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Marcie’s hurt eyes, which sliced open Sam’s gut.
    “Ah no.” Sam moved to stand by Marcie, annoyed with emotions he didn’t care to explore waging war inside of him. “Listen, what happens after all these tests are done, are you going to admit her?”
    The interns’ suggestive smile vanished. Her spine stiffened. “Most likely she’ll be released. We’re over crowded as it is. There are no beds.”
    This time Jesse stepped up. “Oh come on. Are you telling me you’d throw out a woman who can’t remember who she is? Where’s she supposed to go?”
    The nice perky intern vanished before Sam’s eyes. She crossed her tanned arms in front of her.
    “Oh come on, Detective. That’s not fair to put on me. We got no beds. You know how bad it is for county cases. She’s got no insurance, right?”
    “If my memory’s gone, how would I know if I had insurance?” Everyone looked down at Marcie, a woman so aware of this moment in time now.
    “Maybe we can get you to one of those women’s shelters for tonight.”
    How thoughtful of Jesse. But Sam knew how bad some of those places could be. That is if you were lucky enough to find a bed. “Look, I haven’t been home in a while, my place has been closed up. But there’s a bed for you to sleep in tonight. And tomorrow, we’ll come up with a new plan.”
    Marcie said nothing, though she gave a weak nod, appearing to consider the idea. “Just for tonight then, I really don’t want to put you out.”
    Now he felt bad for trying to sneak away earlier. She seemed genuinely nice, which was a far cry from the criminal element he usually encountered. At least he’d have one more night of sobriety. Maybe tomorrow he’d get a chance to wallow in misery.

Chapter Five
    Marcie’s head CT came back negative for any serious head trauma. The psychiatrist assessed Marcie briefly and said there was no clinical explanation for her memory loss. And he suspected her memory could easily return in a few days. If it didn’t return in a few weeks, he suggested it’d then be time to explore it further with a neurologist.
    Jesse drove Sam and Marcie back to Sam’s small flat in the French Quarter. Instead of going right home, Jesse accepted Sam’s invitation to come up.
    “Let me open some windows.” Sam slid open the balcony door. An instant breeze stirred the musty air.
    Marcie leaned against a bare wall, crossing her arms across her blood-splattered shirt. She looked around the simple box room. Every dingy wall remained free of pictures or adornments. This place was merely four walls and humble furnishings.
    “How long’s it been since you were here last?” Jesse had a heavy rhythmic walk, swaying his shoulders with each step. He wandered the plain apartment kitchen as he spoke. Jesse had a tanned, slightly scarred face, mysterious dark eyes, cropped curly hair and a wide mouth, which smiled on command to shamelessly flash a gleaming silver tooth.
    Jesse appeared d istracted and distant pull ing open the fridge and then the old scratched cupboards as if inspecting the unmaintained unit’s condition.
    “Over six months. Don’t know why I keep the place. Guess I can’t figure out what to do with everything. So I keep paying the rent.” Sam fiddled with an old clock sitting on a cluttered desk, in what Marcie supposed was part of the living room. The way he smoothed his hand over the brass cover and then pulled his fingers back as if burned; she realized some emotional link kept him here.
    “You got no food. Do you want me to make a run to the market for you?” His concern appeared brotherly, as if in a familiar role of watching over Sam. He swaggered over to Sam hiking up his baggy pants just under his heavy beer belly.
    “That would be great. Grab us some burgers too.” Sam pulled out a worn wallet and fingered out a handful of bills, mashing them into Jesse’s hand. “And don’t forget the beer.” Something passed between the men, hesitation, awkwardness