“Anything is possible.” I didn’t feel the nasty November on my walk to the car, during the ride home, or in the alley by my apartment. Though we’d ended off-key, my meeting with Mel left me exhilarated. And the Harrigans, their fighting unchanged since the old days, were a fireman’s pole to the past. I didn’t feel the bitter wind until the key was in my apartment door, and I thought of Boots. Then I felt iced. I shouldered the door open, then slammed it on the cold.

I left my jacket on and sat at the desk in the quiet dark of my office. I lit a cigarette and dragged deeply. Before I exhaled I drew a circle in the air with the glowing red tip. Inside the bull’s eye I placed an image of Hal’s wrinkled face. Boots and I had no papers on each other.

I retreated to the living room couch and channel-surfed with the remote. Ten minutes later, frustrated, I settled on a paid half-hour stain remover infomercial and promptly fell asleep.

The night was city hot and sweaty humid, heat that made you drip even when you were still. We sat on the fire escape that overlooked the small concrete park with the parched red brick fountain. Music blared from slowly snaking cars along the street beneath us, every other song the theme from Shaft. We sat quietly listening as Isaac Hayes filled the summer night.

Melanie rested her head on my knee and her fingers danced on my calf. It seemed odd for us to be naked but unconcerned about being seen. I reached down between my legs, stroked her heavy breast, and saw her nipple stiffen. The heat created a damp salty pool where our skin touched.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I said.

“Why not?” She nuzzled her face on top of my thigh, and her loose blonde hair tickled my erection.

“You’re a kid and I’m supposed to be a social worker.”

I could feel her lips move on my skin. “That’s why you didn’t notice me twenty years ago.”

“It is twenty years ago.” I raised my arm and pointed to the street. I tried to show her the cars, billboards, stores, even the clothes pedestrians wore. I tried to show her that everything was the same as it had been, but she kept her face buried. %one of it mattered.

Finally she lifted her head and slowly stood up. “Do I look like twenty years ago?”

She lifted her breasts, then slid painted fingers down her hips. She stepped forward between my spread and naked legs. My face was level with her round, soft stomach, and I watched it move with her breathing. Her navel was surrounded by a light film of perspiration I desperately wanted to lick. I heard myself groan and tried to keep from looking up or down, but the top of her pubic hair kept crawling into my line of vision and pulled at my head until I stopped fighting. The humid air exploded with the cacophony of sirens… sirens organic to The End’s summer nights. I followed a bead of belly sweat crawling through her thin, light brown patch while we waited for the noise to quiet and the music to resume. But the shriek refused to die, and instead changed into an insistent bell. Melanie touched my cheek with her fingernails, her movement squashing the little ball of sweat. I reached to keep her near, but her body changed—thinner, smaller breasted. A body I knew but couldn’t recognize. I squinted, but no one was there…

My eyes opened to the telephone racketing in my ear. In goaded self-defense I grabbed the receiver.

“Are you sure you’re not on the fucking government tit? It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”

The hairs in my ear bristled at the sound of his voice. I pulled the phone into a position that enabled me to twist my body into human form. My neck felt like it had spent the entire night in a headlock, and the lead keepsake in my leg ached its usual morning hello. I shook myself out of my jacket. “I don’t remember leaving a wake-up call, Blackhead.”

“You didn’t, asshole, but it don’t seem like you have too good a memory anyhow.”

My mouth was dry and my body screamed for caffeine. I sat back on the couch, propped the receiver next to my head, and settled for a smoke. For a second I thought he had called to change his mind. A second later and I knew I had thought wrong.

“I told you to stay the fuck out of my business,” he exploded. “Now I hear you’re all over The End. Going to the damn school. What’s the matter with you? Leave my shit alone!”

“Back off, Emil. My visit to The End had nothing to do with you.”

“Right. And your visit with Melanie had nothing to do with Peter!” His voice was sarcastic-thick, but there was no mistaking the rage underneath. Or the tremble of fear.

“What’s eating you? You’re not the center of my universe.” But I was starting to occupy a substantial portion of his. It set me wondering.

“I’ll tell you what’s eating me,” Blackhead answered sharply. “You don’t come around for twenty years, then you won’t fucking go away!”

“I was curious about The End, that’s all,” I replied, annoyed. “You brought back memories and I wanted to see how people were doing.”

“Isn’t that sweet? The detective with a social work interior. The last thing this place needs is another fucking wet-nurse. Melanie’s old man got a big enough udder…”

“Boyfriend?” I interrupted.

“Are you for real? I’m talking about her fucking stepfather, Jonathan Walk-on-Water. I don’t care if he stays in The End the rest of his life; fact is, he can always get out—the jerks that kiss his ass can’t. I’m tired of visitors to the zoo. And that includes you.”

“Since when were you appointed neighborhood guardian, Blackhead? Anyway, you invited me.”

“I disinvited you, remember? I don’t want you in my face, you understand? You in The End means you in my face. I’m warning you, stay away!”

When I hung up the telephone I wanted to wash the side of my face that had cradled the receiver. Instead, I went the whole nine yards and dragged myself into the shower. While the water soothed my knotted muscles, I thought about the call. Blackhead was probably nervous that I’d bust him for dealing. Still, his edge of hysteria intrigued me. Had he already cut a deal with his mystery letter writer? And what kind of deal? He’d never have hired me if he had a guilty connection to Peter Knight’s death.

I stepped out of the shower and rubbed the steam off the medicine chest’s mirror. My reflection was stained with tears. The image disturbed me, though I knew it was only due to my hasty swipe across the glass. I was curious about Blackhead’s sudden change of mind, but digging into Peter’s death would surely dredge up painful memories for Melanie. And for me. Peter’s death had already triggered a chain reaction about my own shackled past.

I shook away the hesitations with my original suspicions. Even before Julius’ suggestion, I’d believed Emil’s story was an invite to some drug-related hustle. Perhaps a hassle between him and another dealer. If any deal had been cut, nickels to dime-bags it had to do with turf.

I pulled on the nearest pants and a denim jacket, assuring myself no personal memories would quake from modern day dope-dealing. No one would be hurt if I nosed into Blackhead’s business. I opened the door and let myself out to the alley. I knew the malls and Lou’s potential visit had something to do with my driving curiosity, but it didn’t matter. Warnings always held a fascination I found hard to resist.