During the ride to my apartment it felt like I was watching a movie, everything distant and disconnected. The longer we chatted, the darker the theatre.

Either Boots didn’t notice or just didn’t care. It made her happy to know Lou looked forward to her visit, and she was pretty curious about the scene at Alexis’s real estate office. Mostly, she was nervous about my discussion with the Chief. Worried that news would get back to Washington Clifford.

In some ways our conversation relieved me. If we lived together, both of us needed to get used to me feeling this way. This wasn’t gonna be the last of my lousy moods.

I drove down the gravel alley and pulled up next to my second six-flat. We got out of the car and were crossing the far corner of the small basketball court—the only spot shaded from the grocery store’s amber crime lights—when a large hand grabbed me by the throat.

“Let go of him you monster,” Boots blazed when she realized Washington Clifford had thrust me up against the wall.

Maybe we should have stayed at her place.

His hand squeezed tighter when Boots pummeled his back and shoulders with clenched fists. “Cut it out, lady,” Clifford growled quietly, “or I’ll really hurt him.”

“No you won’t, you son of a bitch, I won’t let you!” she spat, renewing her attack with a fresh wave of anger.

Clifford’s fingers loosened slightly. “Boots, stop,” I croaked. “He’ll hurt you too if you don’t knock it off.”

“I don’t care,” she seethed. “I’m sick of the way this bastard thinks he can beat you up any time he fucking wants to.”

Even in the dark I saw the fire in her eyes and it shred my numbness. Surprisingly, I felt ready to explode.

When Clifford shifted position to stop Boots’ furious attack I spun out of his grasp and chopped at the arm that had my throat. Suddenly, it was his back against the building and my forearm across a neck.

For a moment everybody froze, amazed by the unexpected turnaround. I felt exhilarated as I slipped my hand underneath Clifford’s coat and yanked his gun from its holster. When Boots saw the black metal in my hand she gasped. “No, Matt, no. Don’t!”

I placed my right knee between Clifford’s legs, kept my arm across his neck, and tapped the barrel on his temple.

“Matt,” Boots pleaded, really frightened.

“Go inside, Boots. I have scores to settle, and I don’t want you around.” My submissiveness in the lighthouse was flashing like Las Vegas neon along with my perpetual masochism with this son of a bitch. What goes around comes around and I was gonna make up for lost time.

Clifford stood very still and, except for a catch in his breathing, remained calm. “I’d stay right where you are, lady, and talk some sense to your friend. He’s not thinking too good right now.”

“The game has changed, Wash,” I warned, leaning more weight onto my arm. “Tonight I tell you when to talk.”

“Matt, your hands are shaking,” Boots said pleadingly. “The gun might go off!”

“Don’t worry, hon, if the gun goes off it won’t be an accident. Go wait inside.”

“Hell no! We’re in this together. If you shoot him, we’ll be in that together. You understand me?”

Her words chipped through my fury. I loosened my grip on Clifford’s throat. “Don’t even think about moving,” I said, rubbing the gun alongside his head. “I’ll be just as satisfied to shoot you calm as angry. Maybe more.”

“I thought we liked each other, shamus,” Clifford said, watching me carefully.

“We’re close as ever, motherfucker. Only the roles are different. And you know what, Wash, I like it better this way.”

“Don’t get used to it, Jacobs.”

“That’s Jacob, without the fucking ‘s,’” I erupted, my whole body burning white hot. I stepped back and aimed the gun squarely between his eyes. “Without the fucking ‘s.’”

“Matt, please, you’re scaring me,” Boots begged, lightly touching my arm.

“Stand back, Boots.”

“What’s eating you, Jacob? I’ve been rough with you, but that’s not driving this train.”

“How do you know?”

“You’d have pulled something like this long ago. Where’s your head, shamus? You’re too smart to shoot a cop in cold blood.” Clifford was still cool, though beads of sweat appeared on his broad, chiseled face.

I was tempted to run my free hand over his smooth dome to see if it was wet too. “Crime of passion, asshole.”

“That’s why I want to know what’s eating you.”

Boots was still frightened, but she waited for my response.

“My family’s eating me, fucker. The last one left is lying in a hospital bed too weak to wave his goddamn hand. Ever have someone in your family bite the big one? Ever see ‘em look like a beaten dog?

“It don’t feel good, Wash. It don’t feel good at all. Especially when you watched the rest of them die in the same kind of beds. Makes this one special, you know?”

I felt a trail of tears scald my face but held the gun steady. “Lou’s using an oxygen tank and I’m catching visits from the friend of a dirty cop. Gang drive-by, my ass. I don’t know what Biancho’s mixed up in, but it doesn’t have fuck-all to do with gangs. And I won’t let you stop me from finding out!”

Clifford grabbed my eyes with his own. “I don’t have the time or inclination to chase after your fantasies, Jacob.”

“That’s what your buddy keeps saying,” I snarled. “Well, you might not have time to chase anything. Ever.”

“Matt!” Boots cried. “Don’t!”

“He’s not going to kill me, Ma’am.” Clifford’s voice quiet but clear.

“I guess you’ll just have to ask yourself if it’s your lucky day, Washington,” I mocked.

“Eastwood you ain’t, Jacob. Put the gun down, for Christ sake.”

“And take my beating and bust like a man? I don’t think so. Someone jumped us in the alley and got shot with their own weapon. Happens all the time. Sorry it had to be you.” I was talking tough but my frenzy was starting to fade.

“Not going to be a beating or bust. You hear me? We go back a ways, Jacob, and I’m not going to lie to you about that. No beating, no bust.”

“There’s always a first, isn’t there? Something we’re both finding out.”

Clifford’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “I guess we are. But one new thing a night is enough. Listen up, there’s been rough times between us, but I don’t hate you or even the way you work. You don’t go by the book, but then, neither do I. You got a feel for the job and you’re stubborn. Anyone else standing here telling me Biancho was dirty, I wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. That white boy is so button-down, he probably strips naked to take a shit. But you’re the one telling me, so I’m listening.”

“Thanks for your indulgence, only I’m the one holding the gun. And you’re the one who’s been playing Steppin’ Fetchit for Teddy. Now you’re willing to listen? Gee, I wonder why?”

“I keep telling you, shamus, you ain’t gonna shoot me. And I didn’t come here tonight for Biancho.”

“So why are you here?” Boots asked, her breath a little easier, though her eyes were still riveted on my hand.

“I didn’t like listening to Ted Biancho bitch about the way I told your boyfriend to stop making a nuisance out of himself. I came here to remind the shamus here what goes on between us, stays between us.”

“Why do you keep beating on him?”

“I learned a long time ago that Jacob isn’t a real good listener until you get his attention.”

“That’s a helluva reason,” Boots snorted.

“Did you bother to ask why Biancho wanted you to play drums on my fucking body?” I scoffed.

“See what I mean, lady? I just got done saying he was ripped that I hit you. Biancho just wanted to keep you from fucking with a police investigation. Said you were getting in his way.”

I felt the brunt of my anger dissipate and briefly wondered what would take its place.

A small smile crossed Clifford’s face and the last trace of my rage flared. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Sure I am, and so are you. We have us a deal. You’re going to give me my gun, and I’m going to let you do your thing. I’ll also forget this happened.”

“Ain’t you sweet?”

Clifford chuckled and stuck out his arm. I shrugged and handed him his gun. Boots bit her lower lip, afraid I think, of what might come next.

“Not sweet, Jacob, smart. And so are you.”

“Why? Because I didn’t blow your fucking head off?” Despite my harshness I had no fight left. Fatigue had taken the anger’s place. High risk recreation does that.

“That has something to do with it,” Clifford said, “but not all. I appreciate your attitude toward your dead wife’s father. Though I got to say it surprises me. I didn’t think you cared about anyone except your shyster friend Simon and your dope dealer.” Clifford turned his granite body toward Boots. “Sorry, I don’t know where you fit in.”

“That’s okay, neither do I.” Boots was so relieved she seemed giddy.

“You been beating on me for years, Wash. You should know I’m all heart.”

Clifford slipped the gun into his back holster. “You’re all mule, Jacobs. And, if you’re right about Biancho, which I seriously doubt, don’t even dream I’ll lift a finger to bring him down.”

“Gotta be true to the Blue?”

“We all have our families,” Clifford said. “I won’t stop you, but you’re on your own.”

“All of a sudden I’m the lucky one, huh?”

“More than you realize.” Clifford nodded his head toward Boots as he walked past. “Sorry about the ruckus, Ma’am.”

Clifford ambled down the short end of the alley, his thickripple soled shoes crunching gravel while the two of us stood in immobilized silence. Wash never turned back to say goodbye.

 

“I need a drink.” Boots was almost running around the apartment. “Do you want one?”

“Hell, yeah! I have a joint in my wallet.”

Boots poured herself a double, slugged down half, and continued to pace between the living room and kitchen. I sat at the table, smoked my joint, sipped my second bourbon straight, and stared at my holstered gun hanging off the back of my ‘Dutch Schultz’ kitchen chair—a legacy from my paternal grandfather’s rum running days. The old wooden chair came right out of the Big Man’s bar.

“I feel totally wired, Matt. How can you just sit there?” She walked to the refrigerator, handed me a beer chaser, and kept on trucking, her long legs eating a lot of floor.

I placed the joint on the edge of the table, careful to keep the fire away from the signature on the enamel design and lit a cigarette. “My rush is gone. Want to grab an ashtray on your next lap?”

Boots brought the ashtray from the living room, sat down on the other side of the table, and sipped her drink. “Jesus, I thought you were going to do him, I really did.”

“Do him? You’ve been watching too many mafia movies.”

“Part of me was scared shitless,” Boots said, “but another part almost wanted you to shoot. I felt excited, turned on.”

“You were pretty hot when you jumped his back,” I said smiling at the memory.

“I wasn’t turned on then, you asshole. I just wanted him to let you go.”

“I’ll walk the mean streets with you, doll.”

“Promises, promises.” Boots gulped the rest of her drink then yawned and yawned again. “What’s happening to me? A minute ago I couldn’t sit down, now I can’t bear the thought of standing. I’m completely wiped.”

That made two of us. I stubbed out the cigarette and held out my arm. Boots grabbed it and we walked hand in hand to the bedroom.

The taste of murder does things to you; I didn’t need the television after all.