《Ladybug》


 Chapter I

    When the man leaped out of the shadows there had been no warning. The alley was dark, as black as sin, except for a thin glimmer of light from the street lamp that threw long finger-shaped shadows against the old red-brick buildings surrounding the alley.


    Janet Lehman didn¡¯t know she was walking through a dark, stinking alley, filled with the stench of garbage, black cats and dead rats. After four Mai Tai¡¯s in the night club she didn¡¯t know where the hell she was.


    She didn¡¯t often walk home alone; she liked to go clubbing with two of her acquaintances, Liz and Angela, but they were both out of town for the holidays, visiting relatives in the bay area. Janet left her car at her mid-town apartment that night; she walked over to the capital to watch the governor light the Christmas tree. It was a joyous evening, as children lined up to sit on Santa¡¯s lap and families gathered round to celebrate the annual event.


    After the crowd left Janet stood alone, looking up at the tall, brightly lit tree. She reflected for a moment on what it meant to be together, to have a family, to celebrate life. But she quickly dismissed the thought, turned brusquely away, and went off to do her own celebrating.


    She walked into the club around eleven o¡¯clock, sat at the bar, and drank her first Mai Tai. A young couple perched on one of the bar stools had their arms and legs wrapped around each other like two salty pretzels. An old Mexican with a drooping mustache sat at the end of the bar, half drunk, his head bent forward, pressed against his chest, his bloodshot eyes dancing to the rock and roll music from the jukebox in the corner. There were a dozen or so people gyrating on a circular dance floor. The room was close, and smelled from smoke.


    ¡°Another Mai Tai doctor?¡±


    Doctor Janet Lehman looked up at the bartender, a young, good-looking dark-haired kid wearing a Hawaiian shirt picturing surfer girls in bikinis and gigantic waves. He knew the lady¡­she¡¯d been a regular at the club for the past year.


    ¡°Yes¡­thanks,¡± she replied.


    The Mexican raised his drunken head and grinned at her. ¡°Hey doctor, can you make a house call for me tonight?¡± He laughed; a harsh, metallic laugh.


    ¡°She¡¯s no medical doctor, hombre, she¡¯s a doctor of philosophy,¡± said the bartender.


    ¡°Oh, a philosopher. Tell me, philosopher lady¡­what do you think of this stinkin¡¯ country?¡±


    ¡°Hey hombre --¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± said Janet. She thought for a moment, then she smiled at the drunken Mexican. ¡°As stinkin¡¯ countries go¡­this one¡¯s pretty damn good.¡±


    The Mexican rocked back on his bar stool and roared with drunken laughter. ¡°I think I like you, philosopher lady. You¡¯re stinkin¡¯ good.¡±


    He raised his beer mug and held it up toward her. She raised her glass and they drank.


    A tall, well-built youngster wearing slacks and a v-neck sweater came off the dance floor and put his empty glass on the bar. He beckoned to the bartender. ¡°Hey there chief, another beer please.¡±


    The bartender obliged. The young man had a pleasant face; in fact, he looked like the all-American boy; blond hair, x-football player, clean-cut, conservative.


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    He looked over at Janet and smiled. She could be a good pick-up, he thought. Loose-fitting blouse, short skirt, long black hair, deep dark eyes, full sensual lips, splendid firm breasts, slim, exquisite legs, a charming smile. He had instant fantasies of taking her home and stripping off her clothes for a midnight screwing. A natural instinct, a pure animal instinct.


    The bartender slid his refill across the bar. The young man picked up his beer and took a step closer to Janet. ¡°Care to dance?¡±


    She looked at the kid. He may have been five or six years younger than her. ¡°Why not,¡± she said, as she slid off the bar stool and walked over to the dance floor alongside the young man. An old rock-and-roll tune ¨C ¡®Twist and Shout¡¯ ¨C was playing on the juke box.


    Half an hour later they were seated at a table near the dance floor. She was drinking another Mai Tai, he was still drinking beer. The club was almost empty.


    ¡°That¡¯s your fourth Mai Tai,¡± said the young man. ¡°You trying to set a new record?¡±


    Through heavy eyelids she replied, ¡°I¡¯m celebrating; I signed my divorce papers this afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± he replied, lifting his glass in a toast, ¡°you have your freedom.¡±


    She looked long and hard at the young man. ¡°Is that what it is?¡±


    ¡°You said you were celebrating. We can go back to your place and celebrate some more.¡±


    She remained silent as she downed the last of her Mai Tai, took her purse off the table, and stood up.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need a blow torch to light my fire, lover boy.¡± She blew him a mock kiss, turned around, steadied herself, and walked out of the night club.


    It was well past midnight, there were no cars on the street, a deadly calm enveloped the city. Janet could hear the click of her heels scraping against the sidewalk. At the end of the block she stopped for a moment near the street lamp, brushed her long hair away from her face, reached into her purse, popped open a hand-held compact, and glanced at herself in the mirror. She saw someone she didn¡¯t like, a thirty one year old divorced obnoxious drunk.


    Janet promptly closed the compact, put it back in her purse, and stumbled into the alley. She kicked away some garbage as she walked through the shadows; a black cat dashed in front of her, the green eyes blazing in the darkness, and quickly vanished. ¡°What the hell is this, Halloween?¡± she said as she stumbled along.


    A voice came echoing through the alley. ¡°Hey, I found a blow torch!¡±


    She turned around and saw the young man running toward her. He was carrying a fire extinguisher. She started to laugh.


    ¡°Actually, it¡¯s a fire extinguisher. I carry one in my car, but it looks a little like a blow torch,¡± he said, smiling at her.


    Janet looked at him and shook her head. ¡°You aren¡¯t too bright, are you? Go home, lover boy.¡±


    She turned to walk away, but he threw down the fire extinguisher, grabbed her arm and spun her around. ¡°You want it, and I¡¯m here to give it to you.¡±


    He pulled her to him and started kissing her. She pushed him away and hit him with her purse. ¡°Get lost loser!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see who loses.¡± He pushed her up against the side of the alley and began tearing at her blouse. ¡°Knock it off!!¡± she screamed.


    He pulled her skirt up over her thighs. ¡°Stop, God damn-it!!¡± She kneed him in the groin. Enraged, he shouted, slapped her in the face and pushed her to the ground.


    It was then that someone leaped out of the shadows, put a long, thick arm around the young man¡¯s neck and dragged him away from her. Moments later she heard a shout of agony in the dark.


    Janet got up and composed herself as the man emerged from the shadows. He stood away from her, as if to reassure her that he meant no harm. Most of his black sweaty face was covered by a thick black beard. His bloodshot eyes were veined and watery ¨C another drunk, or a sleep disorder, she thought. He wore a long, moth-eaten dirty-looking overcoat and a pair of broken black and white sneakers. His black hair was a tangled knotted mess.


    ¡°You all right?¡± He had a deep, hoarse, frog-in-the-throat voice.


    ¡°I think so,¡± she said.


    He picked something up off the ground, a long, thin black case, and started to walk away. ¡°Wait!¡± she shouted.


    He stopped and turned to look at her. She pointed to the young man sprawled on the ground. ¡°Is he dead?¡±


    ¡°Unconscious,¡± the man replied. ¡°I hit him with the fire extinguisher.¡±


    Jan looked down at the body by her feet.


    ¡°You better go home,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes¡­I¡¯m going.¡± She watched the man vanish in the darkened alley, then she took a last look at her attacker. Her face became an iron mask of anger and revulsion.


    ¡°Loser!¡± she shouted, as she kicked the fire extinguisher away and walked on.

 Chapter II

    The next morning Janet Lehman sat at her desk on the twenty fifth floor looking out the window at the Capital bridge, a majestic gold-colored landmark that stretched across the Sacramento river.


    Some in the office thought the bridge would looks better if it were painted red, but Janet didn¡¯t like the color red; it reminded her of the many blood-splashed crime novels she had to read, not by choice but by necessity. Her employer, Finegold publishing, specialized in crime novels, thrillers and mysteries; she had dozens of manuscripts piled on her desk.


    As she looked out across the river to the fields and mountains beyond, Jan reflected on what happened, or almost happened, the night before. A real life crime had been committed; assault and attempted rape. She knew the attacker was a creep, but she couldn¡¯t help wondering if she had provoked him. That mock kiss in the nightclub might have set him off, she thought. Or maybe that ¡®lover boy¡¯ crack did the trick. To hell with it, she decided. He was no good, no better than her x-husband. She spun her chair around, and looked at the pile of fiction on her desk.


    But wait! Does he know where I live, she wondered, or where I work? No, I couldn¡¯t have been that drunk. On an impulse she reached into her handbag on the corner of the desk and checked her wallet. Yes, everything was there; her driver¡¯s license, credit cards, electric bill. What about fingerprints on that damn fire extinguisher? No, she hadn¡¯t touched it. And who is this mystery man who came to her rescue? Grungy looking fellow; he looked like he lived in that stinking alley. Ah well¡­he did what any decent person would do in that situation. Better to forget about him. In fact, better to forget about men.


    She pressed the intercom on her telephone. ¡°Susie, did we void that contract with Mister Lipschitz?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. Your husband, I mean your x-husband, met with Harry yesterday. He says his new novel may be a bestseller.¡±


    ¡°And you believed him?¡±


    ¡°He sounded sincere. What if he does have a bestseller this time?¡±


    ¡°With a name like Lipschitz he¡¯ll need a bestseller. I¡¯ll talk to Harry about it.¡±


    ¡°Do you need hot tea?¡±


    ¡°Please¡­my head¡¯s killing me today.¡±


    Janet sat back in her chair, pulled a manuscript off the top of the pile, and opened it. She reflected for a moment on the dangers of mixing business and pleasure. Never ever marry someone you do business with. It puts an immediate strain on the relationship, which inevitably, in Janet¡¯s case, leads to cheating. Peter Lipschitz wasn¡¯t a great writer, but he was a damn good lover, which was unfortunate, because he knew that he was a damn good lover, and that other women would eventually find out he was a damn good lover, and it was inevitable that he would exploit his only true talent. Janet smiled to herself.  Good-riddance, lover boy. I have a PHD in English Lit and you have a Bachelor¡¯s degree in borscht. I¡¯ll use my education to get me through life. When your rod wears out you¡¯ll be left with a cold-water flat, no hair on your head, and a welfare check to keep you warm at night.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your tea, Jan.¡±


    Janet¡¯s loyal, ambitious assistant, Susie Hampton, came in carrying a silver teapot, a dainty looking cup and saucer on a tray.  Susie was one of those perky, wide-eyed girls; she had a cute, Barbie-doll face, the little up-turned nose, the blond-haired pony tail, and a rather enticing figure. She had a high-pitched, rather squeaky voice that irritated certain people, but she was sharp, a good deal smarter than she looked. Her warm, friendly personality made people underestimate her, but Janet knew better. This babe wants my job, she thought, as Susie put the tea tray on her desk and gave her a warm, ingratiating smile.


    ¡°Can I bring you something for your hangover?¡±


    Janet shot her an irritated glance. ¡°What makes you think I have a hangover?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m psychic.¡± Susie giggled, an irritating high-pitched giggle. Janet was not amused. ¡°I¡¯m kidding¡­you told me yesterday you were going out on the town to celebrate your divorce.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, I did tell you.¡± Janet took a bottle of advil from her purse. ¡°What appointments do I have today?¡±


    ¡°None, so far.¡±


    Janet looked surprised. ¡°No appointments? It must be the holidays.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­it could be the holidays.¡± Susie sounded skeptical.


    ¡°Something going on?¡± Janet took two advil and sipped her tea as Susie leaned over the desk and lowered her voice.


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    ¡°I heard Harry and one of the executive editors talking in the break room. They want to off-load some of your business, some of your contacts.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You better talk to Harry.¡±


    Janet fumed. ¡°Damn right I¡¯ll talk to Harry.¡±


    Susie started toward the door, then turned abruptly. ¡°Oh, the retirement home called, to remind you about your visit today.¡±


    Janet¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Yes, today¡¯s Friday. I always visit him on Friday. Thanks Susie.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    Janet relaxed a bit. ¡°You look extra happy today.¡±


    Susie smiled. Her voice rose an octave. ¡°I¡¯m seeing someone.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­is it serious?¡±


    ¡°Could be, it hasn¡¯t been that long. But I really like him.¡±


    Harry Finegold ¨C CEO of Finegold Publishing ¨C was trying on a new toupee in his penthouse office. Standing in front of an ornate wall mirror, he wondered if it mattered. But he had always been a bit vain. He still looked good at age sixty eight, tall and thin, broad-shouldered, riveting blue eyes, although his silver hair had thinned until the overhead florescent bulbs lit up the naked pock-marked skin on top of his rather large, rounded head.


    Harry was old money; he took over the business from his father, Jacob Finegold, who started selling comic books and cheap paperbacks during the depression. He graduated to westerns and war books during the forties and fifties, and went full tilt on genre novels ¨C mysteries and assorted crime-related books ¨C until he died in nineteen ninety.


    Harry wanted to be an athlete. As a kid he didn¡¯t like reading textbooks or doing homework, but he always enjoyed a good novel.  When he broke his leg in three places during a college football game he gave up the idea of going pro and started working for his father.


    But when he took over the business after Jacob¡¯s death, an obnoxious glut of kiss-and-tell, self-help, and political scandal books began gobbling up market share.


    And then came e-books and self-publishing. He lost some of his best editors and writers ¨C they gave up, sold-out, and flushed themselves down the non-fiction drain. Harry was pissed. He was determined to be the last hold-out for a pure fiction house. But his company was on the rocks. He needed something¡­someone to bring them back from oblivion.


    ¡°Is my x-husband still under contract?¡±


    Harry stopped fidgeting with his toupee and spun around as Janet waltzed into his office. ¡°Jan, you still have to knock, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Sorry Harry, but you look better without the toupee.¡±


    ¡°You think I look better? I have a meeting with a writer¡¯s agent in ten minutes. She¡¯s new at the agency.¡±


    ¡°Does your wife know that?¡±


    Harry removed the toupee and sat down behind his long, polished mahogany desk. Janet stood in front of the desk, her arms folded.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on Jan?¡±


    ¡°What about Peter?  I thought you were going to cancel his contract.¡±


    ¡°Jan, I told you I¡¯d think it over. But what happened between you two is your own personal business. I can¡¯t tear up a writer¡¯s contract just because you hate the writer, who happens to be your x-husband.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate him, I despise him. Hate is such a¡­ hateful word.¡±


    ¡°Peter showed me some chapters from his new manuscript. It looks good Jan. We need a blockbuster. This could be it. We¡¯re losing more market share to e-books, self-publishing¡­we need something big.¡±


    ¡°The only thing big about Peter is his ego, and his ¨C no, I won¡¯t go there.¡±


    ¡°Jan, you have to separate business from personal. Peter¡¯s made money for us. Good novels are damn hard to find these days.¡±


    ¡°Peter¡¯s novels were only as good as my edits. Wake up Harry; we have to go non-fiction. Everyone¡¯s going non-fiction.¡±


    ¡°I get enough non-fiction on the six o¡¯clock news. Why the hell do I have to read about it? Every little schlepper who puts his face on TV can get the worst piece of garbage published. If the public knows who you are they¡¯ll buy your damn book; they don¡¯t care what it¡¯s about, or how good it is. Sometimes this business makes me sick. I wish we were publishing in the nineteenth century. Poe, Twain, Dreiser, Hugo, Melville¡­those were writers.¡±


    Janet unfolded her arms and smiled across the desk at her boss.  ¡°Harry, you¡¯re a true romantic. But we have to be realistic. By the way, I heard you were off-loading some of my work load, reassigning some of my writers. What gives?¡±


    Harry gestured to the chair in front of his desk. ¡°Sit down Jan.¡±


    She took a seat. Harry leaned forward. ¡°Jan, you¡¯re one of our best editors. You have a hell of a good track record. You have a P.H.D. for God¡¯s sake. But you have too much anger. Ever since this business between you and Peter you¡¯ve been slipping.¡±


    ¡°Wait a second Harry ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Jan, I can¡¯t tolerate it. I¡¯ve had some complaints.¡±


    ¡°Complaints? From who? Tell me who?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unimportant. You¡¯ve been coming back to the office from some of your luncheon meetings smelling like a Napa county winery. No more alcohol when your schmoozing writers or agents.¡±


    ¡°Come on Harry¡­you think I¡¯m a lush?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that, but you¡¯ve been falling behind on some of the workload. You have to do more reading at home, on weekends, holidays¡­read read read. When things are stabilized I¡¯ll reconsider, and assign more work for you. Until then, look for something big. You still have a pile of manuscripts to go through.¡±


    Jan stood up and frowned. ¡°Better put your toupee back on Harry. You look like an old fart without it.¡±


    ¡°Read, Jan, read¡­¡±


    She turned around and walked quickly toward the office door.  Harry called after her, ¡°Merry Christmas, Jan. I expect to see you at the office party.¡±


    ¡°You might¡­you might not.¡±


    She left the office and half-slammed the door behind her. Harry reached across his desk and put on the toupee.


    An hour later Jan read the last page of a manuscript, closed it, and threw it onto her ¡®return¡¯ pile. She pushed her chair away from her desk and checked her watch. ¡°Oh¡­damn!¡± She jumped up, grabbed her purse, and almost ran out of her office.


    Minutes later, as she exited the elevator and hurried through the parking garage, she pressed a button on her cell phone. ¡°Hi¡­this is Jan Lehman¡­I¡¯m running a little late but tell him I¡¯ll be there in about twenty minutes. Thanks.¡±


    Jan hopped into her Mercedes coupe and drove away as the tires on her car screeched and echoed through the hollow garage.

 Chapter III

    Retirement homes can be pleasant places to visit. The calm, unhurried atmosphere¡­the polite smiles of the aging residents¡­the need for compassion¡­the feeling of inevitability¡­that this is where it ends¡­room and  board¡­the care one needs¡­no more earthly worries¡­and a final prayer¡­


    The final stop for Edward Lehman was a two-story home, one that featured seventy five rooms and a distinctly Southwest design ¨C two-toned stucco painted in soft pastels. It was located in a quiet residential area in the suburbs twenty miles East of Sacramento, surrounded by five pristine acres of well-manicured lawn and a grove of California oaks.


    Janet waved to the guard as she drove through the pearly gates, across the parking lot, and into the circular driveway in front of the entrance. She parked the car by the double automatic doors and hurried into the lobby. An elderly woman sat in a wingback chair near the front desk, her wrinkled hands folded in her lap, her dark eyes bulging behind her thick glasses, her walker safely parked beside her.  She looked vacantly at Jan as she hurried past the woman. The girl at the desk smiled as Jan approached.


    ¡°Hi¡­is my Dad ready?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll take you back,¡± replied the girl.


    Jan followed the girl along a wide hallway until they came to solid double-doors. The girl entered the pass code on the electronic lock; a loud click was heard. The girl opened the doors and they entered a long, narrow, white-washed hallway. There was dead silence. Jan slung her purse strap onto her shoulder, breathed deeply to calm her nerves. She dreaded this walk down the cold white corridor.


    The girl stopped at one of the doors near the end of the hallway. She knocked twice, then opened the door. Jan walked in, followed by the girl.


    By a small, square-shaped window in a tiny non-descript room, Jan¡¯s father sat motionless in his rocking chair, as he gazed through the window at an empty courtyard. The girl stood near the door as Jan walked over to her father. ¡°Hello Dad,¡± she said, almost in a whisper.


    He turned his head slowly toward her. She bent over and kissed him on the forehead.


    His blue eyes widened as he looked up at her. She sat close to him, so their knees were almost touching. In a calm, unemotional voice he said, ¡°Hello¡­Ladybug.¡±


    Jan didn¡¯t smile. She glanced at the girl standing by the door.  ¡°Is he getting the same meds, the same dosage?¡±


    ¡°We had to increase this week. He¡¯s been slipping a little.¡±


    ¡°Recognition issue?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Is he eating enough?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­I think so.¡±


    Jan looked closely at her ailing father. He had lost a little weight; his cheeks were drawn in, and his shoulders were slumped forward. His face looked almost yellow, as if he had jaundice. His thin wavy hair was pure white; his bushy white eyebrows had almost grown together. The backs of his hands were covered with brown blotches, and the veins were about to pop through the wrinkled skin.


    Edward Lehman was seventy eight years old. He grew up on a farm in the Central Valley, baling hey, harvesting corn and tomatoes.  After a four year stint at Berkeley he moved to Sacramento and started a small architectural firm.


    For thirty five years he designed buildings large and small, and oversaw the renovation of many from the nineteenth century. Toward the end of his career he designed track homes for local builders, and watched as the farmlands he once knew were transformed into suburban sprawl. His wife Emma had passed away from cancer four years earlier, and the following year Jan moved him to assisted living.  For the first two years he was spry, independent, and required little care. But then the symptoms started; little things he couldn¡¯t remember. Did he take his pills, when did he last shower, what day did Jan come for a visit. Eventually the lapses worsened, until they had to move him to ¡®that other side¡¯. But as the memory deteriorated, Jan¡¯s father became more childlike. He began fixating on one particular memory, even as many others were fading away.


    ¡°Ladybugs are beautiful,¡± he said. ¡°Too beautiful to kill.¡±


    Jan looked away from him. There was a brief knock at the door and a young caregiver wearing a white uniform stepped in carrying a small cup of water and a pill. She looked at the girl from the front desk. ¡°Is it okay?¡±


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    The girl looked across the room at Jan. She nodded and stood up, letting go of her father¡¯s hand.


    The caregiver crossed the room and handed him the pill. He put it clumsily into his mouth. She held on to the cup as he put his shaking fingers around it to drink the water. The caregiver then silently left the room, and Jan walked over and put her arm around her father¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Would you like to go for a walk?¡± He shook his head briefly. Jan gestured to the girl near the door that she should leave them alone. Sometime later she walked into the lobby and stopped at the front desk. ¡°Call me right away if he gets worse.¡±


    The roar from the freeway traffic could not drown out the depressing thoughts that came to her after the visit, as she reflected on her father¡¯s condition. His memory was fading, he was slipping away. He knew it, and he fought hard against it, desperately clinging to one lasting memory, a memory he would take to the grave¡­but one that Jan wanted desperately to forget.


    She drove off the freeway and crawled through the five o¡¯clock traffic along L street toward the office building. The sights and sounds of the city ¨C the stop-and-go traffic, the screech of brakes, the blaring horns ¨C brought her thoughts back home, to her own disassembled life.


    At the intersection of L and eighth she hung a sharp left to bypass the bumper-to-bumper traffic near the capital. But it was almost as bad on eighth, and she found herself stuck behind a line of cars waiting for the red light. When she glanced to her left she saw a small group of people on the sidewalk, crowded around someone. At first she couldn¡¯t make out who, but then, as one of the spectators moved along, she saw the man who rescued her in the alley. He was playing a clarinet, and Jan could hear a rapid fire of classical jazz through the open car window. The man was dressed like a clown, in a bright red flannel shirt and a pair of baggy white trousers. She could tell that he¡¯d trimmed his black beard and combed his tangled black hair. But who the hell is he, she wondered.


    The light turned green, the traffic started to move. At the intersection Jan made a sharp left turn and parked on the side street.  She hopped out of the car, slung her purse over her shoulder, and tossed her long black hair away from her face. She quickly wiped her eyes and walked around the corner. There must have been a dozen people gathered around the man, digging his music. Jan had always been a fan of jazz, and she immediately smiled at the sound of America¡¯s own.


    She stood at the back of the crowd, listening to the music, watching the man¡¯s fingers wiggle and dance on the long black licorice stick. He was playing one of her favorites, Stranger on the Shore. On the ground near his feet, which were covered by a pair of hand-painted, bright blue sneakers, the clarinet case lay open, welcoming donations.


    When he ended the number everyone applauded. Some of the people tossed dollar bills into the instrument case. The man briefly nodded and uttered thanks. Most of the spectators moved along, but Jan stepped forward. He was about to start playing when he saw her, but recognition gave him pause. They looked at each other for a moment in silence.


    ¡°You play very well,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thanks. You made it home that night?¡±


    ¡°I did¡­and thanks for helping me. I didn¡¯t really thank you enough that night for what you did.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Jan smiled at his outfit. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you have a wardrobe.  Red white and blue ¨C patriotic colors.¡±


    He frowned behind his black beard. ¡°I¡¯m no patriot. Bright colors bring attention. Attention brings money out here on the street.¡±


    ¡°Your music brings enough attention. Where did you learn to play like that?¡±


    ¡°In prison.¡± He spoke the words casually, as if it made no difference.


    Jan lost her smile.  ¡°Oh¡­in prison.¡±


    He took note of her sudden change in demeanor. ¡°You can go now,¡± he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.


    Jan narrowed her eyes and looked intently at him. ¡°Maybe I don¡¯t want to go; maybe I want to hear some music.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± he replied, as if he didn¡¯t give a damn what she did. He brought his clarinet up to his rather thick, chapped lips, and started playing. Jan recognized it; ¡®Down by the Riverside.¡¯ Some people passing by stopped to listen. A few moments later Jan opened her purse, took a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet, and dropped it in the man¡¯s instrument case. Without looking at him she walked away. He continued playing as he slowly turned his head to watch her go.


    That evening, as Jan walked into her apartment, her furry, gray and white, brown-eyed cat came prancing over to her and gently caressed Jan¡¯s leg with her soft furry body. Jan reached down, picked the cat up and stroked her back.


    ¡°Hello Eleanor¡­how¡¯s my girl?¡± she said, stroking the cat as she walked across the carpeted living room, tossed her purse on the dining table, and collapsed with the cat on the sofa. Jan continued stroking the cat as she gazed at a photo on the mantel above the fireplace. It was a picture of Jan, dressed in graduation robes, with her arm around her mother, and above the photo was her framed P.H.D. Other family pictures, of Jan and her mother, were scattered across the mantel. There were no photos of her father.


    The apartment itself was modest, the furnishings eclectic: a sea-green traditional ¡®skirted¡¯ sofa, an antique table lamp in the Tiffany style that stood atop a ¡®transitional¡¯ end table, a contemporary dinette set featuring swivel chairs on ball-bearing wheels, and a French Empire writing desk in the corner upon which rested a laptop computer and a telephone.


    Jan picked herself up off the sofa and walked toward the bedroom carrying the cat. ¡°Come on Eleanor, let¡¯s go to sleep.  I¡¯ve had enough excitement for one day.¡±


    But late that night, as she slept in her apartment, Jan was awakened by the shrill, hysterical sound of someone screaming and pounding on the door. It was a sound she¡¯d heard before; it was all around her, in her room, in her head, outside the window. Naked and sweating, she jumped out of bed, ran through the living room and yanked open the door. The empty hallway winked at her. Jan caught her breath and wiped her forehead. She closed the door, locked it¡­unlocked it¡­then locked it again. She stood motionless for almost five minutes.


    ¡°Ladybug,¡± she whispered¡­as she walked slowly back to her bedroom.

 Chapter IV

    The rain had come, as it sometimes does in the days before Christmas. One bigoted son-of-a-bitch in the office ¨C who shall remain nameless ¨C blamed it on the Jews. Harry only kept him on because he happened to be a damn good editor. But he would never be promoted to executive, despite his outrage at being associate for over ten years. Harry was a devoted businessman, but he also had a heart.


    That evening, as the pre-Christmas party warmed up in the penthouse, Jan was speed-reading through the entire pile of manuscripts on her desk.


    Harry appeared in her doorway holding a glass of champagne.  His neck tie was loose, as well as the toupee. He looked a bit tipsy as he leaned against the door jamb.


    ¡°Why is your door always opened?¡± he said. ¡°You never close it, never lock it, even when you have meetings in here.¡±


    ¡°I have a bit of claustrophobia,¡± she replied without looking at him.


    ¡°Oh...I didn¡¯t know that. When did that come about?¡±


    She abruptly switched subjects. ¡°I¡¯m busy Harry.¡±


    ¡°I told you to read, not to hibernate. I want you to join the Christmas party upstairs.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m not in a celebrating mood today.¡±


    ¡°Come on Jan, have some fun. You need it. Hey, how do I look? This one¡¯s different, a little darker.¡± Harry smiled, and pointed to the toupee on his head.


    Jan looked up from the manuscript and smiled. ¡°It looks better than the other one, but you don¡¯t have to impress anyone in this office.¡±


    ¡°I realize that, but we have some prominent people upstairs. Some of the top agents came in for the celebration, and some of our best writers.¡±


    She frowned at him. ¡°Harry¡­don¡¯t tell me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he¡¯s here. His agent brought him. What am I supposed to do? He may go to another publisher if we don¡¯t schmooze him.¡±


    ¡°Good, that¡¯s exactly what I want him to do. We can get along without him. You can void his contract.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t that simple Jan; there could be legal ramifications.¡±


    ¡°What ramifications?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t discuss that.¡± He pointed toward the pile of manuscripts on her desk. ¡°Something good on that pile?¡±


    ¡°No, the usual dribble.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have Susie bring you another load on Monday, a smaller load. She¡¯s been wanting to read. I told her she could split the workload with you.¡±


    Jan didn¡¯t like the sound of it. ¡°That¡¯s really not necessary.¡±


    ¡°Yes it is. Remember what I said in my office Jan.¡±


    ¡°But Harry --¡±


    ¡°Discussion¡¯s over. Meanwhile, I¡¯m expecting you upstairs in five minutes.¡±


    There must have been thirty people crowded into Harry¡¯s office. He did it every year before the holidays; a thank you party for those who stayed loyal, those who made him money, people he schmoozed, and the good schmoozers who worked for him.


    As always, there was the lavish catered buffet spread out on a long narrow table covered with an elegant white table cloth. On the table were bottles of Korbel champagne chilling in silver ice buckets, a mound of black caviar in a sterling silver bowl, buttered matzoh (Harry¡¯s own special appetizer), roll-top chafing dishes filled with assorted meats, fish, and steamed vegetables, and a separate, portable salad bar. In the corner of Harry¡¯s huge office a string quartet played renditions from the classical era.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Jan walked slowly through the open double doors. She didn¡¯t look at anyone in particular, but went immediately to the buffet table, preferring to remain unnoticed. She was alone momentarily, but as she started down the buffet table, slapping food on her plate, a familiar voice whispered over her shoulder.


    ¡°Hello Jan.¡±


    She glanced over her shoulder at her x-husband. ¡°Good-bye Peter.¡±


    ¡°We already said our good-byes. We¡¯re divorced¡­it¡¯s over. We can still be civil to each other.¡±


    ¡°You can¡­I can¡¯t.¡± She turned around and faced him. Peter Lipschitz was smiling and sipping champagne. He was often smiling at people. It came natural to him. He was a good-looking cad, thirty five, slim, dark wavy hair, broad shouldered, flat stomach, muscular arms. He looked more like a health club instructor or a fireman. In fact, when he wasn¡¯t writing, he was usually at the local health club working out.


    ¡°Come meet my new agent,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s a great negotiator. I think Harry¡¯s going to extend my contract.¡±


    Jan sneered at him. ¡°I¡¯m voting for cancellation. I¡¯d rather not have to look at you again.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Jan. I made my mistakes, and I¡¯m sorry. I like women; maybe I like them too much.¡±


    ¡°The problem is, you don¡¯t know how to love them.  You only know how to use them. You used me to introduce you to Harry, to get you your first contract, to have your first book published, and your second, and your third. You used me, Peter, until you didn¡¯t need me anymore. So you started cheating; while you were supposed to be writing you were humping girls you met at book signings, girls you met at the diner, girls you met in your writing classes. Peter, you¡¯re a louse. This new agent, you¡¯ll use her too. Because you¡¯re a taker.  And in the end you¡¯ll die alone. We won¡¯t be there to comfort you.¡±


    Peter shook his head. ¡°Jan, you¡¯re such a downer. You always were a downer, too damn serious for your own good. You¡¯re angry at me, I can¡¯t blame you for that. But your anger came from some other place, and I could never figure out where. You made it difficult to be around you.¡±


    ¡°Peter?¡± An attractive woman in her thirties approached. She was dressed in a tight black skirt that showed plenty of leg, and a matching, low-cut blouse that showed plenty of cleavage. A rose-colored pearl necklace and matching earrings, and a pair of black-leather pumps completed the picture of a rather well-to-do woman, probably divorced, who ran her own agency and enjoyed being single.


    ¡°Charlotte, this is Jan, my x-wife.¡± Peter stitched a smile on his face. ¡°Jan, meet Charlotte, my new agent.¡±


    Charlotte extended her hand. ¡°Please to meet you Jan.¡±


    Jan forced herself to smile and grit her teeth at the same time as she shook the woman¡¯s hand. ¡°Hello,¡± she said softly without a trace of emotion.


    ¡°Have you read the first chapters of Peter¡¯s new novel?¡±


    ¡°Actually, I haven¡¯t. But after being married to him for almost five years, there is one important thing I can tell you about Peter.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­what might that be?¡±


    ¡°To Peter, good writing and good character are mutually exclusive.¡±


    She started to walk away with her plate of food, but Peter grabbed her by the arm. ¡°Jan, take that back. That¡¯s a cheap shot.  You better apologize.¡±


    Jan smiled mockingly at him. ¡°Apologize? Okay.¡± In a flash of anger she mashed the plate of food against his face.


    ¡°Damn it Jan!¡± Peter peeled the food off his face as Charlotte reeled back in disbelief.


    Jan scoffed at them both. ¡°There¡¯s my apology.¡±


    Harry heard the commotion and broke away from his conversation with one of the agents. He hurried over to the buffet table, spilling champagne, as the noisy room went silent. ¡°What the hell happened here? Jan?¡±


    ¡°The food¡¯s no good, Harry, and neither is he.¡±


    She walked quickly away and out of the office. The buzz of conversation resumed among the guests. Harry helped Peter to clean the food off his face and his clothes. ¡°I¡¯ll have a talk with her on Monday. Did you say something to set her off?¡±


    ¡°She made a wise crack about me and I told her to apologize,¡± replied Peter.


    ¡°And she really let you have it,¡± said Harry smiling. ¡°Come on, you can use my wash room to clean up.¡±


    It was dark and still raining when Jan drove out of the parking garage. Her face was red from high blood pressure after the incident. She only wanted to go home, take a shower, and go to sleep. As she drove through the empty rain-soaked streets, her distraction took her in the wrong direction, and she soon found herself on 8th street headed north.


    When she slowed for a red light she instinctively glanced over to the sidewalk, and there, standing in the rain, she saw the same man, playing his clarinet for no one.


    The street was completely empty and silent, except for the lonely echoes of the music and the constant drum beat of the rain as it hit the street. Jan continued watching the man until the traffic light turned green, then she drove on home.

 Chapter 5

    The air always feels good after a rain; the pollution is washed away, the air is crisp, cool, and refreshing. From Sacramento one can see for a hundred miles, East to the Sierras, and West to the mountain ridge that separates the Central Valley from the San Francisco bay area.


    Jan always liked to go running after the rain; she could breathe easier, run longer and faster. On Saturday morning, as the Sun came up over the mountains, she sprinted out of her apartment building, dressed in a gray flannel sport suit and white tennis shoes. She styled her hair in a pony-tail, and fixed her bra tight against her breasts to prevent excessive ¡®flapping¡¯ during her run.


    For a good half an hour she jogged along the Capital Mall, around to K Street, over to 14<sup>th</sup>, and down J street, until she came to Starbuck¡¯s. She stopped outside, caught her breath, and then went in, where two women were waiting for her.


    Angela Sinclair, a sweet, pudgy, dark-haired, forty-something single mom who met Jan in a post-divorce group-therapy workshop, glanced at her watch and looked up from the table.


    ¡°You¡¯re forty five seconds late¡­what happened?¡±


    ¡°Too many red lights¡­is this mine?¡± Jan pointed to a cup of latte topped with whipped cream.


    ¡°It¡¯s mine, but you can have it.¡± Liz Neaman, a slim, attractive thirty year old blond married to a wealthy stock broker, had known Jan since they were teenagers. Through high school they competed for boys, grades, and friends. They had a healthy respect for each other, though Jan had long suspected that Liz slept with her x-husband, long before he became her ¡®x¡¯.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± replied Jan, sipping the latte as she sat down.


    A young female employee brought another latte and put it on the table in front of Liz.


    ¡°So what¡¯s going on?¡± asked Angela. ¡°You sounded depressed on the phone this morning. And you missed a session this week.¡±


    ¡°Angie, I don¡¯t think post-divorce group-therapy is helping.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡±


    ¡°I threw a plate of food in my x-husband¡¯s face last night during our office party.¡±


    ¡°Uh oh¡­.¡±


    ¡°Did your boss see that?¡± asked Liz.


    ¡°Harry saw it. I¡¯ll be reprimanded on Monday.¡±


    ¡°How can you and your x-husband co-exist in that situation?¡± asked Angie.


    ¡°We can¡¯t. I wanted his contract voided but Harry thinks he¡¯s a good writer.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s had some success,¡± commented Liz. ¡°I read his first two novels. Good mysteries are always a good read. And it isn¡¯t like he hangs around your office every day. He¡¯s at home writing most of the time.¡±


    ¡°What about you, Jan?  Have you written before?¡± asked Angie.


    ¡°I dabbled, but then I met Peter. I started editing his stuff and he started selling books. After a while I gave up on writing. I¡¯m not sure I have the drive, or the talent.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be too sure about that,¡± replied Angie.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Let me tell you something,¡± said Jan, ¡°half the people in the publishing business are failed, frustrated writers. If they can¡¯t write, they read and they edit.¡±


    ¡°Do you think your x-husband is a really good writer?¡± Angie asked.


    ¡°He sold books,¡± commented Liz.


    ¡°With my invaluable assistance,¡± said Jan.


    ¡°He couldn¡¯t have made it on his own?¡± asked Liz.


    Jan raised her voice. ¡°You¡¯ve known Peter as long as I have; you introduced us. You knew he was a user. He used me, and God knows how many other people.¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t blaming me, are you?¡± replied Liz.


    Jan ignored the question. She turned to Angie. ¡°I¡¯ll probably cancel the therapy. I went out and celebrated my divorce the other night. It was very therapeutic.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What did you do?¡± asked Angie.


    ¡°I watched the governor light the Christmas tree, then I went to the Blue Angel, got drunk, and was almost raped in the alley behind the club.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God!¡± exclaimed Angie.


    ¡°Raped by who,¡± asked Liz.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say raped, Liz. I said almost raped.¡±


    ¡°How did you escape?¡± said Angie.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. Some man came from nowhere and knocked the creep unconscious. Then he vanished.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­that¡¯s bizarre,¡± commented Angie.


    ¡°Did you call the police,¡± asked Liz.


    ¡°No¡­it wouldn¡¯t matter. There¡¯s no real evidence. He didn¡¯t actually rape me. And the only witness is some guy who looked like he hadn¡¯t had a shower for six months.¡±


    ¡°Homeless?¡± asked Angie.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I saw him again, over near eighth and L. He¡¯s a street musician.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What instrument?¡± asked Angie.


    ¡°Clarinet. He¡¯s damn good at it. He¡¯s also an x-convict.¡±


    ¡°Let me get this straight,¡± said Liz. ¡°A criminal hanging out in an alley prevented you from being raped, and then disappeared in the night.¡±


    ¡°Did you expect him to walk me home?¡±


    ¡°Maybe he was innocent,¡± said Angie. ¡°Innocent people do go to jail.¡±


    ¡°What did he do, what¡¯s his crime?¡± asked Liz.


    ¡°I have no idea. He didn¡¯t exactly look pleased to see me again.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he thought you wanted him to testify,¡± said Angie, ¡°in the event they capture this creep. If he¡¯s been in jail that might have spooked him a little.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± replied Jan.


    ¡°What did he look like, the one who attacked you?¡± asked Liz.


    ¡°He was young, maybe twenty five. He looked like your average all-American boy. Most of his brains were below his belt.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like Peter,¡± commented Liz.


    Jan shot her a sharp glance. Liz back-pedaled.  ¡°I mean¡­not that I would know¡­but from what you¡¯ve been telling me the man¡¯s a walking hormone factory.¡±


    Jan took a break and drank her latte. Angie checked her watch.  ¡°I have to be going. Beth is having her first sleep-over this evening. I have extra shopping to do.¡±  Angie drank the last of her latte and stood up.  ¡°If you ever want to talk, Jan, you have my cell number.¡±  She reached out and pressed Jan¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Thanks Angie.¡±


    Angie waved to them and walked to the exit.


    ¡°I have to be going too,¡± said Liz. ¡°Donald¡¯s taking me to the Nutcracker over at the Community center. He¡¯ll probably be asleep before the intermission, but he takes me every year because he knows I wanted to be a ballerina. It brings back memories.¡±


    Jan put on her happy face. ¡°It must be true love, Liz.  I¡¯m happy for you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Hey, how¡¯s your Dad?¡±


    Jan¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Not too good; he¡¯s losing his memory. I only wish I could lose mine.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°To wipe away the last five years¡­and a little more. I¡¯d have a clean slate. I could start over.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still young Jan. There¡¯s plenty of time.¡± Liz leaned over and embraced her. ¡°Call me whenever.¡±


    Jan drank the last of her latte and looked out the window as Liz walked away in her five inch heels.


    Near eighth and L two police cars were parked at the curb, their red lights flashing. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, and the backs of two uniformed policemen could be seen from across the street, as Jan came jogging along on her way back home. She slowed down when she saw the policemen, and then she stopped.


    The man who rescued her in the alley was being handcuffed and led away to one of the police cars. His clarinet case was tossed on the front seat as he was forced into the back of the car. The officer who pushed him in the car had a policeman¡¯s cap on his head. Jan couldn¡¯t see his face at first, but as he came around the other side of the car to drive away, Jan stared at him in disbelief.


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± she uttered to herself. There could be no mistake¡­the athletic build, the sandy colored hair, the cherubic good looks. The cop was the young man who tried to rape her.


    Instinctively, Jan stepped back into the shadows and watched from across the street as the cop drove away. The crowd that gathered on the sidewalk moved along, but Jan stood still, uncertain as to what to do, or where to go.

 Chapter 6

    When she walked into her apartment Jan found Eleanor asleep on the sofa. The red message light was flashing on her phone. She walked over to the desk and pressed the play button.


    ¡°Jan, this is Harry. That incident at the office yesterday caused a big stir in the office. We had some important people here who saw what happened. We can¡¯t afford to have people thinking we¡¯re crazy, or incompetent, uncontrollable. I want you to take a couple weeks off to square things away. Get your life in order for God¡¯s sake.  Do whatever you have to do, but I want to see a different Jan when you return. Meanwhile, I¡¯ve reassigned your workload to Susie. We¡¯re closing for three days next week, so you won¡¯t miss much work time. Merry Christmas.¡±


    Jan frowned and shook her head. ¡°Reassigned to Susie? Damn you Harry.¡±


    She felt something soft rubbing against her leg. Eleanor looked up at her, purring for attention. Jan picked her up, and went to the sofa.  ¡°Well, looks like it¡¯s just you and me, babe. Where would you like to go? Hawaii? Miami? We won¡¯t have to buy you a plane ticket; you can sit on my lap.¡±


    She sat still, looking out the window at the barren Winter tree tops that lined the street, reflecting on the day, on what she saw earlier. ¡°Maybe we should stay home,¡± she told Eleanor.


    Jan put the cat on the floor, walked over to her desk and picked up the phone. She punched zero for the operator.


    ¡°Connect me to the police station please.¡±


    A few moments later, ¡°Yes¡­I saw a man being arrested near eighth and L earlier today. He was carrying an instrument case. He looked like someone I know. What was he arrested for?  Oh¡­I see¡­thanks.¡± Jan hung up the phone, reflected for a few moments, then she went into the bedroom.


    Sometime later she stood in front of the mirror brushing her hair, wearing a bright yellow blouse and an emerald green skirt. She started to apply lipstick. ¡°What the hell am I doing,¡± she said to herself.  She put down the lipstick, wiped her lips with a tissue, and walked out of the room.


    Ten minutes later Jan parked her car in front of a small, two story, red-brick building on 14<sup>th</sup> street. She fed quarters to the parking meter, slung her purse over her shoulder, and went in to the building.


    To the left of the entrance the sign on the double mahogany doors read: Karl Dorell, Attorney at Law. Jan pushed through the double doors and walked up to the reception desk, where a bright-eyed young woman sat reading a magazine and chewing gum.


    ¡°Hello Christy,¡± said Jan, raising her voice enough to catch the girl¡¯s attention.


    The girl looked up quickly and switched on a falsetto smile. ¡°Welcome back¡­or maybe I shouldn¡¯t say welcome back.¡±


    Jan frowned. ¡°Is Karl in?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give him a ring.¡± She pushed a button on the phone. ¡°Misses Lipschitz is back. She wants to talk to you.¡± She looked up at Jan. ¡°He said you can go right in.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, and the name is Lehman¡­Miss Lehman.¡±


    Jan walked over to another tall wooden door that led to a long narrow corridor. At the end of the hallway she walked through yet another door with the name Karl Dorell on the door.


    ¡°Jan, what brings you back so soon? We signed the papers three days ago.¡±


    Karl Dorell stood up and gestured to a leather chair in front of his desk. He was an aging, jolly looking fellow with a double-chin and a pair of exceptionally large, marble-shaped eyes that moved counter clock-wise when people were speaking. He had a paunch, but he also had wide, broad shoulders and a pair of good-sized hips to support the bulging middle-aged stomach that afflicts ninety percent of men over the age of fifty. His gray pin-striped trousers were held up by a pair of ivory colored suspenders over a plain white shirt. His desk was a cluttered mess of briefs and books. A long cigar burned in an ashtray as a thin wisp of smoke rose toward the ceiling until it vanished in the reeking air. Dorell reached for the cigar as he lowered his bulk into the over-sized swivel chair behind the massive desk.


    ¡°I have a dilemma, Karl,¡± Jan said as she sat down. ¡°I need some advice.¡±


    ¡°Is Peter rubbing the divorce settlement in your face?¡±


    Jan smiled. ¡°No, actually I rubbed something in his face¡­a plate full of food. I scored a direct hit.¡± She pushed her hand through the air to demonstrate.


    Dorell chuckled. ¡°Is that your revenge?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not out for revenge. I only want peace.¡±


    ¡°What can I do for you Jan?¡±


    She zeroed in on the burning cigar as he puffed away. ¡°The first thing you can do is put out that damn cigar. I can hardly breathe from that awful smoke.¡±


    Dorell slowly, reluctantly removed the cigar from his mouth and stubbed it out in the ashtray. ¡°All right¡­what else can I do for you?¡±


    Jan took a deep breath. She leaned forward until her elbows rested on the edge of his desk. ¡°The other night someone tried to rape me outside a night club. Another man came to my rescue and whacked the creep with a fire extinguisher. What we didn¡¯t know is that the creep happens to be a cop. He was off-duty when he attacked me. He saw the guy who helped me on the street this morning and arrested him. I phoned the police station. They told me he¡¯s been charged with assault and robbery. That cop is a vindictive bastard. I can¡¯t let the guy go to jail for this. He did what he had to do to stop that creep. The cop is the one who should be punished.¡±


    ¡°Were there any other witnesses to what happened?¡± asked Dorell.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m the only witness for him, and he¡¯s the only witness for me. What¡¯s worse, he told me he¡¯s been in prison before. For what crime I have no idea.¡±


    Dorell shook his head. ¡°Jan, it¡¯s your word against the cop¡¯s, or his word against the cop¡¯s. Unless the cop has a history of violence that can be proved, it would be damn difficult to make the case against him.¡±


    ¡°What If I brought charges against him for attempted rape?¡±


    ¡°Rape is difficult to prove under the best circumstances. And if he didn¡¯t actually rape you it would be almost impossible. Your only witness is under arrest. This is a messy situation. It sounds like a plot for one of those books your company publishes.¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Jan thought about that for a second. ¡°You think so? A book? It could be the first few chapters¡­but God knows how it ends.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to help you Jan, but this is a criminal case. I¡¯m a divorce lawyer. You should talk to a defense attorney.¡±


    ¡°You know someone?¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact, there¡¯s a young guy across the hall who moved in recently. He works alone. Pleasant fellow. ¡°His name is Wes. I can¡¯t remember his last name. Knock on his door. He might be able to help.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but tell me Karl¡­what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Me? I¡¯d forget about it. But I¡¯m a lawyer. Lawyers aren¡¯t heroes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a hero, Karl. But I want to do the right thing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a good person, Jan. Do what you think is right.¡±


    Jan nodded and stood up. ¡°You can go back to your cigar, Karl.¡±  She smiled and walked out of the office.


    The sign read ¡®Wesley Russell, Attorney¡¯. Below the sign was a hand-written note taped to the plain white door near the lobby. The note, scribbled in barely legible English, read:  ¡®went to lunch¡¯, back at 2¡¯. Jan checked her watch and left the building.


    Five minutes later she walked into Bernardo¡¯s, a popular restaurant and bar at Capitol and 28<sup>th</sup>, an unpretentious noisy hang-out for the young and the restless. Jan placed her order, paid, and took a seat in a booth near the bar.


    ¡°Jan?¡±


    She looked up and saw Susie Hampton standing near the bar with a couple of young women from the office. Susie waved and walked over to the booth.


    ¡°Hi Jan. I¡¯m surprised to see you here.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­why?¡±


    ¡°Harry told me you were on vacation. I thought you might have left town.¡±


    ¡°No, I decided to hang around the area. What about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on lunch break. We¡¯re going back to the office soon.¡±


    ¡°Are you looking at manuscripts Susie?¡±


    Susie hesitated. ¡°Yes¡­ Harry said I could intern for a while until you return. I hope you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Jan definitely did mind, but she decided to put on her happy face. ¡°You aren¡¯t after my job, are you?¡±


    Susie¡¯s face went red. ¡°Oh no¡­I¡¯m filling in for you.¡±


    Jan nodded, but didn¡¯t believe her.  She decided to switch subjects.  ¡°How¡¯s your love life?¡±


    Susie brightened. ¡°Good¡­really good.  We met at the Blue Angel. You like to hang out there, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Jan saw again the face of the cop in the dim-lit night club and the attack in the alley. She forced herself to smile.  ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right.¡±


    Susie glanced over her shoulder at the two girls by the bar.  One of them pointed to her watch.  ¡°Sorry, I have to go.¡± She waved to Jan and joined the other two girls as they left the restaurant.


    Back at the lawyer¡¯s office, Jan took a seat on a wooden bench in the lobby. The ¡®back at 2¡¯ sign was still on the door. Half an hour passed until the door to the building opened and a young man, about thirty years old, walked in carrying an armful of books. He stumbled a bit, and some of the books dropped on the floor. Jan watched him struggle for a few moments, then she got up and walked over to assist.


    ¡°Let me help you with those,¡± she said, as she bent over to pick up the books. She glanced at the title on one of them.


    He looked at Jan, then took the books from her and smiled.  ¡°Thanks¡­I don¡¯t normally carry this many, but the cardboard box broke open when I lifted it from the car. They were all over the ground out there.¡± He lifted the books up and down as if weighing them in his arms.  ¡°Too many laws on the books¡­if you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I do. You must be Wesley.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Were you waiting for me?¡±


    ¡°For half an hour. You must have had a hot luncheon date.¡±


    ¡°I had to take my mother to the doctor. She¡¯s going in for cataract surgery next week.¡± He walked over to the door and fumbled for his keys.


    ¡°I¡¯ll open it for you,¡± Jan said.


    He handed her the keys. ¡°Thanks¡­it¡¯s the big silver key,¡± he said.


    Jan unlocked the door. ¡°After you,¡± he said.


    She entered and he followed her in to the rather small, non-descript office. He dropped the books on his desk and Jan handed him the keys.


    ¡°Sorry for the mess,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m still getting moved in.¡±


    Jan glanced around the office. There were boxes on the floor; a couple of tall, narrow, portable bookcases leaned against the wall on either side of the hollowed-out desk. A small file cabinet stood on one side of the desk, and on the other side a water-cooler. There was no window in the room.


    Wes motioned to a rickety looking chair across from the desk.  ¡°Please have a seat.¡±


    Jan sat down. The chair squeaked and rolled to the side. She hung on to the edge of the desk to stabilize it.


    ¡°Sorry¡­that chair needs a little more oil. Would you care for some water? I don¡¯t have my coffee maker set up yet. It¡¯s in one of these boxes somewhere.¡±


    ¡°No thanks.¡±


    Jan took a long look at the young lawyer as he sat down behind his desk, noting that his chair squeaked as well. Wesley Russell had short, curly black hair that lay flat against his head, and a pair of deep-set, wide-apart, dark brown eyes that looked straight at Jan with a pleasant intensity; eyes that were alive, curious, and attentive. When he smiled at her he showed two rows of extremely white teeth.  What¡¯s with the fluoridated smile, she thought. He must brush four or five times a day with that fluoride-heavy toothpaste. He has a pleasant enough face¡­probably a bit stuck-up, like most lawyers. I hope he won¡¯t be carving up the language with that God-awful lawyer¡¯s lingo, it¡¯s a real turn-off. Why the hell can¡¯t they speak English?


    Wesley cleared his throat and then stood up and extended his hand.  ¡°Wes Russell¡­and you are?¡±


    ¡°Janet Lehman.¡± They shook hands, and the lawyer sat down.


    ¡°How did you find me?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My lawyer has an office across the hall. He suggested I talk to you.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? That would be Dorell?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Nice guy. But he¡¯s a divorce lawyer. Why did he send you over here?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a divorce anymore,¡± she shot back.


    ¡°Criminal case?¡±


    ¡°Could be.¡±


    ¡°You killed your x-husband?¡±


    ¡°No¡­I¡¯m still working on that.¡±


    Russell smiled and leaned back in his chair. ¡°Okay, tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°Will this be a free confidential consultation?¡±


    He flashed a fluoridated smile. ¡°Yes, and I won¡¯t tell anyone except my mother.¡± Jan did not look amused. He reassured her. ¡°It¡¯s an old family joke. Don¡¯t worry, whatever you tell me is only between you and me.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but before we get started¡­is this your first case?¡±


    ¡°No, I had an office set up in my apartment for a while. I¡¯ve been practicing for about a year.¡±


    Jan smiled. ¡°An entire year¡­that¡¯s comforting.¡±


    Russell heard the haughty tone in her voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t start out as a lawyer, ma¡¯am. After I graduated college I went overseas for a couple years to join the Peace Corps. When I came home I decided to go to law school. But back to you ¨C tell me what¡¯s going on?¡±


    Jan told him everything she knew. He paid close attention, asking her questions, taking notes, nodding as she revealed what happened, and when she finished he gave her his best advice.


    ¡°You have two choices,¡± he told her. ¡°You can either forget about what happened¡­forget about the attempted rape¡­forget about the clarinet player¡­forget about the cop¡­.or you can hire me.¡±


    Jan smiled. ¡°Give me a good reason why I should hire you?¡±


    Russell grinned. ¡°You like me.¡±


    Cute, she thought, real cute, but don¡¯t waste your charm on me, hot shot. ¡°You¡¯ll have to do better than that,¡± she replied.


    Russell could tell she meant business. He leaned forward and laid it on the line. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll give it to you straight,¡± he said. ¡°It would be near impossible to bring charges for attempted rape. It would be your word against the cop¡¯s. This guy they arrested¡­doubtful that a jury will take him seriously as a credible witness, considering he¡¯s under arrest for assaulting the cop, and he¡¯s been in jail before. He may go to jail again for helping you. If you want him freed, and the cop to be punished, that cop has to be discredited. I¡¯ll have to check the city records, run a background check, talk to other cops, people who¡¯ve known him. It¡¯ll be a difficult case to prove. I may have to be creative. And it¡¯ll cost you some bucks.¡±


    She didn¡¯t like what she heard but she thought it might be worth the price. ¡°How many bucks?¡±


    He thought it over for a few moments. She looked like money, he thought. Well dressed, no-nonsense, too damn proud.


    ¡°Ten thousand,¡± he said casually, ¡°maybe more, maybe twenty¡­depending on how long it takes.¡±


    Jan didn¡¯t reply. She got up, slung her purse over her shoulder, and looked down at the lawyer. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard one thing from you that I can¡¯t do for myself¡­and a hell of a lot cheaper too.¡±


    Russell stood up and faced her across the desk. ¡°You have a law degree?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a law degree,¡± she shot back. ¡°I have a P.H.D. and a teaching credential. Is that good enough for you?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re an academic. That explains it.¡±


    ¡°Explains what?¡±


    ¡°Why your nose is pointed toward the ceiling.¡±


    She scowled at him. ¡°You better find yourself a PR manager.  Rude doesn¡¯t cut it¡­not with me.¡±

 Chapter 7

    About an hour later Jan walked slowly up the steps of the Richards Boulevard police station, and into the cavernous lobby. A middle-aged woman wearing glasses, a uniform and a tight bun of jet-black hair stood behind a half-closed window. Jan looked around cautiously as she approached.


    ¡°Can I help you,¡± asked the woman.


    Jan smiled. ¡°I need some quarters to feed the parking meter. I had to park right near the police station.¡±


    The woman laughed, and then she stopped. ¡°Oh¡­you¡¯re serious.¡±


    Jan shook her head. ¡°No, not really. I called earlier today, about the man arrested on the street this morning¡­the musician?¡±


    She checked her list. ¡°Mister Louis Carter. He¡¯s charged with assault and robbery.¡±


    ¡°How much is the bail?¡±


    The woman paused and took a closer look at Jan. ¡°You a relative?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°One moment.¡± The woman walked away and started talking to a uniformed officer at one of the desks. After a few moments she returned. ¡°The bail is twenty thousand dollars.¡±


    Jan thought it over for a moment, then she took her wallet out of her purse. ¡°You take credit cards?¡±


    The woman started to laugh again, but this time she stopped herself. ¡°You have a twenty thousand dollar limit on a credit card?¡±


    Jan ignored the question and handed the woman her credit card. She ran the card through the machine and Jan signed for the twenty thousand.


    ¡°Have a seat,¡± the woman said, gesturing to a wooden bench in the lobby.


    Half an hour went by before Carter appeared, carrying his clarinet case, accompanied by the ¡®other¡¯ uniformed police officer that made the arrest. His name was Dan Forester. He was an older officer, graying at the temples, half-bald, a little hunched over. She stood up as the men approached.


    ¡°His arraignment is in ten days,¡± said Forester. ¡°Until then he¡¯s all yours.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the other arresting officer?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Bobby? He¡¯s around somewhere.¡±


    Just then Bobby Callous appeared, drinking a diet Coke, walking casually down the hallway and into the lobby. He was in uniform, and when he saw Jan he slowed but didn¡¯t stop. The other officer saw him and motioned for him to come over. ¡°Hey Bobby, the lady wants to talk to you. She paid the bail for Carter.¡±


    Callous approached them. Jan stared at him, her eyes red with anger. The cop looked at her, pretending not to recognize her. Carter stood still, shifting his dark eyes back and forth between them.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on,¡± Callous said casually.


    Jan took a step toward him. ¡°You better drop the charges before the arraignment,¡± Jan said.


    ¡°On what grounds?¡± replied Callous. ¡°He attacked me. His prints are all over the fire extinguisher he used to club me.¡±


    ¡°He attacked you after you attacked me. Either you drop the charges against him or I¡¯ll bring charges against you.¡±


    Callous turned to the other officer. ¡°I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s talking about Dan. I met her in a club the other night. We danced a little, and then she left.  When I walked to my car he jumped me and took my money.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a liar!¡± shouted Jan.  ¡°He attacked me in the alley and this man pulled him off of me and made sure he stayed off of me.¡±


    Dan Forester sounded skeptical. ¡°Bobby¡¯s one of our best, most respected officers ma¡¯am. You better be careful when you make an accusation like that.¡±


    Jan looked at Carter. ¡°Didn¡¯t you tell him the truth?¡±


    Carter shrugged. ¡°What good would it do?¡±


    ¡°He has a record, ma¡¯am,¡± said Forester. ¡°You should be aware of that. He spent four years in prison.¡±


    She glanced at Carter, then at the cops. ¡°We¡¯ll be in touch,¡± she said, and walked out of the police station. Carter picked up his clarinet case, took a last menacing look at the officers, and left.


    Outside on the steps Jan turned around and stood toe-to-toe with Carter.  ¡°What did you go to prison for?¡±


    ¡°For nothing.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means I was framed. But why are you here? Why bail me out?¡±


    ¡°I saw them arrest you this morning. I recognized that cop.  He¡¯s the one who should be punished, not you.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t ever believe it.¡±


    ¡°He might drop the charges. If he doesn¡¯t I can bring charges against him.¡±


    ¡°You a lawyer?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a book editor. I¡¯m on vacation, can¡¯t you tell?¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m sorry to spoil your vacation, but why go through this?  You don¡¯t owe me.¡±


    Jan reflected for a moment. ¡°You helped me¡­now I¡¯m trying to help you. Do you want to go back to jail?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good. Where are you staying?¡±


    ¡°I have a room in a hotel, about two blocks from here. I¡¯ve only been in town for a week.¡±


    An hour later Jan sat on an old sofa in one of the flea bag hotels downtown. She was reading the latest Time magazine. The lobby was cramped and claustrophobic. A tired looking older man was half asleep behind the registration desk.


    Carter came down the steps, dressed in clean clothes and a good pair of leather shoes. He was carrying his clarinet case. He looked refreshed; well-scrubbed. Jan looked up from the magazine.  ¡°Better¡­much better. But you won¡¯t need your instrument. We¡¯re going around the corner for a bite to eat.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t go anywhere without my music,¡± replied Carter. ¡°It¡¯s all I have.¡± He walked past her and through the door to the street. Jan followed, reflecting on what he said.


    Five minutes later they were seated in a small diner decorated in art deco, eating hamburgers and fries.


    ¡°All right¡­tell me the truth,¡± she said, ¡°What did you do that put you in prison for four years?¡±


    Carter wiped some ketchup off his black beard and smiled.  ¡°They didn¡¯t like my looks.¡±


    Jan tossed her hamburger on the plate and leaned forward.  She lowered her voice and smiled like a fox. ¡°Don¡¯t mess with me Carter¡­I¡¯m an angry white woman.¡±


    This babe means business, he thought. Better be cool. ¡°All right¡­I won¡¯t mess with you. I did time for rape.¡±


    Jan didn¡¯t reply at first. She searched his face, his eyes, to be certain he was telling the truth. ¡°Let me get this straight ¨C you go to prison for rape, and after you¡¯re released you prevent a woman from being raped?¡±


    He shot her a big wide grin. ¡°I was voted the one most likely to be rehabilitated.¡±


    Jan frowned, about to lose her temper. ¡°Tell me the truth, wise guy. Did you commit rape?¡±


    ¡°No¡­I told you I was framed.¡±


    ¡°Framed how? By who? And why?¡±


    Carter relented. It was time to tell her. ¡°I used to have my own band. We played jazz mostly. We had gigs in clubs, hotels, cruise ships. About five years ago we landed a two month gig at a small club in San Francisco. The owner was¡­¡±


    ¡°Was what?¡±


    ¡°He was kinda crazy¡­short-tempered. He had a girl; her name was Evelyn¡­nice respectable name, Evelyn. She was a singer, a damn good singer. She joined our band and sang vocals on some of our numbers. She was a good looking girl.


    One night, when the boss was away, we had a little party after the joint closed. After the other guys went home, Evelyn invited me over to her place for a nightcap. I didn¡¯t think it was a good idea, but she put her arms around me and told me it would be all right. I went along with her¡­we drank a little more wine in her apartment¡­and then we made love. It was good¡­real good. But afterward she told me she wanted to go on the road with me and the band. She wanted to break away from Mister Corelli. I told her I didn¡¯t want any trouble.  Our gig was about to end, and I told her I thought it better if we left town without her. She got real angry, started shouting, cursing at me.  She was afraid of him. I got up to leave and I heard the front door unlock. I started to run toward the back window, to climb down the fire escape. But Mister Corelli come runnin¡¯ after me, caught me from behind, and threw me to the floor. He started callin¡¯ me all kinds o¡¯ names. I threw him off of me, hit him a few times, and ran out of the apartment.


    The next morning, I told the guys we were leavin¡¯ town, our gig was over. But while I was packin¡¯ my bag the cops came round to my hotel room and told me I was under arrest. I asked them what the charge was. They told me it was rape. Mister Corelli, he brought the charges against me.


    I told them it was a lie, but Evelyn, she testified against me. I hated her for it, but I knew that Corelli might kill her if she told him we were making love that night, that she wanted me as much as I wanted her. So she told him it was rape, and he had me arrested for it. They did tests on her, convicted me, and sentenced me to seven years in prison. I joined the prison band, behaved myself, and they let me out after four and a half years. Now you know the whole rotten truth.¡±


    Silence fell between them. Jan reflected on the injustice, sympathetic to the man¡¯s dilemma. ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t ask you this, but Evelyn¡­was she white or black?¡±


    ¡°White.¡±


    Jan shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to go through that. But you told me you learned to play clarinet in prison.¡±


    ¡°I told you I learned to play like I play today in prison. I played clarinet for years before that, but four plus years with nothin¡¯ better to do taught me to play a whole lot better.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­and what about the guys who were in your band? Did you try to contact them after your release?¡±


    ¡°I did, but they all went their own way. After four and a half years I didn¡¯t expect them to be waitin¡¯ for me.¡±


    ¡°When were you released?¡±


    ¡°About three months ago. I wandered around for a while, then I came to Sacramento, hoping to find some musicians and land a gig, but so far no takers.¡±


    ¡°But what were you doing in that alley the other night?¡±


    ¡°I was walking to that night club, to talk to them about a gig, to see if they had live bands and check the place out.¡±


    ¡°Then that was your instrument case I saw that night. You picked it up in the alley after you knocked that cop unconscious.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that was it.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­what a story,¡± she told him. ¡°It really could be a book.¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡± he said.


    She ignored the question. ¡°Let¡¯s eat,¡± she replied.


    The talking stopped, and when they finished their food they stood on the sidewalk outside the diner.


    ¡°Thanks for bailing me out,¡± he told her. ¡°But I won¡¯t go through another frame-up.¡±


    ¡°We have ten days.¡± Jan took a business card out of her purse and wrote on the back of it. She handed the card to Carter. ¡°That¡¯s my cell number. You have a cell phone?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You have a phone in your hotel room?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be relocating, will you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay¡­for at least ten days.¡±


    Jan gave him a long, intense look. ¡°I¡¯ll be looking for you in your usual place, playing some good music.¡±


    They shook hands and parted. As she walked back to her car Jan saw Wesley Russell leaning against a lamp post near the police station, carrying an attach¨¦ case, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie.


    ¡°You spent my fee on bail,¡± he said. ¡°And I came all the way over here to give you my promotional discount.¡±


    Jan walked over to him and began to smile. ¡°Cute, hot shot, real cute. But don¡¯t B.S. me. I¡¯ve had enough of that for one life time. And how did you know I¡¯d be here?¡±


    ¡°I followed you.¡±


    ¡°Oh?  And why did you do that?¡±


    ¡°I like you¡­and I thought you needed help. You do realize if he jumps bail you¡¯ll forfeit the twenty thousand dollars.¡±


    Jan looked a bit surprised, but replied with confidence. ¡°Sure¡­I knew that.¡± He raised a quizzical eyebrow as if to question her sincerity. ¡°What¡¯s your game, hot shot?¡±


    ¡°No game. If I help you exonerate him, you can pay me half the bail¡­after they return it to you. If he goes to jail you owe me nothing.¡±  He handed her his business card.


    ¡°What about the cop?¡± she asked.


    ¡°For your clarinet player to go free, the cop either has to drop the charges or go to jail.¡±


    Jan ran her finger over his business card. ¡°I¡¯ll think it over.¡±


    She turned around and saw a parking ticket on the windshield of her car. She tore it off the car and spun around, facing Russell. ¡°How long have you been standing here?¡±


    Russell checked his watch. ¡°About twenty minutes.¡±


    Jan checked the time marked on the parking ticket. ¡°It says the ticket was issued about ten minutes ago. You knew this was my car.¡± She glanced at the ¡®expired¡¯ meter, then thrust the parking ticket at Russell. ¡°Take care of that, will you.¡± Jan flashed him a smile, then hopped into her car and drove away.

 Chapter 8

    The house where Harry Finegold lived was built in the 1930¡¯s during the great depression. It had been his father¡¯s house, a grand looking home where Harry grew up; and after his parents passed on it became Harry¡¯s house. It looked like a cross between a Southern plantation and the White House. A long wooden front porch ran the length of the house on either side of the wide double-doors, framed by two tall white pillars that extended to the bottom of the second story. The entire wooden fa?ade was painted ivory, and the traditional square-shaped windows were framed by turquoise slatted shutters.  On either side of the long stone walkway leading to the front door were two halves of a large green manicured lawn, dotted with oak trees. The house was situated in mid-town, on a quiet tree-lined street, in the area known as the ¡®fabulous forties¡¯, where many of the homes commanded prices in excess of a million dollars. It was a huge house for Harry and his wife Charlotte. They had no children, but frequently entertained and were well-respected in the community for their charitable tax-deductable contributions and appearances at important public events.


    Jan parked her car in front of the huge imposing house and walked quickly up to Harry¡¯s front door. Moments after she rang the bell the door opened and Charlotte Finegold appeared. A well groomed woman in her mid sixties, Charlotte had been to the salon earlier in the day; her short, thin silver hair had been colored strawberry blond. She wore contemporary rimless glasses that rested on a rather long, thin nose which divided a pair of powdered, well-rounded cheeks. She was dressed for an event, in a tasteful two-piece brown suede suit, honey-colored nylons, and a pair of light brown flats. A long pearl necklace lay draped around her neck. This woman reeks of money, thought Jan, as Charlotte¡¯s frosty smile greeted her.


    ¡°Hello Charlotte.¡± Jan returned the frosty smile. She knew that Charlotte didn¡¯t much like her; for years she thought Harry had a ¡®thing¡¯ for her.


    ¡°Janet, what brings you here?¡± There was little curiosity in the woman¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Is Harry home?¡±


    Charlotte nodded, turned her head and shouted, ¡°Harry, someone¡¯s here to see you.¡±


    A few moments later Harry appeared, wearing a white yarmulke on his balding head. He was dressed in a white suit, a blue shirt, and a bright red tie. As he came to the door he was putting a brown loafer on his left foot.


    ¡°Jan?¡± His voice was deep, uninviting. Harry was not pleased to see her.


    Jan offered a sweeter than usual smile. ¡°Harry, I need to talk to you for a few minutes.¡±


    He glanced at Charlotte. ¡°I¡¯ll get our coats,¡± she said, and shuffled away.


    ¡°I¡¯d invite you in,¡± said Harry, ¡°but we¡¯re getting ready to leave. We have a fund raiser at the synagogue this evening.¡±


    Jan glanced at the yarmulke on Harry¡¯s head. ¡°That yarmulke suits you better than the toupee.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Jan. I left you a message.¡±


    ¡°I heard your message Harry. I didn¡¯t care for it. But that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here.¡±


    Harry stepped outside and closed the door. ¡°Okay, tell me.¡±


    Jan put excitement in her voice. ¡°I found a manuscript. It sounds hot, really hot. It could be the blockbuster you¡¯re looking for.¡±


    Harry looked annoyed. ¡°That¡¯s good Jan, but you didn¡¯t have to come to my house to tell me this. It could have waited.¡±


    ¡°You wanted something big, and this could be it. Why wait?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the author?¡±


    ¡°Her name¡¯s Louise. I met her at Starbuck¡¯s by accident. She was working on the manuscript over a latte and we started talking. I was curious, so she showed me the first three chapters. It reads like a classic Harry, a terrific combination of mystery, suspense and romance. Some of the narrative is set right here in Sacramento.  Great characters, good plotting.¡±


    Harry relaxed a little. ¡°Sounds interesting. Does she have an ending for it?¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Jan thought for a moment. ¡°No, the ending hasn¡¯t been decided yet.¡±


    ¡°Does she have an agent?¡±


    ¡°No, but we can negotiate with her.¡±


    ¡°All right, bring me the first three chapters and a synopsis next week.¡±


    Harry turned to go back in the house. ¡°Wait a second,¡± she said, stopping him in his tracks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring this author on board on one condition. If this makes the bestseller list, you cancel Peter¡¯s contract.¡±


    Harry yanked the yarmulke off his head. ¡°Jan, I¡¯m running the business. I make the rules and the conditions. If you want to compete with Peter go right ahead. Competition is always a healthy thing in business. But I won¡¯t cancel a contract based on that.¡±


    Jan relented. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll have those chapters on your desk on Monday.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re closed until Thursday Jan. Some people are enjoying the holidays.¡±


    ¡°Enjoy your fund-raiser, Harry.¡± She started to walk away.


    ¡°By the way, that manuscript is fiction, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Jan continued walking toward her car. ¡°Pure fiction Harry¡­pure fiction.¡±


    Half an hour later Jan sat at the desk in her apartment searching for Carter¡¯s ¡°free¡± public arrest records on her laptop. The web site required first name, last name, city and state. Jan quickly typed in Louis Carter, Sacramento, California. A list appeared; she selected the first entry: Louis H. Carter. Addresses: Sacramento, Folsom, San Francisco. Jan clicked on his name; another screen appeared. Jan frowned ¨C it cost $39.95 to access the records.


    ¡°Cheapskates,¡± she muttered, as she went to the pay screen and entered her banking information. Moments later the records appeared. Jan scrolled through the information until she saw something she didn¡¯t like. Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Son-of-a-bitch¡­Carter!¡±


    Jan jumped up, grabbed her purse and ran out of the apartment.


    Carter didn¡¯t see her coming; she stood behind the onlookers on the sidewalk until he finished playing.  When the spectators left she walked over to Carter and poked her finger at his chest. ¡°You lied to me Carter.¡± Her voice was calm, and deadly serious.


    He lowered his clarinet and looked at her. ¡°Lied to you how?¡± he said, sounding sincere.


    ¡°You gave me this big sob story about being arrested and jailed for a rape that you didn¡¯t commit.¡±


    ¡°That part¡¯s true¡­I didn¡¯t commit rape.¡±


    ¡°According to the police records you committed armed robbery.¡±


    Carter hesitated to reply. ¡°All right¡­you caught me. You want your bail money back?  I¡¯ll let ¡®em lock me up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I should do. God, what a sucker I am. I paid twenty thousand for you to B.S. me, and I only paid thirty nine ninety five for the truth.¡±


    Carter started to pack up his clarinet as they continued talking. ¡°You could have asked those cops about my record, but you didn¡¯t.  Why?  Because it didn¡¯t matter. The only thing that mattered to you is that they arrested me for something that I didn¡¯t do. When you¡¯ve been in jail you¡¯re marked¡­you¡¯re marked for life. You aren¡¯t ever looked at or thought about in the same way after you¡¯ve been in jail.


    If I told you the truth about my record ¨C that I had actually committed a crime ¨C you would have looked at me like you¡¯re lookin¡¯ at me right now. You would have been thinkin¡¯ about me like you¡¯re thinkin¡¯ about me right now. That is the truth lady¡­the God¡¯s honest truth.¡±


    Carter finished packing away his clarinet. He put the few donation dollars in his pocket and started to walk away from her.


    ¡°Wait a second!¡± she shouted. He stopped and turned to look at her. ¡°The public record didn¡¯t tell me who you robbed, or why.¡±


    ¡°That night club owner¡­Mister Corelli. I went into his office after the club closed, pointed a gun at this head, and told him to open the safe. I told him to give me twenty two hundred dollars¡­one week¡¯s pay for me and my band. That was money he refused to pay me after he found out that Evelyn and I had an affair. I loved her and she loved me. When he found out he fired me and the band, told me to leave town the next day, and he refused to pay me. When I threatened to shoot him he gave me the money and I ran off. But the cops caught me at my hotel and arrested me.¡±


    ¡°And Evelyn?¡±


    ¡°I never saw her again. I hope she had a good life¡­a better life than me.¡± Carter turned around and walked away.


    That night, Jan showered away the day, put on a blue bathrobe, and walked out to her living room. She picked up Eleanor from the sofa, walked over to her desk, sat down, and looked at the blank laptop monitor for a full thirty seconds. Then she turned on the computer, brought up the word processor, and on the blank white page she typed Chapter One: ¡®When she was twenty one she knew what she wanted her life to be, and when she turned thirty one she knew it could never be ¨C until one day, when the scarecrow came to town.¡¯


    ¡°Not bad,¡± Jan said to herself, as she paused to re-read the line. ¡°What do you think Eleanor?¡± The cat purred softly, and Jan continued typing.


    Sometime later that evening she came to the end of Chapter Two but couldn¡¯t continue. She didn¡¯t know what would happen in Chapter Three. Eleanor was asleep on the sofa. ¡°Chapter Three starts tomorrow,¡± she said, looking over at the cat. Jan turned off the laptop, picked up Eleanor, and went to her bedroom.


    In the middle of the night Jan woke up. A river of sweat ran down her cheeks. She heard a girl crying, and then came the pounding on the door. Jan covered her ears but she couldn¡¯t stop the deafening noise. Again she ran through the apartment to the front door, wearing only a nightgown. But when she reached the door the girl stopped crying¡­and the pounding ceased. Jan didn¡¯t open the door; instead she went to the kitchen sink, tossed cold water on her face, then walked back to her bedroom, where Eleanor lay sleeping on the bed beside her. For Doctor Janet Lehman it would be another long night.

 Chapter 9

    On Sunday morning the city streets were deserted. The Monday thru Friday office buildings stood silent, and traffic was sparse. Across the street from the Richards Boulevard police station Jan sat in her car, sipping coffee, watching the entrance to the precinct. She¡¯d been watching for more than two hours, as the officers parked their patrol cars and sauntered up the steps and into the station, or went to their cars to either begin or end their shift.


    Another hour passed, and then she saw him. Bobby Callous, wearing his cop¡¯s uniform and a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, parked his patrol car in front of the police station, ran a comb through his sandy hair, and walked toward the steps leading to the station entrance. Jan hopped out of her car and ran across the street. She caught up to him at the bottom of the steps.


    ¡°Hey!¡± He turned around as she approached.


    ¡°You damn well better drop the charges against Carter. He was protecting me from you.¡±


    ¡°No chance, Lady. And if you bring charges against me you¡¯ll regret it. Besides, you have no proof. We were both drunk, and you were advertising.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie. And you¡¯re a disgrace to the entire police department.¡±


    ¡°You want to know why I won¡¯t drop the charges?¡± He turned around to reveal the stitches in the back of his head. ¡°See that?  He hit me from behind with that heavy fire extinguisher. I was walking away from him when he picked it up and hit me. You didn¡¯t see it¡­and I¡¯ll bet he didn¡¯t tell you that. He pulled me off of you and we wrestled on the ground. Then I got up and started to walk away.  That¡¯s when he came after me from behind and whacked me. He didn¡¯t have to do that, and that¡¯s why I won¡¯t drop the charges.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± she replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s too bad, because the judge will. Being hit from behind¡­he¡¯s the guilty one.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re ten times guiltier than he is,¡± she said angrily.


    ¡°Give it up,¡± he replied. ¡°Your black boy¡¯s going to jail.¡±


    Jan swung her arm around to slap him across the face, but he caught her arm in mid-air.


    ¡°Watch it lady! You almost assaulted a police officer. I could have you arrested for that.¡±  He let go of her arm, turned around, and walked up the steps to the precinct.


    That morning Wes Russell attended St. John¡¯s Lutheran church on 17<sup>th  </sup>street, a solid, red-brick building and one of the oldest, most established churches in town. He had been a regular at the church for the past three years, since his return from overseas, when his stint in the Peace Corp came to an end. He was seated in a pew at the back of the church when he felt a vibration in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. He quickly reached into the pocket and extracted his cell phone. After a glance at the pastor, who was in the midst of his Sunday sermon, Russell looked over at the young girl seated next to him, whispered something in her ear, then ducked out of the chapel and onto the steps in front of the old church.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Hello¡­this is Wes. Oh¡­you decided to¡­where? Yes, I know where that is. In about twenty minutes. No, I¡¯m in church. No, it didn¡¯t ring in the church; I put it on vibrate. Yes, I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    Jan sat by the window in the International House of Pancakes (IHOP) on Arden Way, sipping coffee, waiting for the lawyer. When she saw him getting out of his pickup truck, he wasn¡¯t alone. There was a girl with him, the young girl who sat beside him in the church. She must have been ten or eleven, thought Jan. Wes took her by the hand as they walked quickly into the restaurant. Jan waved to them and they came over to her table. The girl had small, delicate features, a thin dark face, dimpled cheeks, large brown eyes, and a wide, warm smile.


    ¡°We haven¡¯t had breakfast,¡± commented Wes, ¡°so we can eat while we chat. This is Amanda.¡±


    The girl held out her hand. ¡°Hello.¡± She had a slight accent.


    Jan smiled and shook the girl¡¯s hand. ¡°Pleased to meet you Amanda.¡±


    ¡°Have a seat in the next booth,¡± said Wes. ¡°You want pancakes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see. I want to study the menu first.¡±  Amanda slid into the next booth. Wes sat down opposite Jan. She leaned over to have another look at the girl.


    ¡°She¡¯s from Singapore,¡± said Wes. ¡°I taught English to some school kids over there for two years when I joined the Peace Corp.  She was one of my students. She lost her parents in a car accident. I adopted her and brought her over.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s cute¡­and bright,¡± replied Jan. ¡°How old is she?¡±


    ¡°Eleven. I brought her along, but I didn¡¯t want her to hear our discussion.¡±


    Jan leaned forward and lowered her voice. ¡°I decided to take you up on your offer. Same terms, okay?¡±


    Wes raised a quizzical eyebrow. ¡°The same terms, but why the change of heart?¡± He took a note pad and pen out of his jacket pocket.


    ¡°I confronted that cop today. I told him to drop the charges against Carter, but he refused. He showed me stitches on the back of his head where Carter hit him with that fire extinguisher. He claimed that Carter attacked him from behind after he walked away from the scuffle. He made it sound as if there¡¯s no chance to prove otherwise.¡±


    ¡°That does complicate the case,¡± said Wes. ¡°What¡¯s the cop¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°Callous¡­Bobby Callous.¡±


    ¡°And the clarinet player¡¯s full name?¡±


    ¡°Louis Carter.¡±


    Wes noted the names. ¡°I¡¯ll need more information, about the cop, and about Carter. When can I meet Carter?¡±


    ¡°Today. You can probably find him at the corner of eighth and L. He plays his clarinet there. He¡¯s staying at a hotel downtown.¡±


    ¡°Okay, and about that cop; you better let me handle it.¡±


    ¡°All right, but don¡¯t the cops know you from the cases you¡¯ve worked on?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t worked on that many, but I can disguise myself if I have to. I¡¯ve been an orthodox rabbi, a goat farmer, a street bum, a hooker¡­¡±


    Jan laughed. ¡°Whatever works,¡± she replied. ¡°But I would like to come along when you meet Carter. I want to reassure him that you¡¯re there to help.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but we can¡¯t solve this case on an empty stomach.¡± Wes picked up a menu. ¡°What kind of pancakes do you like?  Breakfast is on me, so order whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°Can I have blueberry pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs,¡± asked Amanda?¡±


    ¡°Yes you can,¡± replied Wes.


    ¡°She has a good appetite,¡± commented Jan.


    ¡°Her family was very poor. She¡¯s making up for it. And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll drop her off at her grandmother¡¯s before we go to meet your clarinet player.¡±

 Chapter 10

    The streets were empty on that Sunday afternoon, as Carter stood alone in the doorway of an abandoned hotel, shielded from the rain, playing his clarinet. An aging pick-up truck pulled up to the curb; Wes and Jan hopped out. Carter stopped playing as he saw them approach; they huddled together in the doorway as the rain slapped against the pavement.


    ¡°Carter, this is Wes. He¡¯s a lawyer. He may be able to help you.  I filled him in on what happened.¡±


    ¡°Hello Carter.¡±  Wes extended his hand. Carter shook his hand but looked at Jan.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need help,¡± said Carter. ¡°I¡¯m not going to jail.¡±


    Jan and Carter looked at each other. ¡°You¡¯re out on bail,¡± said Wes.


    ¡°I won¡¯t go back,¡± Carter replied. ¡°If I do they¡¯ll lock me away for years.¡±


    ¡°If we can prove that you hit that cop to protect Jan, will you consider going back for the arraignment?¡±


    ¡°How you gonna prove it?  She¡¯s the only witness. It¡¯ll be her word against that cop¡¯s. If she tells the judge he attacked her, he¡¯ll tell the judge she¡¯s lying and that¡¯ll be the end.¡±


    ¡°He might believe Jan. ¡°Why would she bet twenty thousand dollars on you, someone she never met?¡±


    ¡°No matter what you think you can prove, or what you tell me, if I go back I¡¯m goin¡¯ to prison.¡±


    ¡°We still have nine days,¡± said Jan. ¡°Stick around, okay?¡±


    ¡°I might stick around,¡± he replied.


    ¡°If you jump bail they can send a bounty hunter after you,¡± said Wes. ¡°If he catches you, it could mean a lot more jail time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to run off, and I don¡¯t want her to lose that bail money. But I¡¯ll do what I have to do.¡±


    Wes decided to change the subject. ¡°Jan tells me you¡¯re a first rate clarinet player. I could tell she was right from the little I heard when we parked. I used to play trumpet in a band in college. We could have a little jam session some time if you wish.¡±


    Carter smiled. Jan looked over at Wes, a bit impressed. ¡°Bring your horn,¡± replied Carter. ¡°We¡¯ll see if you can keep up with me.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Wes started to walk away. ¡°Oh, I do have one question for you about what happened that night.¡± Jan tensed; she knew what the question would be. ¡°You hit the cop with a fire extinguisher, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­I did.¡±


    ¡°When did you hit him, when you were scuffling on the ground? Or did he manage to get up first?¡±


    Carter thought for a moment. ¡°He got up.¡±


    ¡°You picked up the fire extinguisher and hit him after he stood up?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Wes paused. He put his hand on the back of this head. ¡°He had stitches in this area. That means he was hit from behind.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to be damn sure he wouldn¡¯t come back at me so I hit him.¡±


    ¡°You hit him after he started to walk away?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, I didn¡¯t want him comin¡¯ back at me, or at her.¡±


    Wes handed his business card to Carter. ¡°Thanks. We¡¯ll be in touch. Phone me if you want to talk¡­or have a jam session.¡±


    Back in the truck Jan turned to Wes. ¡°He¡¯s honest. He told you the truth about hitting that cop. But if he tells that to a judge at the arraignment it won¡¯t look good. What now?¡±


    Wes gave it a moment. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. First I¡¯m going home to practice my trumpet. After that I¡¯ll be in touch.¡± He smiled at her and drove away through the rain-soaked streets.


    When Jan hopped out of the pickup truck her cell phone rang.  ¡°Hello¡­yes this is Jan. Okay, tell him I¡¯m coming.¡± She hurried over to her car in the IHOP parking lot and drove quickly away.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Half an hour later she was walking into her father¡¯s retirement home. She spoke to the girl at the front desk: ¡°Can you take me back?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in the courtyard with a care-giver. I called you because his recognition is worse.¡±


    Jan nodded and walked quickly away from the lobby, along a corridor and through a side door exit near the dining room.


    Outside, in a small square courtyard, Jan¡¯s father sat on a wooden bench; a young female caregiver dressed in a white uniform sat beside him. He wore a brown jacket and a brown beret to keep his head warm. His walker was parked beside the bench. As Jan walked over to him Edward didn¡¯t turn his head; his somber eyes looked across the courtyard at the wide green field beyond.


    ¡°Hello Dad.¡± Jan sat down on the bench beside him. He slowly turned his head and looked at her. The caregiver patted him on the back.


    ¡°You have a special visitor today, Mister Lehman.¡±


    ¡°Who is she?¡± he replied.


    Jan glanced at the girl. ¡°Can I take him for a walk?¡± The girl nodded. ¡°Come on Dad, let¡¯s walk for a while.¡± They helped him to his feet, and placed his hands on the walker. The girl left, and Jan put her arm around her father as they walked slowly out of the courtyard and onto the narrow sidewalk that circled the retirement home.


    For a while they walked in silence, as the sidewalk wound around the property through the oak grove and the emerald green lawns. The peaceful surroundings couldn¡¯t calm Jan¡¯s aching heart, for she knew that her father was slipping further away from her. She forced herself to smile and break the silence.


    ¡°Dad, do you want to go somewhere? We could go out for dinner together.¡±


    He stopped, and leaned on his walker. When he looked at Jan his eyes became curious. ¡°When am I going home? I want to go home. They¡¯re waiting for me.¡±


    Jan put her arm around his shoulders. ¡°Dad, this is your home. I¡¯m your daughter¡­Janet.¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No¡­my daughter is young. She¡¯s a little girl.¡±


    He started to walk away from her. Jan stood motionless, unable to speak, a stranger to her own father.


    When the cell phone range Liz Neaman was inspecting designer clothes on a rack in Nordstrom¡¯s. She brushed back her long blond hair, searched through her leather handbag and found the phone. ¡°Hello¡­Jan? Well, I¡¯m a little busy. What¡¯s going on? You can¡¯t tell me on the phone? Okay¡­I¡¯ll come over.¡± Liz hung up, checked her watch, and continued looking through the clothes rack.


    Jan was typing on her laptop when the doorbell rang. She quickly logged off and went to answer the door.


    ¡°So what¡¯s going on?¡± Liz smiled; she had a shopping bag in her hand.


    Jan looked at her watch as Liz came in to the apartment. ¡°I phoned you forty five minutes ago,¡± she said angrily. ¡°What took you so long?¡±


    Liz held up the shopping bag. ¡°I had to buy a new dress. Donald¡¯s hosting a New Year¡¯s party for the brokers in his office.  Want to see it?¡±


    ¡°No thanks,¡± replied Jan.  ¡°Have a seat.¡±


    They sat on the sofa; Liz put the shopping bag aside. Jan remained silent for a few moments and Liz could tell that something was troubling her. ¡°What is it Jan? What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Jan choked with emotion as she spoke. ¡°My father doesn¡¯t know who I am.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t recognize me. He¡¯s lost his memory.¡±


    Liz held her hands. ¡°Oh God¡­I¡¯m so sorry Jan.¡±


    ¡°I went to visit him today. He said he wanted to come home.¡±


    ¡°What did you tell him?¡±


    ¡°I told him that he was home¡­and that I¡¯m his daughter. He said no, his daughter is a little girl.¡± Jan paused, became thoughtful.  ¡°You ever wish that you were little¡­that you could go back?¡±


    Liz hesitated. ¡°Sometimes¡­we all have regrets. But Jan, you worked hard, you had a terrific education, you have a super job.¡±


    ¡°And what do I have to show for it? A lousy marriage and a lonely life. Unpleasant memories.¡± Jan looked across the room at her laptop. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why I did it.¡±


    ¡°Did what?¡±


    Eleanor jumped up on the sofa.  ¡°Tell her Eleanor.¡±


    Liz chuckled. ¡°Come on Jan, what did you do?¡±


    Jan stood up and started pacing back and forth across the living room. ¡°Remember that guy I told you about? The guy who saved me from being raped?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°He was arrested, and the cop who arrested him is the creep who tried to rape me.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God.¡±


    ¡°The cop claims he assaulted him, which he did, but only to protect me.¡±


    ¡°What did you do when you found out?¡±


    ¡°I bailed the man out of jail¡­for twenty thousand dollars.¡±


    ¡°Wow!¡±


    ¡°Wow what?  Wow that I bailed him out, or wow that I spent twenty thousand dollars.¡±


    ¡°Both.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d been in jail before. It was almost certain that he¡¯d be convicted. I had to do something to help him after he helped me.¡±


    ¡°Will there be a trial?¡±


    ¡°First there¡¯s an arraignment, in a little over a week. If the judge thinks there¡¯s enough evidence against him he could be put on trial.  If he doesn¡¯t show up I lose my twenty thousand. But I hired a lawyer, some young hot-shot. He might be able to help. If the cop drops the charges before the trial it¡¯ll be a happy ending.¡±


    Liz heaved a sigh and shook her head. ¡°God, what a mess.¡±


    ¡°I could have left it alone, forgotten about it. I have enough to worry about.¡±


    Liz reassured her. ¡°Jan, you did a good thing. Whatever happens, you did what you thought was right. Ready to see my dress?¡±


    Jan frowned. ¡°No, but go ahead, show it to me.¡±


    Liz opened the shopping bag and extracted a full length, red-and-white-sequined evening gown. She stood up, held the dress against her body and smiled. ¡°You like?¡±


    Jan managed a smile. ¡°I like.¡±


    Liz returned the dress to the shopping bag. ¡°Hey, why don¡¯t we go somewhere for lunch, or go shopping. It¡¯ll cheer you up.¡±


    Jan shook her head. ¡°No thanks Liz. I think I¡¯d like to be alone for a while.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but don¡¯t be too depressed. I¡¯m really sorry about your Dad.¡± Liz picked up her shopping bag and walked to the door. ¡°I¡¯ll phone you this evening.¡±


    As Liz left the apartment Jan picked up Eleanor and walked over to the desk. She turned on her laptop, opened the novel and typed Chapter 3.

 Chapter 11

    Monday morning brought clear skies to the capital. The sun peeked over the Sierras and bathed the city in a serene golden glow. Jan drove through the busy, commuter-choked streets, past the intersection where Carter played his clarinet. She looked for him but he wasn¡¯t in his usual place. For a moment she thought of going to his hotel, but dismissed the idea and drove on to her office.


    When she pulled in to the underground garage and parked in her reserved space, she turned off the engine, picked up a large manila envelope, and glanced at the first page of her novel.  Satisfied, she took a deep breath, closed the folder, and got out of the car.


    On the top floor of the building, surrounded by huge solar-filmed windows, Peter Lipschitz sat on a leather sofa in the lobby outside Harry¡¯s office. His legs, dressed in skin-tight designer jeans and brown leather cowboy boots, were stretched out on a coffee table in front of the sofa. His black silk shirt, pulled tight against his bulging health-club biceps, had been unbuttoned far enough to reveal a certain amount of chocolate-colored chest hair. The jet black hair on top of his head was slicked back, greased up, and ready to rock-and-roll, while the look-at-me face had the artificial bronzed good looks that come from too many hours at the local tanning parlor.


    He was reading through part of his own novel when Jan came in to the lobby, dressed in an elegant pink suit and pumps. Her hair was neatly coiffed in a bun; her body was erect, her chin up, her eyes focused on the double-doors of Harry¡¯s office.


    ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t the dragon lady,¡± he said as she walked past.


    Jan stopped, turned slowly in a pirouette, and looked down at her x-husband. ¡°Take your feet off that coffee table¡­this isn¡¯t your office. And it damn sure isn¡¯t your home.¡±


    Peter frowned, removed his feet from the coffee table and sat up straight in the chair. ¡°You have an appointment with Harry?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need an appointment,¡± she replied. ¡°And what the hell are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°I have an appointment. Contract negotiations.¡±


    ¡°Your contract should be cancelled. And why isn¡¯t your agent negotiating?¡±


    He hesitated to reply. ¡°After your little food fight the other day she decided it wasn¡¯t safe to represent me.¡±


    ¡°Too bad,¡± Jan replied with mock sympathy.


    Peter focused on the folder in Jan¡¯s hand. ¡°What¡¯s in the folder?¡±


    ¡°Notes for a potential blockbuster, a bestseller.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What¡¯s it about?¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Jan smiled. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know?¡±


    Peter slapped his novel down on the coffee table and stood up. ¡°Look Jan, if you¡¯re trying to outdo me, to get my contract torn up for some sort of revenge.¡±


    ¡°Your damn right I am! I gave you five years of my life. I made you a success, and what did you do? How did you thank me? By screwing around with half a dozen women who were as vain and shallow as you! I used to think it was my fault, that I did something wrong to make you unhappy at home. But no, it was you Peter. It was always you. You¡¯re sick. You should be in one of those therapy sessions for sex addicts.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a convenient excuse Jan. But for your information I was unhappy. I may be a regular guy, from a blue-collar family, but you and your stuck-up academic friends, your P.H.D. know-it-alls made me feel like a complete shmuck, because I didn¡¯t have the pristine education, the good breeding, the middle-class parents. Like Kowalski said, ¡®Common¡¯?  Yeah¡­I¡¯m as common as dirt. But I made you feel good, damn good, when we were alone at night.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s twenty four hours in the day, Peter. The other twenty three and a half weren¡¯t that good.¡±


    ¡°Ditto.¡±


    ¡°Ditto? That¡¯s your clever reply? How many dittos did you put in your new novel; the first novel without me around to edit all your dittos?¡±


    ¡°Hey! What¡¯s going on here?!¡± Harry came strolling into the lobby, minus his toupee, holding up a hand for them to stop arguing. ¡°Jan, remember our conversation, our arrangement?¡±


    ¡°I was coming in for that, Harry, but I was interrupted.¡±


    ¡°Peter, can you wait another five minutes? I asked Jan to come in this morning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait.¡± Peter sat down on the sofa.


    Harry gestured for Jan to go in to his office. She did, Harry followed, and closed the door.


    Jan took a seat as Harry walked around and sat down behind his desk.


    ¡°You¡¯re going natural today, Harry ¨C no toupee. No special meetings?¡±


    ¡°Only this one, Jan.¡±


    She leaned across the desk and handed Harry the manila folder. ¡°The first three chapters, plus the synopsis, as per your request.¡±


    Harry opened the folder. ¡°No title?¡±


    ¡°No¡­no title yet.¡±


    ¡°What more do you know about the author, this Louise Carter?¡±


    Jan hesitated. ¡°She¡¯s well educated, she¡¯s new in town, she enjoys jazz, and she likes to write about characters who have their everyday lives turned upside down by extraordinary and unexpected circumstances. She¡¯s a gifted writer Harry.¡±


    Harry read the one-page synopsis. ¡°The synopsis is incomplete,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s no ending, no resolution.¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t finished the manuscript. When she does she¡¯ll complete the synopsis.¡±


    Harry frowned, and started reading the manuscript. The room went silent as Jan anxiously watched Harry¡¯s face for some clue as to weather he liked what he read. Harry remained stone-faced as he turned the first page and started reading the second. A few moments afterward he stopped.


    ¡°The writing is rather good, but can she sustain it for three hundred pages?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m confident that she can. She told me she¡¯ll have three more chapters by Friday.¡±


    ¡°You can email those chapters to me. And I¡¯ll finish reading these during lunch. Most of the staff is off this week, and I still want you to take a vacation. I¡¯m not happy about what happened the other night. I don¡¯t want to fire you Jan, but if something like that happens again I might have no choice.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to extend Peter¡¯s contract?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s between Peter and me.¡±


    ¡°But this new novel that Peter¡¯s writing; is it as good as the books I edited for him?¡±


    Harry hesitated to answer. ¡°No¡­it isn¡¯t as good.¡±


    Jan began to smile. ¡°Thanks Harry. I¡¯ll send him in.¡±


    Peter was making notes in his manuscript as Jan walked past him. ¡°You can go in now lover boy.¡±


    Jan kept on walking through the lobby as Peter stood up, admired her figure, and walked into Harry¡¯s office.

 Chapter 12

    Bobby Callous walked out of the Richards Boulevard police station wearing jeans, boots, and an open shirt; clothes that were strikingly similar to those worn by Jan¡¯s x-husband that day. Callous went bounding down the half dozen steps and along the sidewalk toward his car in the adjacent parking area.


    Wes Russell sat in his truck across the street in an empty parking lot, looking through binoculars. When he saw Callous he started the engine. Moments later he saw Callous driving onto the boulevard in an SUV. Russell began following him, first along the boulevard westbound, then onto highway 5 going north, over the Sacramento river, past the Garden highway, until he merged onto highway 80 headed East. Russell stayed two cars behind him, but kept the SUV within view. Callous took the Truxel Rd exit, drove North over the freeway and into the Natomas suburb past a row of shopping centers. Traffic was heavy in the area, and Russell had to maneuver back and forth between lanes to stay within view of the SUV. When he saw Callous turn off the main road into a large apartment complex Russell quickly swerved over into the same lane, nearly missing another car, and followed the SUV into the complex.  Callous drove past the rental office, around to the side, and parked in a visitor¡¯s space opposite one of the multi-unit buildings. Russell slowly motored into the same area, and parked in a vacant space opposite the adjacent building.


    Through binoculars he watched Callous walk away from his vehicle and over to one of the apartments. He rang the bell and moments later an attractive young woman appeared, wearing a white bathrobe. Her hair was blond, long, and tangled. She let Callous in and closed the door.


    Immediately Wes put away his binoculars and opened an attach¨¦ case on the passenger seat. He extracted a bushy gray handle-bar mustache, a full-length well-trimmed gray beard, a gray wig, and a pair of bushy gray eyebrows. After fitting them on his face and head, Wes checked himself out in the rear view mirror. ¡°Old enough to be your grandpa,¡± he said, smiling at the old man in the mirror.


    Wes picked up a three-ring binder and a folding black cane and got out of the car. He unfolded the cane, locked the car, and hobbled over to the woman¡¯s apartment carrying the binder under his arm. He knocked three times on the door. When no one answered he knocked again, louder. A few moments later the door opened. The woman stood in the doorway, closing the top of her bathrobe to hide her cleavage.


    ¡°Good afternoon ma¡¯am.¡± Wes spoke in a feeble old-man¡¯s voice; he was hunched over a bit as he leaned on his cane.


    ¡°Yes?¡± The woman put impatience in her voice.


    ¡°Sorry to disturb you. My name is Travis Yoseman. I¡¯m representing the local chapter of the Homeless Veterans. We¡¯re hoping you might consider a modest donation to help those who sacrificed for their country and find themselves in unfortunate circumstances.¡±


    He opened the binder displaying a solicitor¡¯s license and a small money pouch. ¡°This is our license and information about our organization.¡±


    She glanced at the document. He closed the binder and continued. ¡°Do you have anyone in your family that served?¡±


    ¡°Well, I did have an uncle who went to Vietnam, but no one in the more recent wars.¡±


    ¡°I see. Well, whatever you can afford we would be most grateful.¡±


    Callous appeared behind her, naked from the waist up. She quickly turned and looked at him and then back to Wes. He saw Callous quickly vanish.  ¡°Just a second,¡± she said, and walked away and into the bedroom.


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    Wes stood in the doorway and glanced at the apartment. There was a small living room that featured a love seat, a couple of plane end tables, and a flat-screen TV. On the opposite side was a small, enclosed kitchen and a dinette. The faint jangling sound of rock music came from the bedroom. A wave of mint permeated the air - Callous¡¯s after-shave lotion or under-arm deodorant, concluded Russell.


    ¡°Here you are.¡± The woman reappeared and handed Wes a five dollar bill.


    ¡°Thank you kindly, miss¡­?¡±


    ¡°Hampton,¡± she replied, smiling.


    ¡°Ahh¡­miss Hampton. Your first name isn¡¯t Margaret is it? I believe one of our members has a niece named Margaret Hampton.¡±


    ¡°No, sorry.  My name¡¯s Susie.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well thank you Susie. It was good meeting you.  God bless you.¡±


    As she closed the door Wes put the five dollar bill in the money pouch and hobbled past some other apartments, then back to his car. He made a note of the woman¡¯s name and address, returned his disguise to the attach¨¦ case, took his cell phone from the glove compartment, and started texting.


    When the message came through Jan and Carter were in the diner having coffee. A small tape recorder sat on the table between them.


    ¡°You want my entire life story?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°Yes, everything you can think of. It may help if you go to trial.¡±


    ¡°If there is a trial I won¡¯t be there.¡±


    ¡°Carter, be positive.¡± She turned on the tape recorder.


    ¡°All right, here¡¯s my life story. I grew up in South San Francisco, spent four years in jail, twelve years playing clarinet, my father¡¯s dead, my mother¡¯s crazy, and my only close relative is my sister Ann Marie Carter in Daly City.¡±


    ¡°Did you go to college?¡±


    ¡°Conservatory of Music in San Francisco.¡±


    ¡°The conservatory? You¡¯re talented Carter.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what they told me in prison. They¡¯ll be happy to see me again.¡±


    Jan¡¯s phone lit up. ¡°Hang on.¡± She read the text message and her face turned red.


    Carter saw the look of fright and anguish on Jan¡¯s face.  ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back in five minutes.¡± Jan turned off the tape recorder and hurried out of the diner. On the sidewalk she phoned Wes Russell.


    ¡°Hey¡­I read your text message. The girl¡¯s name is Hampton?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Susie Hampton,¡± he replied as Callous came out of the apartment buttoning the top of his shirt. He reached back to give Susie a kiss in the doorway, then trotted over to his truck.


    ¡°Wait, he¡¯s leaving the apartment,¡± said Wes. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll follow him. Which disguise did I use? A cross between Mark Twain and Teddy Roosevelt, two of my personal heroes. He¡¯s in his truck, I have to go.¡±


    Jan closed her cell phone and shook her head in disbelief as she went back into the diner.


    Wes followed Callous along Truxel Road and onto freeway 80 going East. The traffic was thick, as commuters poured onto the freeway from Interstate 5, heading home to their quiet, conservative lives in the suburbs. Callous took the fast lane to avoid the congestion, and went tooling along at seventy miles per hour. Wes followed suit and hung back a few cars, but kept Callous in his sights.  The winter sun was setting in the West behind them, and the sunlight glared off the long line of hot metal roofs and trunks in front of them.


    Callous veered over into the right hand lane and took the Antelope Road exit into a sprawling suburban area. Wes maneuvered quickly through the heavy traffic and barely made it over in time to catch the exit. Callous turned left at the end of the off ramp and drove over the freeway on Antelope Road. He¡¯d driven about three miles when he made a sharp right turn onto Don Julio and into a quiet residential area. He slowed down as he past an elementary school where kids were shooting baskets on the playground. Wes stayed back a full two blocks to avoid detection, and stayed on Don Julio as Callous made a final turn into a quiet cul-de-sac and parked his truck in the driveway of an attractive single story home.


    There was a small bicycle and assorted toys scattered across the front lawn. The modest house featured a two car garage, a gray stucco fa?ade, a red tile roof, and near the door a small front porch where a young girl, about five years old, sat rocking back and forth in a two-seater swing. Callous hopped out of his truck, walked quickly over to the girl, picked her up and gave her a kiss. They sat down together, side by side in the swing, and rocked back and forth. Moments later a young woman appeared at the front door. She had short brown hair, wore an apron, and was obviously pregnant. She came out onto the porch and put her arm around Callous. He smiled at her, and gave her a peck on the cheek as she bent over to greet him.


    From the main road, Wes observed the family through binoculars. ¡°Oh Jesus,¡± he said, shaking his head, ¡°a pregnant wife and a mistress. What a sweetheart.¡±

 Chapter 13

    Jan was typing on her laptop when the doorbell rang. She quickly saved her work, turned off the computer, and went to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw the distorted figure of her x-husband.


    ¡°What are you doing here Peter?¡±


    ¡°I brought over some of your books. I found them in the garage at the house.¡±


    Jan frowned, unlocked the door and opened it. Peter walked in carrying a cardboard box filled with books. He wore the same clothes he showed off earlier in the day when they met in Harry¡¯s office. ¡°You can drop it on the floor by the sofa,¡± she said.


    He dropped the box and turned to her. Jan held the door open, an invitation for him to go. ¡°I¡¯m a little busy Peter.¡±


    He took a step toward her and smiled, showing off his chest hair. ¡°You look good Jan, but then you always looked good.¡±


    ¡°But not good enough,¡± she replied. ¡°Not for you.  Ironic, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­you had to sleep with other women in order for me to realize that you were never good enough for me.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t come her to pick a fight Jan. But I did want to let you know that Harry extended my contract for another year, and he likes my novel. He thinks it could turn the company around, so don¡¯t try to undermine me.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t have to do that. He knows damn well that you¡¯re a second-rate writer. You were only first-rate when I did the heavy lifting for you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t flatter yourself, sweetheart. There are hundreds of editors as good or better than you. You better find one to edit that novel you peddled to Harry this morning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the editor for that book, and we¡¯ll see who turns the company around.¡±


    Peter didn¡¯t reply at first. When he did, a note of sympathy crept into his voice. ¡°You have to get past it Jan.¡±


    ¡°Past what?¡±


    ¡°Your anger. Like I said the other day, wherever it came from, long before I came along¡­you have to get past it. I loved you once; maybe someday you¡¯ll remember that.  I know I will.¡±


    He touched a nerve in Jan. She knew it, she felt it, but she couldn¡¯t let him know it. She abruptly switched subjects, pressing her case, putting him on the witness stand. ¡°Did you ever sleep with Liz?¡±


    He looked surprised by the question. ¡°I dated her before we met¡­you knew that.¡±


    ¡°But you slept with her.¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Did you sleep with her after we were married?¡±


    He hesitated.  ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    Jan smiled¡­a wicked smile. ¡°You bastard.¡±


    ¡°Peter?¡± A young, sexy-looking blond appeared on the porch by the open door. Peter turned around. ¡°I¡¯m coming babe,¡± he told her.


    ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt,¡± said the girl. ¡°We¡¯re going to a matinee at the Tower. It starts in ten minutes.¡±


    Jan smiled at the girl but spoke to Peter in a low voice. ¡°Your new editor?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my inspiration,¡± he replied. ¡°She picked up where you left off.¡±


    ¡°You proved it all over again, Peter. Good-bye.¡±


    She put a hand on his back and ushered him out the door, closing it sharply behind him.


    On the other side of town Liz Neaman sat comfortably on the upholstered chair in the up-scale salon, reading Vogue magazine while a young Asian woman painted her toenails. The cell phone rang on her lap. She let it ring four times before she peeled herself away from the magazine to answer.  ¡°Hi¡­everything all right?¡±


    Jan¡¯s eyes were on fire as she spat out the words, ¡°Our friendship is over!¡±


    ¡°Jan!¡±


    ¡°You slept with him! You lied to me!¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You slept with Peter¡­while we were married! I should¡¯ve known! You were always the one¡­in high school you were always the one they wanted. But I passed right by you, didn¡¯t I? I went to college and you went on a man-hunt. I found a high-paying job while you were still man-hunting. Then I met Peter, and you let him go because he was living in a one-room apartment. When I made him a success you wanted him back, but he knew he couldn¡¯t go back to you because he needed me to edit his second-rate novels. So you found yourself a rich stock-broker. What happens when the market crashes?  You¡¯ll be out on your butt and I won¡¯t be there to pick you up. Oh yeah Liz, I¡¯m a hell-of-a-lot better off than you.¡±


    Liz gave in. ¡°Okay¡­I admit it¡­I slept with Peter. We¡¯re more alike, Peter and me. And I was jealous of you. You were the smart one. But Peter couldn¡¯t handle your moods; he told me that. It drove him away. Sometimes it drove me away too. I did lie to you Jan¡­and I¡¯m sorry.¡±


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    ¡°When there¡¯s no trust the relationship is over Liz. Good-bye!¡± Jan hung up and put her head in her hands. Moments later the phone rang.  ¡°Liz? Oh, it¡¯s you. Yes I read your text. All right¡­I¡¯ll meet you by the duck pond. Yes, I know where it is.¡±


    At 33<sup>rd</sup> and McKinley in mid-town stands McKinley Park, an oasis of calm amidst the bustle of surrounding traffic. The park, large, lush and green, contains baseball fields, soccer fields, picnic areas, horseshoe pits, a garden center, and a beautiful duck pond surrounded by a grove of magnificent oaks, dogwood and apple blossoms. Jan parked on the street and walked over to the duck pond, where Wes and his daughter were throwing bread crumbs to a horde of hungry mallards. Amanda smiled at Janet as she approached.


    ¡°Hello Miss Lehman.¡±


    ¡°Hi sweetheart.¡± She turned to Wes. ¡°Can we walk and talk?¡±


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± said Amanda. ¡°I know you adults want your privacy.¡±


    Wes gave the bag of bread crumbs to Amanda. ¡°We¡¯ll be right over there,¡± he said, pointing to a bench.


    As they started walking Jan said, ¡°I have something to tell you.¡±


    ¡°I have something to tell you too,¡± replied Wes. What¡¯s your surprise?¡±


    ¡°That woman the cop is seeing¡­she works in my office.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s a bombshell. Difficult to top that, unless¡­¡±


    ¡°Unless what?¡±


    ¡°Better sit down,¡± he told her.


    They sat down on the bench and Wes turned to her. ¡°He has a wife and kids.¡±


    Jan hardly flinched. She looked over at Amanda, happily throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look surprised,¡± Wes said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± she said flatly. ¡°People cheat all the time. Tell me, what should I do?¡±


    ¡°What do you think you should do?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the lawyer; you¡¯re supposed to know what to do. Should I forget about this whole rotten thing, let the creep go on being a creep, and let an innocent man go to jail?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give up. We still have six days, Jan. I¡¯ll stay on it.¡±


    Jan abruptly switched topics. ¡°Did you pay my parking ticket?¡±


    He smiled.  ¡°No¡­not yet.¡±


    She returned his smile. ¡°Stay on it.¡±


    Jan stood up; he did the same. They looked at each other.  ¡°You like Italian food?¡± he asked.


    Jan frowned. ¡°I won¡¯t mix business with pleasure. I learned that the hard way.¡±


    Wes shook his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m not asking you for a date.  Amanda¡¯s grandmother invited us over for a pre-Christmas dinner. She¡¯s making lasagna. If you care to join, you¡¯ll be welcome.¡±


    Jan appeared to ignore the invitation as she looked over at Amanda. ¡°Does she have a nickname?¡±


    ¡°No¡­why?¡±


    ¡°When I was her age I had a nickname.¡±


    Wes noticed the far-away tone in her voice. ¡°Oh? What name was it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not say¡­I didn¡¯t much care for it.¡±


    Half an hour later they were seated around a small square dining table in Sophia Russell¡¯s apartment, enjoying home-made lasagna and a bottle of red wine. The apartment was rather small, but tastefully decorated; prints and oil paintings, mostly European landscapes, adorned the walls of the tiny living room that featured an antique divan, two wingback chairs, and a solid hardwood floor covered with a nineteenth century Persian rug. A small decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner; a half dozen wrapped presents lay on the floor near the tree. Photos of Amanda, Wes, his mother and father adorned the solid oak mantelpiece. The separate kitchen, barely large enough for the dining table and chairs, had one unusual feature; a Bavarian cuckoo clock hung above the stove, a relic from the old country that Wes¡¯s mother used to time her cooking. She didn¡¯t like wearing a watch, and the timer on the stove didn¡¯t work.  The cuckoo was always on time; he came out of the clock every fifteen minutes to ¡®sing for his supper¡¯.


    Sophia came from Naples; home to the Camorra Mafia and the woman she was named after ¨C Sophia Loren.  She had a good, earthy-looking Italian face; large dark eyes, thin brown cheeks that puffed up when she smiled, little crows-feet that crinkled at the corners of her eyes, a thin fleshy nose that looked much longer in profile, but almost beautiful from the front. Her high forehead was made higher as she piled her long brown hair on top of her head to prevent it from dipping into the food. Her sizeable, maternal bosom rested comfortably on the edge of the table as she leaned over to eat and ensure that everyone had enough food.


    ¡°So tell me miss,¡± she said in a pronounced Italian accent, ¡°what troubles you have that you come to my Wesley for help?¡±


    Jan put down her forkful of lasagna, glanced at Wes and Amanda, who were enjoying their food, and calmly wiped her chin with the cloth napkin on her lap. Wes broke the silence first.


    ¡°Mama, that information is confidential.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but it is only for business, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Jan, ¡°strictly business.¡±


    Sophia looked a bit disappointed.  ¡°Mmmm¡­only business.  You have a family, a husband?¡±


    Wes interjected, ¡°Mama¡­¡±


    ¡°My father lives nearby,¡± replied Jan.


    ¡°Ahh¡­and what is his business?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s retired.¡±


    Amanda chimed in. ¡°He used to design buildings Grandma.¡±


    Jan glanced sharply at the girl. Wes stopped chewing his food. ¡°How did you know that?¡± asked Jan.


    ¡°Daddy told me,¡± she replied, smiling at her father.


    Wes cleared his throat to answer. ¡°I did a little background check. Yes, Janet¡¯s father was a well-known architect, and well respected.¡±


    ¡°You come from a good family,¡± commented Sophia. ¡°So does Wesley. His father was a diplomat.¡±


    Jan looked to Wes for further information. ¡°He worked in the Italian embassy in Rome for many years. That¡¯s where he met my mother.¡±


    ¡°Grandpa died,¡± interjected Amanda.


    ¡°He passed away a couple years ago.¡± said Wes.


    ¡°He was such a good man,¡± said Sophia. Her face darkened and she bowed her head. Then came a moment of silence as Jan surveyed the family, thinking of her father slipping away, and the mother she lost. When Sophia raised her head her face brightened.


    ¡°More food or wine?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No thanks,¡± replied Jan. ¡°The lasagna was delicious.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we go in the living room,¡± suggested Wes.  ¡°Amanda, you stay here and help Grandma clean up.¡±


    Jan and Wes stood up from the table. Wes took his wine glass, and handed her glass to Jan.


    In the living room Jan turned to Wes. ¡°You have a sweet family¡­and I should be going.¡± She looked over at the Christmas tree. ¡°Holidays are for families to be together.¡±


    ¡°People shouldn¡¯t be alone during the holidays,¡± replied Wes. ¡°Besides, we haven¡¯t had dessert yet. My mother would be insulted if you left before dessert. She makes the best home-made tiramisu.¡±


    Jan walked over to the mantel. She focused on a photo that featured Wes¡¯s father, a good looking man, then in his thirties, standing on the beach, his arm around Wes¡¯s mother, both in their bathing suits, smiling.


    ¡°I took that photo,¡± commented Wes. ¡°Nineteen eighty four, the beach at Via Reggio, on the Italian Riviera.  I was seven years old. A year after that we moved to the States.  I¡¯ve forgotten whatever Italian I knew as a kid, except for a few words: bonjorno¡­preggo¡­amore.¡± Wes looked at her and smiled. ¡°Amore¡­you know what that word means?¡±


    ¡°What is this, a pop quiz? Yes, I know what it means. You Italians love to love.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only half Italian, but the other half is okay.¡±


    Jan turned away from the photos. ¡°So what about my case? I can¡¯t just wait around for you to pull a rabbit out of your hat.¡±


    ¡°I may not be a magician, but I can pass as a musician. I¡¯ll go downtown and join Carter in a little jam session.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that going to help?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but he has to trust me. You have to trust me.¡±

 Chapter 14

    The following day Louis Carter stood on the downtown corner in a bitter cold wind blowing hot fast licks on his licorice stick. He wore a heavy three-quarter length coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a pair of thick heavy hiking boots. It was cold, near freezing on the day before Christmas. Last minute shoppers, bundled up in bulky overcoats, stocking caps and thick woolen scarves shuffled past the music-man carrying their over-stuffed shopping bags, while their frosty breath filled the chilly winter air.


    Wes Russell parked his truck and jay-walked across the street carrying his trumpet case. Carter recognized him but continued playing as Wes came on to the sidewalk, dressed in a heavy overcoat, opened his instrument case, and extracted a shiny brass trumpet. He watched Carter for a few moments, then he joined him in the jazz classic St. Louis Blues. A few pedestrians stopped to listen, and when they were through the people applauded and tossed dollar bills in Carter¡¯s instrument case.


    ¡°St Louis Blues¡­one of my favorites,¡± commented Wes.


    ¡°I won¡¯t split the money with you.¡± said Carter.


    ¡°I¡¯m not here for the money. I told you I¡¯d come jam with you some time. What better time than the day before Christmas? Hey, how about we do some Christmas carols?¡±


    ¡°Christmas music?¡±


    Wes began his rendition of Jingle Bells. Carter frowned, but after watching Wes toot a few bars on his horn he joined in. Pedestrians stopped to listen and donate as they played on¡­through Silent Night, Little Drummer Boy, White Christmas, and Santa Claus is Coming to Town.


    That same morning Jan sat in her apartment, dressed in her bathrobe, eating cereal. She poured some milk into a separate bowl and put it on the floor for Eleanor, who quickly began lapping up the milk. Jan picked up her cell phone, checked her list of programmed phone numbers, and called. She heard the following announcement: ¡°Hi, this is Susie. Sorry I can¡¯t come to the phone. Leave your message and you¡¯ll be the first to hear from me when I return¡­bye-bye.¡±


    Jan disconnected without leaving a message, thought for a few moments, then called her own office. The phone rang a few times, and then someone answered. ¡°Hello?¡± Jan recognized it as Susie¡¯s voice and quickly hung up.


    Half an hour later, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Jan stepped off the elevator on the 14<sup>th</sup> floor and walked by the receptionist¡¯s desk, through a long corridor flanked on either side by empty offices and into her own.


    Susie Hampton was seated at Jan¡¯s desk. She had her bare feet up on the desk top, the chair swiveled around to the side, as she read through a manuscript while chewing gum.


    ¡°Take your feet off my desk,¡± said Jan, closing the door behind her.


    Susie swiveled around quickly in the chair, dropped the manuscript on the desk, and put her feet on the floor.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s putting their feet where they don¡¯t belong,¡± commented Jan.


    ¡°Sorry Jan¡­but I told you I was filling in for you.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean you have permission to use my office.¡±


    ¡°Yes it does. Harry gave me permission.¡±


    ¡°Oh did he?¡± Jan walked over to the desk and looked at the pile of manuscripts. ¡°Have you found something worthwhile in that pile?¡±


    ¡°Actually I have. I¡¯m going to recommend a couple of them to Harry. What are you doing here, anyway?¡±


    Jan went wide-eyed; her nostrils flared. ¡°I work here. This is my office. And you¡¯re my assistant. And what are you doing here, the day before Christmas? The office is closed.¡±


    Susie crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair.  ¡°I wanted to squeeze in some extra work before the holiday. And as for being your assistant, not for long. I may be getting my own office soon. I¡¯ve been here for three years, waiting for my chance. Your personal problems gave me that chance.¡±


    Jan felt her temper going. She threw her purse down on the desk. ¡°First of all, my problems are none of your damn business, and you won¡¯t ever advance in this company on the back of my problems, and hopefully never on your own talent, which is mediocre at best.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your opinion; Harry has a different one. And his opinion is the only one that counts.¡±


    Susie swiveled the chair around turning her back to Jan, who ran around the side of the desk, gripped the chair arms and leaned over until her face almost touched Susie¡¯s. ¡°You won¡¯t ever leapfrog over me at this company¡­that¡¯s a promise.¡±


    Susie remained defiant. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that. I¡¯m as capable as you, and I want to move up in the company, same as you did. Why are you so angry, Jan? I¡¯ve been a good assistant for you. If I¡¯m promoted it doesn¡¯t mean that you lose your job. I don¡¯t want to replace you. I only want a chance to show what I can do.¡±


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    Jan relented. She stood back from the desk and gathered herself. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Susie¡­you¡¯re right, you deserve a chance to prove yourself. And you have been a good assistant.¡± Jan moved closer and sat on the edge of the desk. ¡°But there is something important I have to tell you.¡±


    Susie looked up at her, waiting. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Jan hesitated, uncertain as what the reaction might be. ¡°That man you¡¯re seeing¡­you told me you met him at the Blue Angel.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you know much about him?¡±


    ¡°Not too much. We¡¯ve only been seeing each other for a couple weeks.¡±


    ¡°Did he tell you he¡¯s a cop?¡±


    Susie lost her smile. ¡°Yes, I knew that. But how did you know?¡±


    Jan lowered her voice. ¡°The other night I also met him at the Blue Angel. After I left the club he followed me into the alley¡­and tried to rape me.¡±


    Susie sat up straight, her eyes opened as wide as they could in disbelief. She shook her head from side to side, her blond hair flying in her face. ¡°No¡­no¡­I don¡¯t believe it. He¡¯s sweet, he¡¯s kind, he¡¯s gentle.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s also married.¡±


    Susie stood up. Tears came to her eyes. ¡°Married? He told me he was divorced.¡±


    ¡°He lied, Susie.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t believe this¡­I don¡¯t believe you. You came here to tell me this because you want to destroy me. You¡¯re paranoid that I¡¯m after your job. You must really hate me.¡±


    ¡°No Susie!¡± Jan reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but the girl pushed her away and ran out of the office crying.


    Wes and Carter sat together in the diner drinking coffee. Their instrument cases were on the chairs beside them. Wes was blowing warm air on his fingers.


    ¡°Your fingers caught the cold out there,¡± commented Carter.  ¡°Better to blow your horn indoors next time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be all right,¡± replied Wes. ¡°I had fun out there. Thanks for letting me join in.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have, except you blow a good horn. Where¡¯d you study?¡±


    ¡°Junior High, about eighteen years ago. After that, I played some in college, mostly with friends and for a while in the college band.¡±


    Carter smiled. ¡°You have some talent for it. But tell me one thing. Did Jan send you over here?¡±


    ¡°No, I came on my own.¡±


    ¡°You have some news about this mess I¡¯m in?¡±


    ¡°Not really, but I want to know a little more about what happened that night.¡±


    ¡°What good would it do?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t know until I find out. Let¡¯s go for a ride.¡±


    Carter looked surprised, suspicious.  ¡°A ride? Where?¡±


    ¡°To the scene of the crime.¡±


    It was dark by the time they walked into the alley. The shadows cast by the street lamp were thrown against the brick wall on one side of the alley. The opposite side was shrouded in darkness. They stood in the center of the alley, their faces hidden in the shadows.


    ¡°This is where it happened?¡± asked Wes.


    ¡°Yeah, this is it,¡± replied Carter.


    Silence fell. Wes looked around the alley, at the shadowed side, at the dark side, and then turned to Carter, who had a rather nervous look in his eyes. Wes pointed to the red brick wall drenched in pin-shaped shadows. Is that where he attacked Jan?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he pushed her against the wall over there and tore at her clothes.¡±


    ¡°And where were you when that happened?¡±


    Carter pointed to a dark area about twenty feet away. ¡°Over there. I came walkin¡¯ through here on my way to that night club. When I saw him jumpin¡¯ on her I dropped my instrument and ran over to her.¡±


    ¡°And after that?¡±


    ¡°I pulled him off of her and over to the other side, away from her.¡±  Carter gestured toward the darkness.


    ¡°Then you and he were in complete darkness, about ten or twelve feet away from Jan. She didn¡¯t see or hear what happened, did she?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t suppose she did.¡±


    ¡°And what did happen?¡±


    Carter swallowed hard before he replied. ¡°I wrestled him to the ground. We rolled over in the dirt two or three times, but I had him pinned to the ground. He gave up, and said ¡®Let me go.¡¯  I let him up, and then¡­.¡±


    Carter stopped. Wes saw the look of anger on his face. ¡°And then what, Louis?¡±


    ¡°Then he walked away.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s when you picked up the fire extinguisher.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, just like I told you the other day.¡±


    For a few moments the two men didn¡¯t speak. They were both standing in the dark, shapeless black silhouettes. The distant roar of a siren split the night, and a stray cat strolled across the alley toward a pile of garbage, barely glancing at the two strangers who invaded her neighborhood.


    Wes watched the cat cross their path, and then he spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t think you hit him because you thought he¡¯d come at you again. I think you had another reason.¡±


    A few moments passed in silence. ¡°I¡¯d rather not say,¡± Carter replied.


    ¡°You can trust me, Louis. Why did you hit him after he walked away?¡±


    From the darkness came his answer. ¡°After I let him up¡­he called me a good-for-nothin¡¯ nigger¡­and he spit in my face. He turned to walk away, and that¡¯s when I picked up the fire extinguisher and hit him. At first I thought I¡¯d killed him, but then I heard him groaning and I knew he wasn¡¯t dead. I went over to the lady to check on her, then I walked away.¡±


    Wes shook his head in disgust at what the cop said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry this happened, Louis. But the more I know, the better chance we¡¯ll have of getting those charges dismissed.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s this gonna help?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I know a little more about you, and a little more about the cop. That may lead to something important.¡±


    They walked through the alley and around the corner to the Blue Angel. The night club was almost empty. Wes and Carter strolled over to the bar, where the same young bartender was polishing glassware.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± Wes beckoned to the bartender; he walked over and flashed a smile.


    ¡°What can I get you gentlemen?¡±


    ¡°Some information.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t sell that here.¡±


    ¡°Good, then you won¡¯t charge me for it,¡± replied Wes. ¡°Last Saturday night a young woman was in here alone. Her name is Janet Lehman.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, Doctor Lehman. She¡¯s been a regular for a while.¡±


    ¡°Did you see her leave that night?¡±


    ¡°No¡­I noticed she was gone, but I didn¡¯t actually see her leave. Are you a cop?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lawyer. She hired me.¡±


    ¡°Something happen to her?¡±


    ¡°She was attacked in the alley behind the club.¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­is she all right?¡±


    ¡°More or less. Did you see someone with her that night?¡±


    ¡°She was dancing with a guy for a while. He¡¯d been in a few times, but I didn¡¯t notice when he left the club.¡± The bartender looked over at Carter. ¡°I remember you¡­you came in that night looking for a gig.¡±


    Carter nodded. ¡°Yeah, and I¡¯m still lookin¡¯.¡±


    The bartender shrugged. ¡°Sorry man, the budget¡¯s tight. When business picks up we might want some live music in here.¡±


    Carter shook his head. ¡°No¡­first you bring the good music¡­then the people come.¡±

 Chapter 15

    On Christmas day the retirement home always had a special holiday luncheon for the residents. The secured area, where Jan¡¯s father resided, contained a separate small, rather plain-looking dining room, decorated for the occasion with green and red banners and a small artificial Christmas tree. A buffet table was set up on one side of the room; caregivers and relatives were filling plates of food for the residents, who sat waiting at the tables.


    Jan went through the buffet line and filled two plates for her father and herself. She was dressed in a beige two-piece tweed suit, heels and silk stockings.


    At a table in one corner of the room her father sat waiting, his gray head bowed, his glazed eyes looking vacantly at the white tablecloth. Jan gave him an encouraging smile as she put the plate of food in front of him and sat down. A gift-wrapped present lay waiting on the table.


    ¡°This looks awful good Dad. A real Christmas treat. Roast beef, sweet potatoes, broccoli¡­you always liked broccoli.¡±


    Her father looked across the table at her, as if seeing her for the first time. ¡°I used to call her Ladybug.¡±


    Jan immediately switched subjects. ¡°I have a surprise for you. You want to open your Christmas present before we have lunch?¡±


    He reached across the table and unwrapped the present, his aged hands shaking a bit as he unfolded a long-sleeve red flannel shirt.


    ¡°Remember those flannel shirts, Dad? You used to wear them to your office.¡±


    He perused the shirt, feeling the material, as if it held some deeper meaning for him.


    That afternoon Jan drove her father into town and through a series of quiet residential streets where the houses glowed from Christmas lights that were strung like colored pearls across lawns, over rooftops, through trees, wrapped around lamp posts and suspended from house to house. The holiday spirit had infused the neighborhoods, and Jan felt her heart lift as she glanced over at her father and saw the whisper of a smile. He must be glad, she thought, to be away from that depressing ¡®home¡¯ for a while.


    Before long they drove past the residential area and into the city itself, where the streets were almost deserted. They rode along Capital Avenue for a while, then Jan turned onto a side street and parked the car. She went around the other side and helped her father out of the car. He leaned on his cane and Jan held onto his arm.


    ¡°Look up there Dad,¡± she said, pointing at a modern-looking high-rise building. ¡°You designed that building. You were the chief architect.¡±


    He looked at the building, made from a combination of red brick, glass and stucco.


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    ¡°That¡¯s where I work,¡± said Jan.


    He looked at her. ¡°You work there?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Her father stood still, leaning on his cane, and did not speak. When he turned away he began to sob. His entire body shook as he continued to sob uncontrollably. Jan wrapped her arms around him and put her head on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s all right Dad¡­it¡¯s all right.¡±


    That afternoon, after Jan brought her father back to the retirement home, she drove over to 8th and L downtown, expecting to see Carter at his usual corner playing his clarinet. When she didn¡¯t see him she thought he¡¯d be at the hotel. She parked the car and phoned the hotel. ¡°Have you seen Louis Carter today? This morning? But he hasn¡¯t returned?¡±


    Jan disconnected and quickly phoned Wes. ¡°Hey, sorry to bother you on Christmas.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± replied Wes, who was seated on the floor in his mother¡¯s apartment, surrounded by open boxes of Christmas presents, while Amanda put on a new pair of shoes. ¡°We¡¯ve been opening presents most of the day. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Carter isn¡¯t on the street, or in his hotel. Have you talked to him?¡±


    ¡°I saw him last night.¡± Wes told her what happened.


    ¡°Oh God,¡± replied Jan. ¡°That cop is the worst. But what can we do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to dig deeper,¡± said Wes. ¡°But there isn¡¯t much we can do. We have a difficult case to prove. Try to find Carter.¡±


    They hung up. Jan got out of her car and walked along the deserted street. She saw a sign that said Gin & Tonic; a local bar that appeared to be open. She walked in and saw a handful of lonely looking men seated at the bar. There were some tables, a juke box, and a pool table in a small dimly lit room adjacent to the darkened bar area. At one of the tables in the corner Carter sat alone, drinking a large mug of beer. His clarinet case was lying on the table. Jan walked past the bar as two of the men leaned backward to check her out as she went by. When Carter saw her coming he lowered his beer mug.


    ¡°Well, if it isn¡®t my guardian angel,¡± he said, sounding half-drunk.


    Jan stood over him, her purse slung over her shoulder, her long dark hair brushed away from her face. She stood erect, looking down at Carter as if she were about to scold him. ¡°You okay?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, I¡¯m terrific. Thanks to you I may be going to jail, or I may be a fugitive soon.¡±


    Jan frowned and sat down opposite him. ¡°You¡¯re blaming me for this mess?¡±


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I? If you hadn¡¯t stumbled into that alley I would have been okay, mindin¡¯ my own business, goin¡¯ to that night club, looking for a decent job. But you had to come along and screw it up for me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re drunk Carter.¡±


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, I¡¯m good and drunk. But I wish I¡¯d kept on goin¡¯ that night, mindin¡¯ my own business. But what did I do?  I helped a lady in distress. And what did I get for it? Arrested. You should¡¯ve left me in the jail cell lady. I won¡¯t go back.¡±


    ¡°We still have a few days until the arraignment,¡± she replied.  ¡°Don¡¯t give up.¡±


    ¡°Did that lawyer tell you what I told him yesterday?¡±


    ¡°He did, and I¡¯m sorry. We have another good reason to put that cop behind bars.¡±


    ¡°For using the n-word? No law against that.¡±


    ¡°I realize that, but it should make you more determined to see this thing through. Go home Carter, home to your hotel room. Sleep it off.¡±


    Carter took a long look at Jan, then he reached across the table and held her hand. Jan didn¡¯t move. ¡°You can come home with me,¡± he said, his voice lowered almost to a whisper. ¡°I haven¡¯t been with a woman in a long time.¡±


    Jan put her other hand on top of his. ¡°I¡¯m not here for that Carter.¡± She squeezed his hand to reassure him, then let go his hand and stood up. ¡°Merry Christmas Carter.¡±


    He nodded, and shouted after her as she left the bar, ¡°It better be a happy new year!¡±