her hand. It was clear she was naked underneath and her big sagging pasty white tits were barely covered. Her gaunt face told me she was a meth head. She wasn't Bear's girlfriend. I hadn't seen her before. She had brassy blonde hair and skinny legs. She was taken aback when she saw my uniform.

"I thought you said friends."

Her voice crackled when she talked. I saw her rheumy eyes - the eyes of a meth head.

Bear turned to her and put his big paw on her bony shoulder.

"You go back to bed honey . . . I'll be right back."

She turned around and shuffled in her slippers out of sight down the hallway to his bedroom.

"She not your regular girlfriend," I said.

"Naw . . . Crystal is in rehab. She's one of Crystal's friends."

He thought I gave him "the look," which I didn't.

"Look Max . . . a man's got needs."

"I don't judge.

"Max, sorry about Lesley," Bear said. "She was a good egg."

"Thanks Bear," I said. There wasn't much more to be said.

"So what have you got for me on Moira Kinnison?"

Bear held out his hand. Money talked. I put five twenties in it.

Bear looked at it. "I'm sticking my ass for you on this one Max. If anyone finds out it was me I'm not going to be on this planet that much longer."

I put five more twenties in his hand.

"OK. Here it is. You know that Kinnison is into drugs?"

I didn't. Nobody did.

"How so?" I asked.

"He was Jumbo William's wholesaler. Apparently he decided to go into the retail end as well. He's the one that made the deal with the Russians to take out Jumbo."

Jumbo had won that war. He arranged for me to kill Mikhail Volkov, the head of Cincinnati's Bratva. Jumbo must have figured out it was Kinnison who was behind the Russians. Jumbo must have snatched the girl. I gave my theory to Bear.

"That's right Max. What I hear on the street is that Jumbo has Moira. Where? I don't know. But this should give you a good head start."

* * *

Maisey was such a contrast to me. I was worn down by twenty years in the street. She looked so prim and proper in her FBI issued blazer and her sensible low black heels, her shiny dark wavy hair blowing in the breeze from the open window. Of course the air conditioning had crapped out and it felt like 100 degrees in the car. The odors of greasy fast food and vomit wafted up from the rubberized vinyl floor that was baking in the sun while we were with Bear. I could see small beads of sweat on Maisey's cleavage and I tried not to think about how attractive she looked to me.

"That was a charming spot," Maisey said. "Peeling linoleum, three locks on every door that don't do shit to keep people out. I could swear a rat saluted to me on the way up."

"That's life in Belvedere Towers," I said. "Bear has to live in that."

"His girlfriend looked strung out," Maisey said. "And he certainly lived up to his nickname. That dude was big."

"I know Bear's information is reliable because he owes me. He wouldn't lie to me. Looks like Kinnison is running with the big dogs if he's part of Jumbo Williams's supply chain."

Maisey looked at me. I didn't take my eyes off the road but did see her out of the corner of my eye. She was about to confess something.

"We already knew that," she said.

I pulled the car over to the curb. We were still close to Belvedere Towers. We were in front of a weed infested vacant lot with an old mattress and a discarded washing machine in it.

I turned off the engine.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked her, and not nicely.

She looked sheepish because she knew she was wrong.

"The investigation is confidential," she said.

"Fuck confidential. This is Moira's life we're talking about."

I wanted to grab her by the collar.

Maisey took a deep breath.

"I'm following orders. I'm taking a big chance by telling you."

I let my blood pressure drop. She was young and not at the point of ignoring her superiors like I was. She was playing it by the book, and the book said follow the orders of your superior.

"How much more can you tell me?"

Maisey sighed. "Not much. I wasn't involved in the investigation. They only told me because I was assigned to this case. Ray Kinnison has some juice somewhere. We've got to be careful."

"This all doesn't smell right," I said.

"What makes you think that there's something off here?" Maisey asked.

"Why would someone kidnap Moira? Ray doesn't care about her. And she has some sort of incriminating information on him."

Maisey latched onto the last thing I said to her.

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

It was my turn to feel a bit foolish.

"Because she didn't show it to me. I have no idea what she really has. She just said she had a thumb drive. I didn't really ask because it wasn't important at the time. I just thought Ray was a piece of shit. Now I know he is."

Maisey's eyes lit up. "Maybe he staged the kidnapping because of that, and because she could out him on the abuse."

I thought about what Maisey said. It made sense. Maybe he was faking the kidnapping. Maybe he pinning this on Jumbo Williams.

"I think I know who could help us," I announced.

"Who?" Maisey asked.

"Dee Dee Johnson. She owes me. She's Jumbo Williams's right hand. She would tell me if Jumbo was clean."

"Let's do it," Maisey said.

"I've got to do this myself. Dee Dee isn't going to talk to me with you with me."

* * *

I dropped Maisey back at the station and headed off to Spin City. Dee Dee wasn't in her usual spot. It was still light out and Dee Dee usually didn't show up until it was dark. Dee Dee didn't answer her phone so I got out of the car. One of her minions was standing in front of the laundromat studying his phone and ignoring me. I'd changed into my civvies but he recognized me and decided I wasn't a threat. I went up to him and waited for him to look at me.

"What's you want?" he snarled at me. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I'm looking for Dee Dee."

He smiled. I could see the flash of a diamond planted in one of his front teeth.

"Everybody looking for Dee Dee. Why don't you fuck off?"

He was a little bit taller than me but a lot skinnier. I had at least twenty pounds on him. I could see his piece in the waistband of his baggy jeans. I reached over and pulled his gun out before he could stop me.

"Gimme that!" he shouted, lunging at me. I knew he would so I stepped to the side and he fell forward and stumbled. I kicked him in the ass and he face planted into the sidewalk.

I stood over him and put my boot on his ass so he couldn't get up.

"Who needs to fuck off here?" I asked him.

"Get off me man. I don't know nothin."

"Just tell me where Dee Dee is."

"I don't know where she is. I don't have her fuckin' calendar."

I put more weight on my boot so I was pushing down on his ass so his dick was getting squeezed between his body and the concrete sidewalk.

"You get off of me you bitch dyke!" he shouted angrily.

"Just tell me where you think she is. You ought to have a good idea."

"Awright. She usually hangs with Janelle about now."

"Where might I find this Janelle?"

"She's respectable folk. Lives up near Grand Avenue."

"Just give me the fucking address."

"I will if you let me up."

I took my boot off him. He brushed the dirt off the front of his shirt and fumbled in his pants pocket for his phone.

"534 Lincoln," he said, reading off his phone.

I gave him back his gun.

"Get a real job," I said. "You're going to get killed doing this one."

* * *

I knew the neighborhood - Eden Park Heights - - a new ultra-modern enclave tucked along the wooded ridge between the Cincinnati Art Museum and the Krohn Conservatory. The neighborhood wasn't flashy, but had an undertone of new money. Janelle lived at The Veridian, a low-rise luxury development with just a dozen oversized apartments with panoramic views of the Ohio River Valley. I wondered whether Janelle was wealthy in her own right or was Dee Dee's "kept" woman.

I saw Dee Dee's black Lincoln Navigator parked in a reserved spot in front of the complex. Decision time. Do I bother her when she was off the clock?

You know I did. Moira's kidnapping was more important than Dee Dee's possible hostile reaction. I'd have to take a chance.

Even though I was in my civvies in my usual tightly fitted black tee, jeans and black lace-up boots, I did carry my badge. The security guard was sitting behind an impressively sized desk made of matte black stone. Late 30's or early 40's, shaved head. who looked like killed small animals for fun and had a neck that was as thick as a tree stump.

"You lost?" he asked me.

"Nope, just here to see Janelle."

"And you are?"

"Just tell her Max is here to see her and Dee Dee."

"I don't think so," he said to me. "That includes girlfriends, ex-girlfriends and dykes like you."

I reached over the desk and grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head against the stone, pinning him down with his head sideways. I pulled my badge out of my back pocket and pressed it firmly against his nose.

"Look shit for brains, buzz Janelle's apartment or you're going to see this dyke break your shnozz."

With his head still pinned against the desk, he reached over and buzzed the door to the elevator bank.

"Unit 2C," he croaked.

I let go of his collar. He sat up, brushing lint off his cheek.

"Have a nice day asshole," I said as I went through the door.

* * *

The hallway to Janelle's unit had recessed ceiling lights that cast a warm glow off the cream-colored walls. The carpet was thick, a muted geometric pattern in dove gray and ivory. Each door was discreetly numbered in polished brass. Unit 2C was at the end of the corridor. I used the brass knocker shaped like a lion's head and waited.

I heard muffled voices and then footfalls approaching the door. The front door opened. Dee Dee was on the other side holding her chrome plated revolver. She was in her robe and had bare feet scowling at me as if I'd interrupted something important.

"You? What you want bitch? How'd you'd find me?" she said in a haughty tone, waving her piece at me.

"I need to talk to you - it's urgent," I said.

"Fuck urgent. I'm with my girl. I don't interrupt you at the Royal Palms when you gettin' some."

"I'm really sorry but it's important."

Dee Dee's robe was loosely tied and I could see most of her luscious cocoa colored tits underneath. It was reflexive on my part, but Dee Dee saw my eyes.

"You checkin me out girl? Is this a booty call?"

I felt embarrassed and I'm sure I blushed, which I never do.

"No, Dee Dee, it's not that."

"Bullshit . . . your eyes don't lie."

"I . . . I . . ."

I had no explanation for my behavior except that I was a sex addict.

Before I could react she grabbed my forearm and pulled me into the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

"We don't need no one seeing me talking to a cop," Dee Dee said, not sounding annoyed anymore.

Janelle's apartment was spectacular. An open stacked window wall in the living room led to an outdoor terrace with a view of the Ohio River, the bluffs of Mt. Adams and the Roebling bridge in the distance. The living room had low-slung Italian furniture made of leather and chrome and a bar stocked with Macallan, Blanton's and Pappy Van Winkle along with a set of cut crystal tumblers.

"Who is it?" a young female voice shouted from another room.

"A friend," Dee Dee shouted back. "You just keep your pretty self warm till I get back."

Dee Dee assumed a wide stance with her hands on her hips. She made an imposing presence.

"Now tell me what you want."

"I need a favor . . ."

I could see Dee Dee's temper rise.

"A favor? You interrupted me in my love nest for a favor?"

"It's about Moira Kinnison . . ."

"What about her?"

"She's missing."

"I don't know her and I don't give a fuck where she is."

"My source says Jumbo took her. I think somebody's spreading false information and I need you to confirm that for me."

"I got nothin' to do with that. What you take me for? I'm not no kidnapping bitch."

"No . . . no . . . it's not that. I know that you didn't do it and I don't think Jumbo did either. I just need to you tell me that it wasn't Jumbo."

"It wasn't Jumbo," she said. "You happy? Now get the fuck out of here."

"You know that for sure?"

"Why the fuck would Jumbo snatch Moira?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "It doesn't make any sense."

"If you want to keep talking let's go into my bedroom."

She let her robe fall open. I couldn't help but look at her chiseled body and her large rounded breasts with long thick brown nipples. Her hips had a sexy sway to them as she walked.

"We're going to heaven Miss Police Woman," Dee Dee declared to me.

"I didn't come here for that," I said.

"You want a favor?"

"Well . . . yes."

"Then come with me. You don't have to do nothin'."

What a weird fucking situation. I felt the same way I did when I was with Lily. What she was asking me to do was trouble and I knew it. Yet my body and mind weren't in sync. I asked myself what harm there was in following her.

I followed her into the bedroom. Janelle was sitting up in the bed, grasping a sheet to cover her breasts. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, warm bronze skin with the kind of complexion that didn't need make-up, high cheekbones, a narrow sculpted nose and full lips painted a deep rose. Her eyes were almond shaped with hazel eyes. Her hair was jet black, thick and perfectly straight, flowing down to her shoulders like a sheet of silk.

"Who's this?" she demanded.

Dee Dee shed her robe and sat on the bed next to her, showing me her magnificent breasts. She put her arm around Janelle.

"You like what you see, baby?" Dee Dee asked her.

Janelle relaxed, seeing that I wasn't a threat.

"She got big tits," Janelle said about me.

"She's deciding if she wants some of your sugar . . ." Dee Dee said to Janelle.

"Me? Nobody turn me down," Janelle said, letting the sheet drop, exposing her breasts, full and high, natural in shape with a pleasing curve. She was simply gorgeous.

Dee Dee could see my reaction. She threw off the sheets so I could see all of Janelle. A body sculpted by hours in the gym, muscular abs leading down to shapely hips and a shaved pubic patch. Dee Dee used her hands to open Janelle's long legs. She stuck two fingers in Janelle's pussy and then presented her glossy digits to me.

"Taste her sugar," Dee Dee said to me. "Or no favor."

Lily's face flashed in front of me. This was wrong and for once I overruled my body with my mind.

"No . . . I can't."

Dee Dee knew the battle was over. She hadn't breached my defenses . . . yet.

"You can watch, can't you? Or are you even afraid of that police woman? Ever see two women make love? You watch and I'll do your favor."

Dee Dee was a negotiator. She figured out my price.

"OK," I said. "I'll just watch for a few minutes. Then I need to get going."

"You watch me police woman. Janelle honey, you come to me sugar."

Dee Dee sat on the bed with her thick legs spread apart. Janelle obediently kneeled between them.

"Now you show this nice police lady how you eat pussy."

I tried to look away but couldn't. Janelle was eating Dee Dee's pussy, her head bobbing up and down with Dee Dee's hands on it.

Dee Dee looked at me with heavily lidded eyes.

"You see Max? You could be eating my pussy. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

I said nothing though in truth it's exactly what I wanted to be doing at that point. I loved eating pussy and I wanted to eat Dee Dee's and fondle her big tits while I did it.

I watched Janelle lick all around Dee Dee's pussy until Dee Dee raised one leg higher to make her asshole more available to Janelle.

She had a gorgeous ass and my will was weakening.

"How about this Max? I know you like to eat ass."

Jesus. Was my life an open book?

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"It's my business to know everyone who comes into my territory."

Dee Dee raised her legs up even higher.

"Now come to Momma. Eat Mommy's ass," she said to Janelle.

Janelle parted Dee Dee's big butt cheeks and pressed her face into Dee Dee's deep, delicious ass.

"That's it honey . . . get in there," Dee Dee panted.

Janelle was tongue fucking her. Dee Dee was frigging herself and cumming.

"Yes . . . bitch . . . make me . . ."

Her hips jerked violently up and down.

"Fuck . . . fuck . . ."

Janelle looked at me. Her face was covered with Dee Dee's pussy juice.

"I'll eat you right now Max. I'll make you cum." She stuck out her tongue and wiggled the tip.

I felt like Ulysses tied to the mast of my ship hearing Janelle's siren song. I wanted her so badly.

But Moira was out there. And I wanted her more.

"Please Max, stay," Dee Dee asked me. The bark in her voice was gone. She was speaking from the heart.

"I gotta go," I announced.

Dee Dee gathered her wits, obviously disappointed. If she really liked me she had no idea how to communicate it. Instead it was back to her tough girl act.

"Next time it's you and me police woman," she said.

"If there is a next time," I said. "You call me. You have my number."

Janelle was on her knees, her young perky tits and shaved pubes visible to me. She waved her fingers at me.

"Bye police woman."

* * *

I went to the station to fill in Lanny, Ginny and Maisey on my "meeting" with Dee Dee, conveniently leaving out the fact that I watched her and Janelle have sex. I assured them that Dee Dee was reliable and would confirm that Jumbo was being framed. It was up to us to get the thumb drive.

There wasn't much to do until I got Dee Dee's confirmation. I went back to the Royal Palms to catch up on my sleep. But sleep isn't what I got. I got a jolt.

My phone rang in the middle of the night. I picked up my phone off the nightstand and looked at the name of the caller. It was Elaine. It was 3 a. m.

"You need to get here right away."

"Where?"

"The morgue."

Fuck.

"Why?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"I think it's Moira Kinnison."

Fuck.

"I'll be right there."

* * *

I went outside to cooler night air. The mugginess was gone, much to my relief. The streets were empty as I made my way to the morgue. All the while I wondered if there was anything I could have done to save Moira. Unfortunately I couldn't save anyone, and Moira didn't want to be saved. Heroin addiction and prostitution was not a ticket to a long life and now she was likely dead. I felt terrible.

The building I pulled up to was dark and monolithic, a fitting place to house a morgue. The front door was locked so I called Elaine.

She came to the door gowned up. I could only see her eyes, but what I could see wasn't good. She unlocked the glass door and opened it.

"Sorry about the news," she said.

"Are you sure it's her?" I asked hopefully.

"Pretty sure," she said. "She certainly matches the picture that's been circulating. She was found in an abandoned warehouse, slumped over. Looks like an OD. I'm getting her dental records to verify her identity."

It sounded like it was her.

"Double fuck."

"Yeah."

* * *

Elaine's examining room smelled like death. She handed me a small container containing a clear salve. I put some under my nose to lessen the smell. We went over to the body, laid out on a stainless steel table. It was Moira. There was no doubt in my mind. Her skin was ashen and her eyes were closed as if she was asleep.

"It's her," I said with regret. I was unsuccessful in fighting back tears.

"I'm sorry Max."

"OD?" It didn't make sense. Moira was careful, or at least I thought.

"No ID on her. Just a syringe still stuck in her arm and a brown envelope with two stars stamped on it."

"Nothing else?" I asked.

"Nothing else according to the preliminary police report."

That meant the thumb drive was gone. I felt more strongly that her death was staged. She kept that thumb drive close to her.

Elaine went to her computer and pulled up a photo of the scene where Moira was found. There was an image of the envelope.

"That's Jumbo's," I said.

"The cops that brought her in said that the word on the street is that Jumbo did it. Ray Kinnison had commissioned a hit on Jumbo so this was his revenge."

"That's what I heard too," I said, "but I don't believe it."

"Why so?"

"Because Jumbo doesn't have a motive."

"I heard Ray commissioned a hit on Jumbo a while back. Wasn't that Volkov, the guy you iced?"

"It was. But that's over and killing Moira isn't going to get anything from Ray. He offered a $100,000 reward, which is pennies for him. He doesn't give a shit about Moira. I think it might have been him."

"I was just about to request a toxicology report . . ."

"Put a rush on it. They're pointing to Jumbo but it may not be his stuff. Do you have the powder in the brown envelope that was found at the scene?"

"I have a sample. Let me finish up here. The lab opens at 8 a. m. We can deliver both the blood sample and the powder in person to expedite it."

"How long does it take for the preliminary results?"

"Couple hours, tops, if you know the right person."

"Do you?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

"I'll wait till you're done."

"It'll take me about an hour to wrap things up here, so I should be done, say 4:30?"

"That gives us three and a half hours to kill until the lab opens."

* * *

I took a seat in the lab and watched Elaine practice her craft on Moira. Poor Moira. She was probably a pawn in a game of chess between Jumbo and Ray. My guess is that Ray thought he'd kill two birds with one stone by framing Jumbo and getting rid of a perceived problem. Moira mentioned she had a teddy bear with a back-up thumb drive. I needed that.

My jaw clenched tight. I could feel my temples pulsing as Elaine rolled the stainless steel tray holding Moira's body into a compartment of a refrigerated vault, the door shutting with a loud click. The chill of the room cut through the leather jacket I was wearing. Elaine took off her disposable gloves with a "snap" and looked at me with sadness in her eyes.

"As long as I have done this job, it still breaks my heart to see young women like Moira - - lives wasted," Elaine lamented to me. She took off her rubber smock and hung it on a hook and did the same for her face shield. Underneath she was wearing a baggy red Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt and a pair of ripped jeans.

She saw my eyes travel to her makeshift outfit.

"It's what I could grab at 1 a. m.," she said by way of excuse. "It's my daughter's."

Daughter? She'd never mentioned she had a family. A topic for another time.

"I'm numb," I said. "I need to feel something . . . anything . . . Elaine. Right now I feel dead inside. I either need a drink or a fuck, or both."

"I feel the same way Max. I think we need each other as much as we want each other."

"Let's make love instead of having sex," I said, spur of the moment. I needed an emotional connection with her. The sex was great, but that only got you so far.

Elaine kissed me, shabby clothes and all, and hugged me close, her petite body smothered by mine.

"I want to Max. Let's go to my place this time."

* * *

Elaine's apartment was tucked into the upper floor of a prewar brick building on a quiet street near Park Highlands. It was the kind of place that suggested tenets who read books and collected art to pass the time - - an ivy covered façade, wrought iron railings, and a uniformed doorman wearing white gloves.

The doorman tipped his cap but said nothing as he held open the front door for the two of us, entering a lobby from the Gilded Age, a black and white marble tiled checkerboard, a gleaming polished brass mail chute that was taken out of service long ago. The mailbox panel was made of oak, darkened by decades of use, with brass doors bearing holders with hand lettered names in curling script. I saw Elaine's name and next to it was "Apt. 6B."

The elevator floor indicator was an old school semi-circle with an arrow pointing to the floor, though the elevator itself was modern, with dark wooden panels to give it an older feel. I followed Elaine onto the elevator. As the elevator ascended Elaine reached out to hold hands as we stood there silently until it hit the 6th floor.

"This is home," Elaine said as the elevator door opened. The hallway was dim and hushed, the walls painted a pale taupe and a dark burgundy runner with a gold border. We walked to her apartment at the end of the hall, the thick carpet muffling the sound of our footsteps. Elaine opened her apartment door and I felt transported to a physical manifestation of her personality - - soft slate gray walls, cool and clean, broken by black and white Japanese wood block prints. Her floor to ceiling bookshelf contained pathology reference books mixed with her vinyl collection, mostly jazz, and a restored Marantz receiver and turntable.

I lived in the squalor of the Royal Palms. Elaine lived in a luxurious cocoon. I wondered if we were truly compatible.

"Have a seat, anywhere," Elaine said to me, pointing to the two Eames-style lounge chairs with walnut shells and black leather cushions and then the mid-century modern sofa with squared off arms. It was apparent from the lack of wear on the furniture that she rarely had guests. I chose the sofa and leaned against the arm. Elaine left me to retrieve drinks. She returned a minute later with two tumblers.

"It's a Hakushu 12 year single malt," she said. "My favorite. I know it's early but I need a drink and I think you do too."

I wasn't into Japanese scotches, more like American rotgut. The scotch went down as smooth as silk. It made me want another one, though I resisted the urge.

"Let me see your bedroom," I said, giving her a not so subtle hint.

Elaine sipped the last of her scotch and put down her glass.

"Follow me."

* * *

Her bedroom was minimalist - - a low platform queen size bed, crisp white sheets and a black silk robe hanging on the back of tall black lacquered armoire. There were no photos on the wall and no clutter. Just a small alabaster Buddha on the nightstand illuminated by the soft flicker of a votive candle that Elaine lighted when we entered.

"You must be horrified by my living conditions," I said.

Elaine smiled, as if I'd said the wrong thing. "To the contrary Max, I think that your life juxtaposed against mine is exactly right. We're two extremes that are meeting in the middle - - and I mean the middle of my bed."

"I guess that's your way of saying we're sexually compatible and that's about it."

"It's not that simple Max. We both approach life with a single mindedness. We're driven to achieve results, no matter how we get there." Elaine chuckled. "And of course we're both dangerously oversexed."

"Speaking of which," I said, helping her pull her sweatshirt over her outstretched arms. I kissed her as I reached behind to unhook her bra. I cupped her breast without breaking our kiss. I felt something new, something stir inside me making me push her on her back. I wrestled her jeans off, leaving her only in a pair of white lace panties. The large dark spot on the gusset told me she wanted me as much as I wanted her. She flexed her hips up to allow me to slide her panties off. Her pussy was long straight black hairs, her lips jutting out, red, puffy and wanting. I couldn't stop my head from diving between her legs to suck in all of her, gorging myself on her wetness.

"Yes Max, lick me . . . make me cum," she urged me. We both needed a release - - a release from the horror we just witnessed in her morgue.

I tongued fucked her until her thighs trembled and I knew she was close. I sucked hard on her clit, drawing the nub out of its hood so I could lash it with my tongue.

"Yes . . yes . . . yes . . ."

Her moans echoed off the walls of her pristine bedroom, telling me that she loved me, or at least loved me in the way she was capable of loving. I kept licking and riding the wave as a gush of clear liquid erupted from her pussy. Then her breathing slowed and I knew it was over - - over but for the occasional aftershock that would make her body spasm. She rested her head on my shoulders, her lips touching my breast.

"That was . . . great Max."

I knew she was searching for another word, a better word, but none came to mind. There was a big wet spot on the fitted sheet.

"Yeah, great," I said. It wasn't great. It was epic. We both knew it. She admitted it while cuddling next to me.

"No one's made me cum like that, I usually don't squirt."

"No one's made me feel like you do Elaine."

She sat up and looked me in the eye. I felt her searching for something in mine.

"Is it love?" she asked me.

I thought I was in love (with Skylar Hobson), but after we broke up I questioned myself. Was it really love or an infatuation? I didn't feel a ripping sensation in my heart when we broke up. With Elaine I felt different. It would take me a while to sort out.

"I don't know Elaine. Maybe. It's a strong feeling and it's new."

"I feel the same way about you Max. I've never been in love before."

"Maybe it's just the sex," I said, my eyes going to the growing wet spot.

Elaine pushed me off the bed to change the fitted sheet and mattress pad.

"Maybe," she said, throwing the soaked sheet into the corner and going into her closet to retrieve a new set.

I watched her remake the bed.

"No empty vodka bottles on the floor," marveling at the cleanliness of her apartment.

She chuckled. "You're goofy Max, but your heart is in the right place."

"I'm not always sure," I said. "I've killed people."

"I'm sure there was a reason . . ."

"At least in my mind."

She looked at her watch. It was already 7:30 a. m.

"I think we have to go."

I watched Elaine as she went through her meticulously organized closet, selecting her outfit for the day. I picked up the clothes I wore the previous day and put them on. What a study in contrasts, Elaine and I.

"Nice place Elaine," I said as she leaned in and switched off the light before locking the door.

* * *

The toxicology lab was in the basement of a squat, gray municipal building on Evans Street near the overpass towards Queensgate. The building looked like a relic from the 60's, low-slung with rain streaked concrete walls and a rusty chain link fence protecting a near-empty parking lot.

We entered through a side door marked "City Health Services," though there was no receptionist, just a bored security guard reading yesterday's Enquirer. I asked where the lab was and the elderly man pointed to a set of stairs going down to the basement.

The basement hallway smelled of damp stone and old carpet cleaner. The fluorescent lighting overhead buzzed with a low mechanical whine.

"Almost makes the morgue feel cheerful," Elaine said to me as she studied her surroundings.

"And the Royal Palms palatial," I added.

The lab itself was guarded by a thick windowless metal door. We entered the waiting area, which consisted of three mismatched chairs, likely discarded by their prior owners, and a stack of magazines that looked they hadn't been refreshed since the 1980's. There was an open sliding glass window that had a receptionist on the other side. The woman looked like she'd been manning the desk since the Nixon administration.

"Is Phil here?" Elaine asked.

"He's in the back," she answered, but not moving a muscle. I could see through the window technicians in white lab coats scurrying around.

"Could you get him?"

The woman took a deep sigh as if Elaine asked her to run a marathon rather than take ten steps to the back.

"Who's Phil?" I asked Elaine.

"We need a favor. I know his weak spot."

"All right," I said, wondering what she meant.

I took a seat in one of the mismatched chairs and turned on my phone. No reception and no wi-fi. I rifled through the stack of magazines, picking up a March 2009 Popular Mechanics with the featured article "Future Weapons: Drones, Lasers and the Battlefield of Tomorrow." It was actually an interesting article, and I was engrossed in it when the door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" opened and a scrawny man, probably in his sixties, with a scraggly salt and pepper pony tail and a white goatee came through. He was wearing a 1970 era Genesis official tour t-shirt and faded blue jeans and a pair of safety goggles on his forehead.

"Max, meet Phil Stroot."

He gave me a limp handshake and then turned to Elaine.

"If you're here for the Dilaudid incident, I already filed the report."

"I'm not," she said firmly. "I'm here with Detective Pemberton and we need a match analysis stat."

Phil squinted at me like I was a rodent who wandered into the lab through a ventilation shaft.

"Now? What do you think this is, an episode of CSI? I've got three case logs ahead of you and a calibration issue on the mass spec. Try me in forty-eight hours."

Elaine smiled and reached into the pocket of her jacket. She withdrew a slim, polished wooden box. She set it on the receptionist's counter. The receptionist watched with interest but Phil was mesmerized.

"Is that . . ." the tech started to say, his hand trembling as he reached for it.

"Original 1912 Lemaire Fabt opera glasses," Elaine said proudly. "Brass frame, inlaid mother of pearl. Picked it up at a flea market. You still go to the symphony, don't you Phil?"

He didn't answer. He had opened the box and was cradling the glasses in his palm, like it was a religious artifact. His eyes went glassy.

"They're beautiful . . ."

"The sample?" Elaine asked.

"This'll take a few hours. I'll run the heroin sample and Moira's tox screen back to back."

Elaine took the glasses out of his hand and put them back in the box and the box back in her jacket pocket.

"I'll trade you the glasses for the report."

Phil looked as if Elaine had snatched his baby.

"I'm on it," he said.

"We'll be here waiting," Elaine answered.

We watched Phil dart back into the lab.

"Do you always carry around antique opera glasses in case you need to bribe a tech?" I asked her, taking back my seat.

She arched an eyebrow at me. "You don't?"

Elaine took a seat in the chair next to me and spread the jacket she was wearing over our laps. Then I felt her unbutton my pants and slip her hand down my panties.

"Might as well make good use of the time," she said.

The two hours of waiting time flew by. Then the door opened.

Phil came out holding a manila folder. He ran his finger down the printout he pulled from the folder.

"Blood tox confirms presence of fentanyl - north of twenty nanograms per milliliter. That's well past fatal. No trace of naloxone, so it hit hard and stayed in her system."

"And the heroin sample?" Elaine asked.

"Tested clean. Real stuff but cut with caffeine and mannitol, no fentanyl. This is from a different source."

"That makes two dealers," I said to Elaine. "One to get her high and one to shut her up."

It was looking more and more like Ray.

Phil shrugged. "Someone wanted her dead. This wasn't a hot batch. This was a precision kill."

He handed the folder to Elaine. "If you need chain of custody docs see Denise upstairs."

Elaine handed Phil the box, which he quickly slipped into a deep pocket in his lab coat.

"Nice doing business with you Elaine."

He turned and left - - onto the next case. Elaine and I got what we wanted, but maybe not. It's not everyday that you find out a stepfather killed his stepdaughter.

* * *

I gave Elaine a ride back to the morgue before my planned visit to the office. She sat in the passenger seat of my Civic, one leg tucked under the other like she was sitting on the sofa, window rolled all the way down, watching her dark hair flutter in the breeze.

Neither of said much leaving the lab. She looked like herself again - cool, composed and untouchable. But last night in her bed her hands trembled just enough for me to feel as if she wasn't made of steel after all.

I finally broke the silence.

"Still thinking about the report?"

She shook her head slowly.

"No, I was thinking about last night."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, me too."

"What are we doing Max?"

"I don't know," I answered. "But it ain't nothing."

Her lips twitched - almost a smile. "You're not really the hearts and flowers type."

"No, more like two vodkas and a mattress type. But last night, it just didn't feel like sex with a stranger."

Elaine looked ahead, as if she was still guarding her emotions.

"I want to see you again Max."

I glanced sideways at her.

"I feel the same. But I've got a lot to do now that we know this is probably a murder."

"I can wait," she said to me. "I've been waiting for thirty-five years, so a few days isn't going to hurt me."

We rolled up to the morgue. She looked at me and I leaned over and kissed her goodbye. We both let the kiss linger, not wanting it to end.

"Goodbye Max, hopefully not for good."

I gave her a little wave.

Then she was gone.

* * *

On the way back to the station I got an urgent text from Dee Dee to meet me at Spin City. I was nervous driving there, not knowing how'd she react to my appearance. She knew how close she was to drawing me into her sexual web. She wasn't in her usual spot in front so I went inside, smelling cheap detergent and stale humid heat.

Tien waved to me as I walked in. He was humming a tune though his radio wasn't on and he was intently studying a copy of The Daily Racing Form. All of had our vices, including Tien.

I spotted Dee Dee in the back near a row of dryers, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her leather jacket creaking as she shifted her weight on her high heeled pointed toe black boots. She was wearing her trademark red lipstick and smiled when she saw me coming.

"You came fast," she said. "Didn't think you would."

"You said it was important. I know you don't do melodrama," I said.

She let out a breath and then a laugh. "You're right, I don't."

I leaned against a dented washer. "So what's up?"

"It wasn't Jumbo," she said flatly. "That shit with Moira. He had nothing to do with it."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Sure as you're standing there. I looked him in the eye. He told me straight that he never laid a finger on that girl. I believed him. Said if he did it you'd know. But killing young girls isn't his style."

"Did he say who did?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. Word on the street is that Ray Kinnison paid for it. Quiet, deliberate, like he was cleaning house."

I felt my stomach drop even though I'd already suspected it. Hearing it from Dee Dee made it real.

"I knew the bastard was dirty, but killing his stepdaughter? That's as cold as it gets."

Dee Dee shrugged. "People do some crazy shit to bury sins."

I figured we were done so I zipped up my jacket to show her I was leaving.

"There's more," Dee Dee said, stopping me in my tracks. "I didn't call you here just to talk shop."

I waited and wondered. Our last encounter was so sexually overcharged I didn't know we'd go from there.

She looked at me, her voice uncharacteristically wavering. "I don't know how to do this Max. To deal with real feelings. You're not like Janelle or the other girls I've had in my life. They take orders, do what I want and don't ask questions. You're . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words.

"I'm what?"

She chuckled to herself. "You're the kind that sees through my act and my bullshit. You're the kind of person who stays in my head even when you're gone. You scare the hell out of me. I hate it."

"What about last time?" I asked.

Dee Dee took a deep breath. "I didn't know how to reach you. I figured I could do it through sex. You're addicted to it and Janelle's one sexy bitch. I thought you wouldn't be able to resist."

"I almost didn't," I confessed. "But I kept having visions of Lily with a bullet in her head."

"And maybe you don't want a woman who was raised on the streets who only knows how to fuck and fight?"

"Maybe I want a woman who shows up when it counts. Who tells me things that matter. Who faces down a gang boss to extract the truth."

Dee Dee's guard was down. I could see behind the swagger.

"You ever get scared?" she asked me.

"All the time," I said. "Difference with most folks is that I don't run from it."

She stepped closer to me, close enough to kiss.

"I don't want to screw this up," she said.

"Then don't. Let's just see how this plays out."

I gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"You stay safe now. We'll figure this out . . . one way or another."

When it rains it pours. Two weeks ago I was alone. Now I had a doctor who examined dead bodies and a gangster who put them there both telling me they were interested in a relationship with me, but neither able to figure out how. Another fucked up day in Max's world.

* * *

Armed with the toxicology report and Dee Dee's confirmation it was time to tackle Ray Kinnison head on. It was early morning at the station. I went into Muenster's office with a plan in mind. With his help it just might work. He usually got in early like me, and was standing at his window looking out and drinking a mug of station coffee. The blinds were all the way up and the hazy morning sun cast a glow in his office. He was tall and lean as a fencepost, shoulders slightly stooped after thirty years of desk duty and patrol. He worked his way up the ranks during his tenure in Canton and earned the respect of the officers here because he paid his dues, his stint in IA notwithstanding.

I explained to him that I wanted to interview Kinnison with Maisey to see if I could shake any additional leads from what he told us. In truth, I just wanted to get into his house.

Muenster's reaction was predictable.

"You want to poke the bear Max?" he asked me. "Fine. Just know that this one has big claws. Ray Kinnison's got money, lawyers and a contact list that reaches from City Hall to the goddamn Chamber of Commerce."

I tried to reassure him. "I'm not looking to poke. I'm looking for cracks. There are big gaps in Moira's timeline and I want to see how he tells it. Something useful might come out."

Muenster folded his arms and faced out the window, looking at the activity in the parking lot. Officers were getting their cars ready for morning patrol.

"What makes you think he'll say a word? We know he didn't give a shit about Moira."

"He'll talk," I said. "Not because he cares but because he wants to control the narrative. Guys like him always do. Me and Saliba will go in soft - let him feel like we're coming to him for answers. Like we're giving him the stage."

Muenster pivoted, looking at me with steely gray eyes.

"I remember what you said when Moira turned up dead. 'Someone signed the order.' Do you think it was him?"

"If he didn't I think he knows who did it. Moira was scared of him and had a reason. But none of that matters if you don't build it right."

Muenster put his hands on his desk and leaned forward.

"Look, I get it. She meant something to you and you want to make this stick. But you get one chance. You go in there and accuse him and he's going to shut down. Or worse, call in a few favors. Then I'm signing suspension papers for you."

I knew that was coming. I always played close to the line - the line between right and wrong, and sometimes over it. The job - - the job was all I had - - but finding and punishing Moira's killer was more important.

"Wasn't it easier when the bad guys wore black hats?" I asked him on the way out.

Muenster took a big sigh. "God help all of us if you find what you're looking for."

* * *

Kinnison's place was in Mount Lookout, a ritzy suburb with a panoramic view of downtown. Long circular driveway, flagstone front walk, front pillars fat enough to hold up an ego twice Kinnison's size. I'd seen estates like this before - - old wealth scrubbed so clean it smelled like privilege. It screamed "I don't need to impress you - I already won."

But underneath? Always rot.

We were buzzed in at the gate and parked next to a low stone retaining wall and passed a hedgerow clipped to military precision with enough native landscaping to pass for tasteful.

A security man met us at the front walk - blazer, earpiece and bulge in his jacket showing the outline of his shoulder holster. I was sure he had a permit. Saliba flashed him her badge and he buzzed us in the door without a word. We waited in the entry - cool slate floor, abstract sculpture, overhead chandelier, the air scented with fresh cut flowers. I heard footsteps on the stone floor and in walked Ray Kinnison.

He was tall, maybe six-two, lean, fit in a golf/tennis and red wine way. Tanned face, silver at the temples and jaw as sharp as a meat slicer. His button-down shirt was pale blue and pressed to perfection. Tan cashmere sport coat over it. A man who knew exactly what effect he had on people and used it like currency.

I kept my expression blank as we held out our badges.

"Mr. Kinnison," I said. "Detective Max Pemberton, Cincinnati PD, and this is Special Agent Maisey Saliba, FBI."

Saliba gave him a professional nod, her tone crisp.

"Thanks for making time for us," she said.

She looked every inch Bureau. Navy blazer, perfectly pressed white blouse, dark slacks tailored sharp over low black heels. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a smooth twist, not a hair out of place. Calm, polished, and warm enough to make people want to talk.

Kinnison eyes went from me to Maisey, no doubt admiring her beauty. He then gave us a magazine smile and offered us a hollow promise.

"Of course, anything I can do to assist in your investigation."

He stepped aside and led us through a short hall into a living area that looked like a spread from Architectural Digest - sunlight filtering through sheer linen curtains, windows overlooking a rose garden, furniture in shades of sand and gray. Nothing personal in sight. No pictures of Moira. Just curated taste from a professional designer that spoke quiet money.

He gestured toward a pair of matching leather armchairs across from a low glass coffee table. We sat, he didn't.

"I understand this is about your investigation into Moira's death," he said, hands clasped lightly behind his back.

Saliba took the lead, professional but gentle.

"We're looking to clarify a few details. Filling in gaps in her last few weeks. Places she might have stayed. Friends she might have visited."

He nodded, with an expression that showed concern. He was good at it. It almost looked real.

"Of course. I'll do whatever I can. I'm afraid Moira and I . . . we haven't spoken in some time."

He sat then on the matching sofa across from us. I watched him carefully. No tension in his hands. No twitch in his jaw. Just practiced control.

I couldn't resist a little poke, mindful of Muenster's admonishment.

"She didn't mention anything she was holding onto - - papers, a laptop - - that she wanted kept safe?"

He tilted his head as if trying to recall. I knew he was trying to figure out what angle I was playing.

"No . . . not to me. I don't believe she had anything like that. When she left I don't think she took much with her."

That's when Maisey stood up, blinking furiously and cupping her eye.

"I'm afraid I got some dust under my contact lens," she said.

Kinnison gestured towards the hall. "Second door on the left. There's saline in a drawer under the sink."

She stood and moved smoothly out of the room, blinking and dabbing her eye with a tissue like it was really bothering her. We watched her leave the room before I turned back to Kinnison, poking a bit harder.

"Did Moira ever say she was scared? Not in general but of someone in particular?"

I meant him and he knew it. He met my stare down without blinking.

"No. I think if she was afraid of anything she was afraid of herself."

I gave him a look that said "bullshit."

And that's when it hit.

BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEEP . . . BEEP

It was the smoke alarm. A pulsing shriek that reverberated off the walls. I saw his two man security detail scramble in different directions.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'll be right back. Damned alarm is twitchy. Must be a spider in it."

He strode out of the room. I could hear a radio hissing in the distance. I stayed seated, legs crossed, eyes on the window. Let them chase the phantom.

Two minutes later Saliba returned. No blinking now. Jacket smooth. Calm. She pointed to the inside pocket of her blazer and gave me a wink.

"We got what we came for," she said to me.

We waited in silence for a few minutes. Ray returned, looking a bit harried.

"We're going to have to reset the security system. I'm afraid it's going to take a while so I'm going to have to postpone our session. Can we continue this later?"

I knew about security systems. A faulty alarm wouldn't take much time to correct. He had an excuse to get rid of us and took it. He didn't know we'd already gotten what we wanted.

Maisey and I got up at the same time.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she said. "To be continued."

"Anytime," he said.

He saw us to the door. As we walked to the car I looked back at him on the porch and gave him a wave.

"Goodbye asshole. See you in court," I muttered under my breath.

* * *

We got back to the station just before five, going straight to the break room where Lanny and Ginny were awaiting our return. Summer light slanted across the squad's hangout, catching dust motes and empty coffee cups on the tables. Phones rang in the background and Ginny was scolding my partner.

"I'm telling you, if you cut jalapeños and then touch your face, that's on you . . ."

Maisey and I watched, amused, as Lanny shook his head in pain.

"I wasn't trying to touch my face. I was sweating, and . . . well . . . I didn't think about it till I touched the inside of my nose."

"Maybe you should have left the slicing to someone with working sinuses and common sense."

"This coming from the woman who burned microwave popcorn and set off the smoke alarm?"

They both realized I'd returned and halted their conversation.

"Don't stop on account of me," I said. "This was just getting good."

"Looks like you just got out of court," Ginny said to us. Lanny was trying not to rub his nose.

"We were just at Kinnison's house so I guess that's about the same thing," I said.

Maisey didn't say a word. Instead she reached into her pocket and plopped the thumb drive on the table.

The jalapeño pepper debate was over. We all looked at drive - - small, black and scuffed on the edges.

"Found it in a stuffed bear in her bedroom," Maisey said to me. "Just like Moira told you."

Then she turned to Ginny. "Your research was spot on. It was a good idea retrieving the plans of Ray's house from the building department. I found Moira's bedroom in no time."

Ginny smiled as if she'd won the lottery.

"Not so fast on the victory lap," I said, handing the drive to Ginny. "Let's see what's on it. Make two clean copies, one for you and one for Maisey. Wipe the casing clean and put it into an evidence bag. We'll return it to its rightful place when we re-interview Ray. Nothing touches the department network. Understood?"

Ginny nodded. "Give me twenty minutes."

"You gonna loop this into your case file?" I asked Maisey.

She nodded. "We've been tracking Ray's financials but nothing stuck. If this drive has emails, photos or anything time stamped we ought to be able to thread it back to the people moving cash or product for him."

"Or whoever killed her," I said. "Whatever's on that thing Moira risked her life to hide."

Moira was gone. But the dead don't stay buried. She might have left behind the one thing that would finally bring her stepfather to his knees.

* * *

I got in bright and early, prompted by an excited phone call from Ginny. She and Maisey had pulled an all-nighter to pull apart the data on the thumb drive. We met at Ginny's cube with a fresh pot of my special roast. Lanny was there with a white wax paper bag with donuts from Bea's. I fished out my chocolate old fashioned and took the first satisfying munch as Ginny pulled up a screen on her personal laptop.

Maisey arrived a minute after me, flipping through the bag to find a glazed donut, her blazer off and her sleeves rolled up. I admired her hard body and remembered she didn't play for my team. Too bad.

"Tell me what you found," I said to Ginny.

My ace junior detective looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Payment. Fifty grand. Wired to an offshore account in the Caymans. It was an account listed in the ledger Moira copied."

"Whose account?" Lanny asked. He was leaning against the partition and checking out Maisey, sans her usual jacket, her breasts prominent in her fitted blouse.

"It's a shell. Caribbean Energy Logistics Ltd. It's a paper front. Maisey and I cross-referenced the routing tags and time stamps."

Maisey pulled out her notepad. "We've had a Bureau tag on that account for quite a while. It's used by a contract killer we've been following. We don't have a name yet but with this info we'll find him. We've already linked payments to three hits - - on in Atlanta and two in Denver. Cash comes in, cash goes out and then someone ends up dead."

"Who sent it?" I asked.

Ginny clicked again to another screen and pointed to one of the line items. We all huddled around the screen to see it.

"Traceback to a trust fund out of Chicago. Two steps removed from Kinnison Holdings. Ray's name isn't on the transfer but belongs to one of his old lawyers. The guy is about to be disbarred."

I leaned in, jaw tight.

"So Ray didn't want her quiet. He paid someone to make her go away . . . permanently."

Maisey nodded slowly. "That's our conclusion as well."

"So Moira got hit by a pro?"

"Looks that way," I said. "And Ray was trying to get a two-fer, blaming Jumbo for the hit."

"What a fucking scumbag," Ginny said.

"I want to see him with his new locking bracelets on," I said.

* * *

We reinterviewed Ray three days after the thumb drive discovery. He played the grieving stepfather again - smooth lies wrapped in linen and false humility. Maisey carried out the real agenda while I kept our conversation to small talk and leading questions he was easily able to answer. She excused herself with a "phone call from D. C." A few minutes later she was back, no one the wiser that the thumb drive, wiped clean of fingerprints, was back safely in Moira's childhood bear.

Forty-eight hours later the Bureau hit the place with a federal search warrant supervised by Maisey. Miraculously they "found" a thumb drive that provided a road map to Ray's illegal enterprises. More importantly it disclosed the fifty grand payment to a contract killer the bureau tracked down through its Tulsa office. Within a week Ray Kinnison was in cuffs, indictments sealed. I watched on the TV in my office Ray's perp walk from the federal magistrate's courtroom to a black SUV idling in front of the court house, hands cuffed. The scrolling banner at the bottom said that he was being led by Special Agent Majedah Saliba. She looked sharp in her dark suit and sunglasses and Ray looked defeated, his mouth pressed tight and his eyes trained forward as if the cameras weren't there, the illusion of power and control shattered.

I stood up fast, heart thudding, eager to share the good news with Lanny and Ginny. We'd done it. We'd gotten justice for Moira.

* * *

I stepped into the break room grinning. Ginny was leaning against the counter with two hands on her coffee cup. Lanny was slouched in one of the plastic chairs, flipping his badge over and over like a coin. Neither looked up when I came in.

Something was wrong.

"Hey," I said. "Why the long faces?"

Lanny looked up at me - - eyes heavy, mouth set. He stopped turning the badge.

"Haven't you heard?" he asked me.

My grin slipped.

"No," I said, my pulse quickening. "What?"

He swallowed hard. "Dee Dee got hit. This morning. Outside Spin City."

I couldn't breathe.

"How bad?"

I knew the answer but I had to know for sure.

"Double tap to the back of the head," Lanny said. "Execution style. Broad daylight. On her knees."

Ginny didn't say anything, just staring at the floor.

Lanny spoke softly, which wasn't his style.

"The names of those two guys she barbequed in the warehouse were written on her forehead with her red lipstick."

It felt as if the floor tilted underneath me and my knees wanted to buckle.

"Haitian crew that's trying to horn in on Jumbo's territory," Lanny said. "Word is they wanted to make it loud . . . and public. It was a message. It was personal."

I took a step back and leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. It hurt. The same kind of hurt I felt when Lily died. The red lipstick - her calling card - - was turned against her.

We'd won one and then lost her.

And as always I was left standing in the wreckage of people who crossed paths with me.

My head hung low. The pain was excruciating.

"This job," I said, barely above a whisper. "Everyone I touch either runs or dies."

I stared at the wall for a long time. The coffee pot hissed and somewhere down the hall a phone was ringing. Life kept going. But Dee Dee was gone, and I'd be the one to carry that weight for the rest of my life.

The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.

* * *

Max will return in "The Red Lipstick War."