Globusz^® Publishing 

"Where are you staying?" Jean asks.

"I can’t tell you that."

"How can I find you if I need to talk to you about the case?"

Phyllis had gone when you woke up. You looked around. You listened for a moment to the noise in the house. You were alone. You looked at his mother in the picture. Rather, she looked at you from the picture, you who let her son suck your dick, you who fucked her son in the ass. Her eyes, those burning orbs that you could feel even in a picture, told you that you were the real faggot here. Her son was a victim, because she was not there to protect him from you just like she had to protect him from his father, that spineless blob who stood staring off at the guild picture frame. You turned you eyes away and got up. You cleaned yourself and got dressed. You drove over to Sheridan Road. You didn’t pull into the garage, though. Rather, you parked on a nearby side street and walked to the front of the building. You approached from the opposite side of the street so that you could see who was in the lobby before actually going in. The entire front of the lobby was glass, and you could see that it was empty. You crossed Sheridan Road and pulled open the front lobby door. Putting the lobby phone to your ear and keeping your back to the camera situated over the mailboxes, you found Alice’s bell and rang it. She asked who it was. You gave her your name. Before you could explain that you needed to talk to her, she buzzed you in. "Jean said to expect to see you, " she said. You took the stairs rather than the elevator to her floor to avoid running into anyone you knew. The door was already open when you got around to her apartment. You walked in and closed the door behind you.

"I can’t tell you that either," you say.

"Well, we have a problem."

"What’s up?" you ask.

"The cops are in the building looking for you," Jean says, "that’s what’s up."

"How did they know I was here? I just got in."

"I don’t know that part," Jean says, "but they were just getting ready to knock on my door when I walked out."

"What did you tell them?" you ask.

"Nothing. I ..."

"They can’t possibly know that I’m in this apartment," you say, "not unless you told them."

"No! No," Jean says, her voice rising. "I swear."

Alice looks at her with what you thought was a questioning expression.

"What do they plan to do?" you ask. "Go door to door?"

"No," Jean answers, "but they do plan to post guards at all the exits. Somehow, they know you’re in the building."

"Did you get my things?"

"I couldn’t," Jean answers. "I was afraid they would be watching me too closely."

"Ok," you say, "there is still one way they are probably not guarding. Did they see you come in here?"

"No, I waited until they were off my floor. That’s what took me so long after Alice called and said you had arrived."

You have Alice check the hallway. It’s clear, so you have Jean go back to her place using the elevator while you and Alice take the stairs to the first floor. Before opening the door from the stairwell to the first floor hallway, you give Alice the key to the storage room right across the hall.

"Hold the storage room door open and signal me when the guards in the lobbies at both ends of the hallway are looking the other way."

She opens the stairwell door nonchalantly, and strolls across the hall. Your pulse quickens as the officer in the rear calls out, "Miss, what time do you have?" He’s testing her. Cops always have watches. You allow the stairwell door to click shut.

Alice keeps her composure, "Almost three o’clock," she answers.

"Thanks," the officer says. He is right outside the stairwell door now. "Do you know Ashanti Ra?"

"Everyone in this building knows Mr. Ra," Alice answers. "Why do you ask?"

"We need to ask him some questions, and I was wondering if you had seen him around."

"Have you checked his apartment?" she asks.

"Yes," the officer answers, "but he hasn’t been there in a couple of days."

"Well, I’m sorry officer," she says. "I haven’t seen him."

"If you should see him, could you give us call?" His voice fades as he heads back to the rear lobby.

"Sure, officer," Alice answers. "I would be glad to." You hear her unlock the storage room door. You crack the stairwell door to see her signal. Through the smallest opening possible, you see her check the front lobby, then the rear. She jerks her head for you to come across. The rear officer must have his back turned. Just as you are about to open the door and hop across, he says, "Oh, by the way, my name is James Stone. I work with Detective Middleman." It’s Jack! You knew that voice sounded familiar. Why would a detective be guarding a door?

Alice’s eyes yank wide for you to stay put. You freeze. She composes her face and pokes her head into the hallway to look back down to the rear lobby. "I have his number," she says. She smiles at him. Then she jerks her head to one side again. You snatch the door open, and leap across. She checks the hallway in both directions, then closes the storage room door. Resting her back against it, she sighs, "That was close."

You give her a peck on the lips. "You were great," you say. Then you wind your way between the storage lockers to the two small windows facing Sheridan Road. The windows let out onto the roof the garage in the basement. Alice follows you. "One last thing," you say to her, "make sure the front guard is in the lobby. If he is in the lobby, he won’t be able to see me climb down from this roof."

Alice scampers back around to the door. You hear her open it, then you hear it click shut. You hear her shuffling her feet back around to the windows. "He’s in the lobby," she says.

You open the window, and lift one leg to stick it out. She grabs your arm. She gives you a kiss on the lips. "I had a good time," she says.

"It was three years ago," you answer.

"I still remember."

You make your way to the edge of the roof. Looking at the driveway below you, you realize that it is a longer drop than you had thought. As a kid, you used to jump off garages, you and Sugar Baby and Fat Boy. They were the kids who moved into the apartment down the street from you after the last white boy and his family moved out. You must have been idiots! Fat Boy was your age. His sister, Sugar Baby, was three years older. She was the idiot! She would dare the two of you to jump. When both of you out of good sense declined, she would jump, then turn around and dare you again. "I ’D’ double dog dare you to jump," she would say. Now you had to jump. She was a girl, and she had already jumped. How could you say no. So, you jumped. Fat Boy twisted his knee; you sprained your ankle. A month later, after you healed up, you jumped again. This time both of you survived with no injuries.

Listening to the roar of traffic on Sheridan Road, you get down on your stomach and lower your legs over the side. You slide your belly over the gutter. You vow to work the gut off this summer. You look across at the window to the storage room. Alice is still there watching you. You kiss the air in her direction. She kisses back. Then you slide your chest over until you are hanging on by just your arms. The gutter creaks, and you catch your breath. The last thing you need is for the gutter to come crashing down with you hanging onto it. You scoot your elbows over the edge. You hang on with only your fingertips and your chin. You turn your face to one side until your chin slides off the edge. Your weight pulls you down the full length of your arms. You hang on by only your fingertips. You flex your toes down hoping against hope that they will touch the ground. They don’t. The edge of the gutter begins to cut into your fingers. You ease your grip until your fingers slip off the edge. You fall for what seems like an eternity.

You hit the ground. Your ankle twists. Your knees buckle, and you thunk into the concrete pavement of the driveway with your elbow. You roll forward into the garage door with your left shoulder and the crown of your head. The thump rings in your ears as you try to get up. Weaving from side to side and without putting any weight on you right ankle, you turn to face the street. Shit! That’s the same ankle you sprained when Sugar Baby made you jump.

Holding your elbow, you hobble up the incline of the driveway to the sidewalk.