One More Life To Live

So, Tony decides the bootleg business is too risky, and starts up his own private Hollywood in his apartment. Wouldn’t be too hard. He’d easily find some girls who’d do about anything for the hundred or so he paid them. He probably got the coke addicts for less. I’d scanned through a couple of the flicks. The models were pros, all right, but they were in a different kind of acting profession. The guys were pretty rough looking. He’d probably gotten them off the street, too. I didn’t even try to find any of them. Somehow, I doubted Rocky Shank or Kitty Furr were in the phone book.

I called a couple of the adult bookstores in his receipt book. They knew Tony Clay. He had the best deals on specialty porn of all their suppliers. Four-ninety-five a copy in lots of twenty-five. There were about four hundred receipts in Tony’s book for the last month alone. He wouldn’t be doing too bad with about twenty-thousand a month in sales.

I had lunch at a little pizza place before going back to the station. There were two faxes on my desk. The first, from the state print lab, was a washout. They didn’t have any prints on file that matched my mystery person. The second, from the FBI, made me smile. I had a name.

The prints belonged to a Debra Hastings from Cincinnati. I had to look twice at the fax. The prints were taken in 1968. Debra had been nineteen when she was arrested at a campus anti-war rally. That would make her fifty-four now. The black and white photos of the little brunette weren’t very clear, but I could tell she was scared to death. The description said five-six and a hundred twenty pounds, no distinguishing marks.

I called Cincinnati information and got the numbers for every Hastings in their listings. After talking to three people who said they’d never heard of Debra, and one five-year-old girl whose mommy was in the shower, I found Debra’s brother.

“Sorry Detective, but you’ve made some sort of mistake. Debra was killed in 1969, a boating accident in Duluth, Minnesota.”

“I really hate to ask you this, but are you very sure?”

“If you mean did I go to the funeral, no. Mom had me late, and I was only two then. I don’t even remember Debra except from pictures.”

“Could I have your parent’s phone number?”

His voice choked a little.

“Mom passed away two years ago. Cancer. Dad’s been gone six months now. He never got over losing Mom. The doctor said he just gave up.”

“I’m very sorry for asking. Is there anyone else who could confirm her death?”

“No, I doubt so. Debra and I were the only children. The rest of the family lives in California, but it’s been years since we’ve been in contact. I wouldn’t know how to get in touch with any of them. There was a death certificate and some pictures in Dad’s stuff, but I threw all that out when he died. It reminded me about him too much.

“That’s all right. I can get one from the recorder’s office in Duluth. Sorry for bringing up bad memories, and thanks for your help.”

So, either the FBI was confused, or I had a corpse walking around the city shooting people. I asked the lab to confirm the identification, and called the recorder’s office in Duluth. The clerk was very apologetic. The city had only gotten as far back as 1980 in the conversion of paper files to electronic data. She promised they’d do their best to locate Debra’s death certificate, but it would probably take a couple days.

About five, I gave up trying to think and grabbed a burger at Del’s for dinner. The TV got boring after nine-thirty so I called it a day. At a little after eleven, I got tired of tossing and turning. Angie was bothering me, but not because of the murder. She recognized me when I walked into Phil’s.

“Didn’t believe me, huh? Well, I still don’t know anything.”

“This is just a social visit. Got any coffee in that pot?”

She sat the cup in front of me.

“So, you gonna go talk to Sandy, or you like Jackie better? According to what the guys in here say, Sandy’s the best at blowjobs, but Jackie will let you, uh…, take the road less traveled, so to speak.”

“I’m not really into either, and besides, I’d feel like I was doing it with my daughter. I was hoping to talk with you, actually.”

“You have a daughter?”

“No. I was married once, but uh, well, it’s hard being a cop’s wife. We split up before we had any kids. That probably was the only thing I did right with her. I’d like to have a daughter, though.”

“Too bad. I always wanted kids, but I never got around to it. Life kind of fucks you over sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Some guy down the bar yelled for a refill, and Angie left. In a few minutes, she was back.

“So, why’d you want to talk to me? Your apartment really that bad?”

“The apartment’s OK. It’s the company that’s boring. I figured you’d be better.”

Angie let herself relax a little, and grinned.

“This is the first time in my life I’ve been told I was better than an empty apartment. Is that a good thing?”

“It is from where I’m sitting.”

We talked, between her bartending demands, until eleven. It was then I realized we’d only talked about me. Angie was very good at her job.

“So, Angie, how’d you come to be a bartender?”

“Just fell into it, I guess. I was waiting tables uptown, and when things got slow, I’d go talk to the bartenders. They taught me how to mix drinks and talk to customers to keep them buying. I liked it, and it paid better. I didn’t get felt up all the time, either.”

“Seems like you could do better than this place. Must get really scary around here after you close up.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

“You sure this is just a friendly talk? I already told you I don’t know anything about the other night.”

“It’s friendly. I just figured you’d be afraid of being here by yourself, especially after what happened.”

“I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a lot of years. I have some pepper spray in my purse for the guys who won’t take no for an answer. I’ve used it a couple of times, too.”

‘I’d be better than pepper spray.”

“And how would that be?”

“Oh, for instance, I could stick around here until you close up, and then take you home. Save you cab fare, too.”

“I usually hit this all-night diner right after work. Sorry.”

“Hey, all the better. Nothing like a plate of eggs and bacon at three in the morning to get me ready for the next day’s work.”

I ended up having pancakes and sausage. Angie had the eggs. I dropped her at her apartment a little after five. Wasn’t any use trying to sleep for just an hour, so I showered and went in early.

I’d just sat down when the Captain walked up and tossed a file folder on my desk.

“I know you have that alley murder on your plate already, but this one should be easy, and it’s in the same part of the city. Old whore they found yesterday afternoon in that abandoned factory out on Jenson. She probably OD’d. Check it out and see what you come up with. You oughta have enough time before you bail, you lucky son of a bitch.”

I opened the folder and looked at the photos taken at the scene. The woman was old for a hooker and she looked used-up. I could imagine she’d spent the last few years doing anything for anybody in order to buy dope. A length of rubber tubing, a bottle cap, and a syringe lay beside her body. Janet’s report would say an overdose of heroin was the cause of death. The only difficult question would be if she had injected herself or if someone else had done it. There were two sets of prints in the folder, one from the body and one off the syringe. I sent the prints to the lab for a match, and tossed the folder in my inbox. Like Joe had said, this one would be easy.

My murder case wasn’t going any better. Ballistics had finally gotten around to matching the slug from the scene to the little pistol, so I didn’t have to look for another murder weapon, but Duluth hadn’t yet found Debra’s death certificate. The same clerk promised “Maybe tomorrow”. I spent the day showing Tony’s picture to every hooker, wino and bag lady in a three-block radius of Phil’s. By four, all I’d learned was that Tony had often asked hookers to star in his films. There were a few who said he’d gotten a little rough with them, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. I needed a shower and some sleep.

A funny thing about getting older is that sometimes you can’t sleep as long as you’d like. Angie seemed almost glad to see me when I walked into Phil’s at two.

“You must be desperate. My coffee’s not that good.”

“Maybe it’s not the coffee.”

“Well, unless you’re into toilets, it sure as hell isn’t the atmosphere.”

“Maybe I like eating breakfast with you at three in the morning? Ever think of that?”

Angie seemed stunned for a few seconds. She just looked at me like she was trying to decide what to say.

“Why would you like that?”

“You’re a woman. That’s a good start. You’re a pretty woman. That’s even better. I think I like you. That’s three reasons. Need some more?”

“But I’m just a bartender in a lousy bar. You’re –“

“I’m just a burnt out old cop who’s been alone for a long time. I don’t like being alone. It sucks.”

“You don’t look that old, and you don’t look burnt out. You’re respectable, and I’m…, well, I’m not.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. Can I take you home again? I’ll buy breakfast this time.”

Angie locked up the bar at three-fifteen, and I drove us to the diner. We left at four-thirty. I was pleasantly stuffed with more pancakes and sausage. Angie’d had french toast. We did a lot of talking over the meal, and I was starting to like Angie more all the time. She seemed to enjoy being with me, too. When I walked her to the door of her apartment building, she slipped her arm in mine.

She checked her mailbox, then let us in and led the way to the second floor. The building wasn’t fancy, and I imagined the apartments didn’t rent for much. Angie stopped at number 206.

“Well, this is home, such as it is. Would you like to come in for a while?” She looked at the floor. “I could make us some coffee…, or something.”

“I’d like that.”

Her apartment was furnished in a hodgepodge of styles and there wasn’t really much of that. The living room had a couch covered by a colorful throw, a matching chair, and a coffee table. Under the single window was a table with a typewriter and a chair. A couple pictures hung on the walls, and a worn, flowered rug camouflaged the beat-up wood flooring. The kitchen wasn’t really a kitchen at all. It had a tiny stove and refrigerator, a sink, a few cabinets, and a bar with two stools, all tucked into one corner of the living room. Angie filled the percolator with water and coffee, and sat it on one of the stove burners. Blue flames licked at the bottom when she turned the knob.

“I’m going to get into some different clothes. Make yourself at home.”

The couch was old, but comfortable. Mine had a soft spot in the center cushion, but Angie’s seemed to have survived the years without breaking any springs. I looked at the coffee table. There were a couple of women’s magazines and one picture in a small silver frame. The young girl with long brown hair who looked back at me would have been twelve or thirteen. Behind her was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Angie.

“That’s my mom. It was taken a lot of years ago.”

Angie had changed from the tight top and short skirt to a sweatshirt and jeans. In the top and skirt, she had been a little hard looking, but pretty and erotic. The jeans and sweatshirt made her look small, vulnerable, and beautiful. I had a sudden urge to take Angie in my arms and hold her.

“You look just like her. The little girl is you?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t a little girl. I was fifteen.” Angie shrugged. “I was kind of a late bloomer.”

“You’ve bloomed out just fine, in my opinion.”

“Well, lately, I’m blooming in places I rather not.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

“You don’t have to cram your butt in those little skirts or shorts every night, either. Now, it’s cream and no sugar, right?”

Angie sat the cups on the coffee table and plopped down beside me.

“So, what does a cop do when he’s not chasing bad guys or sitting in my apartment?”

“I already told you. Not much of anything.”

“No hobbies…, no…, women?”

“I get in some fishing when I can. I like the quiet of just sitting in a boat and letting the world go by. And, no, there are no women.”

“Why? You’re a decent looking guy, and any woman would feel really safe around you. I do.”

“Safe doesn’t make a relationship.” I gave her what I remembered as my best flirting smile. “Besides, most women don’t like the handcuffs.”

Angie giggled.

“Oh, a kinky cop. Should I be afraid?”

“No, not really. Not unless you’ve done something illegal.”

Angie’s face turned from a smile to a frown.

“Like shooting that guy, huh?”

“Yeah, that’d do it. It’d be hard to arrest you, but I would.”

“Why hard?”

“Because I like you. I like you a lot.”

The smile came back a little.

“I’m glad you like me. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed anybody to like me, and now….”

“Now what?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself? Why?”

“Because I’m getting old and I’m tired of being who I am. I want to have fun again, like I did when I was younger. Instead, I work all night in a lousy bar in a bad part of town, and sleep all day in this crummy apartment.”

“So what was fun when you were younger?”

“You’re going to think this is silly, but when I was in college, we used to have parties on the beach. We’d build a big fire, and drink wine and swim and…” Angie grimaced. “See, I said you’d think it was silly.”

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t on a beach, but we did the same things. There was this one place, back up in a field on a riverbank. I have a lot of fond memories of that place. So, you went to college?”

“Yeah. Never finished, but I went for a couple years. I was young and stupid and thought I was in love, so I quit to marry him. He took off before we made it to a church, and I never went back.”

“What was your major?”

“Journalism.”

“That would explain the typewriter, then.”

“I’m trying to write again. Thought maybe I’d get something published and I could get out of this hole.”

“So, what do you write about?”

“It’s going to be a romance novel. You know, Elizabeth gazes into his steel-blue eyes and something melts inside her. She pulls him down on the blanket and kisses him, etcetera, etcetera. Won’t get me the Pulitzer, but they pay pretty good.”

“You’ll have to let me read it sometime, especially that etcetera part.”

Angie chuckled. “It’s going to have a lot more et than cetera. Women who read romance novels like lots of cuddling and kissing and just enough sex so they can imagine for themselves, not naked people doin’ the dirty.”

“And how about you? Does Angie like to cuddle and kiss, or would she rather get down to the nitty-gritty?”

Angie grinned shyly.

“Well, that would depend on who’s doing the cuddling, kissing and how nitty the gritty is.” She wiggled across the couch and put her hand on my chest. Her lips were only inches from mine, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. “I, uh…, suppose we could find out, if you’d like to.”

Angie closed her eyes when I kissed her. I felt her slip her hand around my neck and pull herself closer. She kissed back for a few seconds and then pulled away.

“That part’s pretty nice. How are you at cuddling?”

She felt great in my arms. Angie was all softness and warmth against my chest and her breath was warm against my neck. I gently stroked her back through the sweatshirt and she wiggled against me.

“Mmmm, so far, so good. You have nice hands, you know that?”

I kissed her again and let my hands explore their way down her side to the curve of her hip. The soft, rounded swell felt good. So did the length of her thigh. I let my thumb slip around that thigh and gently caress the inside as I slipped my hand back up to her waist. Angie caught her breath when my thumb reached her tummy.

Without thinking, I slipped my hand under her sweatshirt and touched her bare skin. Angie jumped.

“Sorry, your hand is a little cold.”

I pulled my hand away but she grabbed it, slipped it back under the shirt, and whispered in my ear.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.”

Her bra was a flimsy thing and I could feel every curve through the thin material. I found her nipple and brushed my thumb over the small bump. Angie caught her breath again as the nipple pushed back at me. I brushed over it once more, and she moaned, “Yes”, in my ear.

It had been years since I’d tried to unhook a bra with one hand, but it all came back to me. The band pulled against the weight of her breasts when I released the last hook. I caressed around the little width of skin the band had wrinkled. Her breast was full and felt cool against my hand. The nipple rose taut from the rippled surface. I’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to lift and fondle a woman’s breast. I’d also forgotten how nice it felt to have a woman fondle my crotch. Angie felt for my belt buckle and unfastened it. She had a little trouble with the waistband snap, but presently I felt her pull the zipper down. When her fingertips caressed me through my shorts, it was my turn to shiver.

“What’s the matter? My hand cold too?”

“No. It’s just been a while, that’s all.”

Angie slipped her hand under the waistband of my shorts and felt down through the hair on my belly. With just a little effort, she pulled my cock up and began to gently stroke. I kissed her again and rubbed firmly over the tight nipple in my palm. Angie’s tongue searched for an opening between my lips. When I parted them, that soft little tongue found mine and sent shivers all through my body. Angie moaned again, squeezed my cock and pulled away. She stood up, took me by the hand, and led me to a doorway. We kissed again before she led me into the bedroom and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand.

The teddybear on the bed looked old, and Angie carefully placed it in the chair against the wall. After pulling back the spread and covers, she turned, put her arms around my neck and hugged me. I heard a throaty whisper in my ear.

“I…, I haven’t done this in a long time. Go easy, OK?”

I pulled the clip holster from my belt, sat the Smith on the nightstand, and stripped off my clothes. Once we were under the blankets, Angie snuggled against me and lifted her thigh over mine. I felt the soft brush of hair and warm soft skin. She mashed her breasts into my chest and pressed her warm, wet mouth into my lips. Her butt was incredibly soft in my hands. I gently stroked her flanks and then moved my hands to the sides of her breasts. The flattened mounds were pure satin. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.

It might have been a while since Angie had been with a man, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten how to excite one. She rolled to her side and stroked my belly. When her hand wrapped around my cock, I slipped a fingertip over the soft lips between her thighs. The little opening between them, just at the top, was parted slightly. I gently separated her curls before moving my fingertip inside. Angie stroked my shaft more firmly and opened her thighs. With her other hand, she pulled my face to her breast. My lips traced little kissing circles around the nipple, then nibbled at the wrinkles and tiny bumps around it, and finally sucked it into my mouth. Angie gasped and her hips lurched up into my hand.

I slipped my fingertip deeper and found the opening to her passage. Gently, because she was a little dry, I pressed the finger into her satin warmth. She was wet, there, and got wetter as I made little massaging motions. It must have been a long time for her. She was sensitive to every touch and every movement. I slipped my finger up to the little soft bump at the top of her lips and gently rubbed above it. Angie began to breathe faster. My tongue licked across her nipple and she lurched.