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missionary
style, by-the-book kind of fellow. How he’d lasted as long as he had,
tip-toeing between homicide and vice, was a mystery to me. If he knew how far
down the rabbit hole I’d gone, I doubt we’d be speaking right now.
    At least not like this. Not like almost friends.
Colleagues even.
    He was all about benefit of the doubt and the load
of bull I fed him tweaked my conscience, but not enough to keep me up nights. I
had other concerns that took care of zombifying my life.
    “So you meet her by chance,” meaning blondie with
the fishnet blouse and nipple rings and hot sweet cunt.
    “Yeah, she parked it next to me. I bought her a few
rounds, asked questions. Who she usually saw in there. If she knew Svetlana,
usual stuff.”
    I held up my glass and Tom nodded. Shuffling to the
kitchen and pouring another round, a very generous amount for both of us, gave
me a few minutes to think.
    Unfortunately that delaying tactic allowed Tom to
add a few more numbers in his head. “She was underage, did you know that?”
    I handed him the glass and shrugged. I’d known that
and conveniently overlooked it, but I felt the need to explain, “She was deep
into the Goth thing, knew what she was doing. I figured a year or two didn’t
make much difference. It was either me or somebody else.” I took a swallow,
embracing the lie, and said, “It turned out she knew squat,” praying he’d drop
it.
    He didn’t.
    “So you… what? Danced?”
    “Yeah, a little. Not my thing.”
    “Not what the bartender said.”
    Shit.
    Tom pressed on. “Then what?”
    “I decided to leave.”
    “With the girl?”
    I really wished he’d stop calling her a girl .
“No. I went out the VIP section, through the back hallway.”
    “Witnesses said you followed her out.”
    Witnesses. That did not sound good. I had to think
fast and two double shots of bourbon weren’t greasing those gears in a helpful
way.
    Acting like I didn’t care, like it was no big deal,
I said, “Well, yeah. But she took off for the ladies and I kept on going,” not
masking the surly tone.
    Wait for it. The
damn-me-to-hell question was thick on his tongue.
    The bartender had to have mentioned the tall Vamp
chick fucking my ass with her crotch and thighs. And following me out in our
little parade toward the alley.
    He could ask or I could volunteer.
    Volunteer it was.
    “There was a tall chick, late twenties, maybe older.
Black hair, leather. Never got a good look. Might have bought her a drink.
Might not. I honestly don’t remember.”
    He finished the last gulp of liquor and asked,
“Why’s that?”
    Sick of the twenty questions crap, I spit out, “I
was more than halfway wasted, all right? I needed air. And a decent night’s
sleep. I left. End of discussion.”
    I wondered if he knew I’d been at the crime scene in
the morning. I doubted it. No one seemed awake enough to take notice of me. I’d
done a hit and run, just seeing enough to convince me I’d been right about the
Vamp chick. And what my mental lapse about what happened next might mean.
    No matter how hard I tried to pull the pieces
together, there were still too many gaps in my memories.
    Tom looked like he’d run out of steam. I got up and
found a couple clean sheets and a pillow and threw them on the couch.
    Pointing to the bathroom, I said, “There’s spare
everything under the sink.” I held up a hand and smiled. “Not my doing. Thank
momma Annie.”
    Tom lifted himself off the chair with difficulty and
sway-walked to the bathroom. Before he shut the door he said in a low voice,
“It wouldn’t have been statutory rape.”
    “Wha—”
    “The girl. She was a month shy of twenty.”
    He shut the door and I stood rooted to the ancient
carpet, clenching and unclenching my fists, listening to the toilet flush and
then the water running in the sink. I imagined it circling down the drain, just
like what was left of my moral code, if I’d ever had one.
    I thought, Fuck me.
    It seemed