The blast woke him from a dead sleep as he instinctively reached for his gun, flinging his body over the
woman lying next to him. The pounding of his heart rang in his ears as ten years of instinct took over.
He aimed his gun and panned the room, searching for something he prayed wasn't there.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the neon light from the sixth floor window as it cast an orange tint
of shadow to the stained wallpaper from another decade. He stared at the shabby green chair across the
room, at the scarred and scratched dresser standing empty. No one was there.
As his heartbeat pounded, he holstered his gun and eased off the trembling body of the woman. He looked
down at her. Her long auburn hair lay tangled against the faded bedspread. Her eyes were swollen from
lack of sleep and exhaustion. She didn't ask why, she didn't have too. "It was only
a car back firing," he said reassuringly. "Try and go back to sleep." She glanced around the room, the
orange neon from the window emphasing the look of worry on her face. Slowly, she lowered her head into her
crossed arms as she took a deep breath of stale air. Another reprive.
The days had taken their toll on both of them. He felt exhaustion in every muscle of his body as he
rose from the bed and walked slowly to the faded, lumpy green chair, his head pounding from the perpetual
headache he'd come to live with. Sitting down heavily, he popped the top of a warm beer and downed it quickly
as a four letter word was mumbled under his breath.
He swore to himself for his lack of willpower as he tapped a cigarette out of its pack, striking a match
against the heel of his boot, he sucked the nicotine into his lungs. Gulping again at the beer, his eyes
watched the body he'd come to know in such a short time. Her legs were long, caressed in tight fitting
jeans now smudged with dirt and grime. The white sweater she wore was V necked, showing just enough
cleavage to make a man wonder what the cashmere was hiding. It too showed signs of their exodus on the
run.
His eyes traveled over her body, having memorized every curve and subtle roundness up close. Her entire
body screamed passion to any man with at least one good eye. Her voice was soft and sultry, the kind you
heard from a late night woman DJ as she talked to you and only you through the air waves of the radio.
Low, provocative, sensual. Her hands were slightly calloused. The career of a waitress apparent in the
short, neatly trimmed nails. There was a softness about her, her body was trim, supple. She wasn't a
‘hard body' woman, but carrying large trays of dishes over the years had given her body strength and her
slender arms a firm definition that came from hard work. Her taut buttocks and long legs only added to
his misery. Her long, wavy, auburn hair lay against the grayish white of her sweater, tangled from the
lack of brushing, yet more beautiful then he could ever remember seeing it. The woman drove him crazy,
drove him to distraction, drove him up the preverbial wall. He puffed on the cigarette, exhaling slowly,
another four letter word on the tip of his tongue.
He groaned out loud, his eyes shut against the memory as he laid his head back against the chair. How
the hell could he think of that at a time like this? He let out a long breath as his body stirred
awake, betraying him once more. The craving inside of him left him with a sense of unfulfilled
urgency. The storm building inside refused to subside, it remained a smoldering flame of fire,
spreading, until even the effects of the beer were of no use to him any longer. He pinched the
bridge of his nose, pressing it together, causing enough pain to bring his mind back to this reality.
He refused to give into the urges that drove him crazy. He refused to shirk his responsibility to her.
A question nagged at him constantly, it had from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Could he maintain the
control he needed until this was over and done? He didn't have the answer, he knew he couldn't answer
that until the time hit him square in the face.
The headache stayed, refusing to go. He'd been a cop a long time and knew when the odds were against him.
He never believed in luck, at least not until now. They'd been lucky so far, but how long their luck ran was up to him. He needed to keep her alive and the odds were against them. Topping that list was Leo who wanted her dead more then anyone. That wasn't going to be easy. They wanted her dead, out of the way. They found their way to get rid of him too, a cop on the run was always a good target. They made great stoolies, and he was the biggest stollie of them all.
What, he wondered to himself, was their next step?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The quiet in the room was deafening. The only sound came from the neon sign, its flood of blinking color
filled the window. The sizzle of electricity rang out in the neon darkness of the night.
Her heart leapt into her throat as the blast brought her out of her dream and back into her own cruel
reality. She cushioned her head in her arms, her body curling into a fetal position. The stale, musty
scent of the old bedspread overpowered her. She strained to hear what was happening around her as she
felt his body land heavily on top of her, knocking the wind from her lungs. She felt the motion of the
bed, the squeaking of bedsprings rang out like a blast from a cannon in the quiet stillness of the room.
She knew he had his gun out, straining to see in the darkness. His bare chest lay against her buttocks,
heat emanating from him like a fire out of control as she felt the pounding of his heart against the
denim she wore. Minutes passed as she felt him finally holster his gun. She lifted her head, seeking the
ocean of blue that had a way of calming her at the right moment in time. She held back the tears she
refused to cry, a lump taking their place in her throat. He looked down at her, his eyes soft and warm.
A car backfire? Her mind screamed in frustration! Why didn't they just get it over with? Damnit!! "Get
it done, get this waiting and running finished" she cried to herself. She laid her head onto her arms,
hiding her face as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. The days of running had been long,
the waiting had been even longer. What she had done these past few days was beyond her imagination. She
never knew she had it in her. She also knew in her heart the anger and frustration of the situation
wouldn't keep them alive, but patience and luck might.
He eased himself off the bed, his broad shoulders gleaming in the orange neon. He was shirtless, the
muscles in his back bunched into knots no massage would ever get out. He turned, standing at the side
of the bed, glancing down at her. She felt his eyes on her, touching, yet not touching. She heard him
moan lowly. She'd come to know the sounds he made, the different tones in his voice, his scent, even
his snore. His chest was tanned and hairy, as her eyes followed the trail of it's light brown color
down into the waistband of his pants. She gazed at his broad shoulders, wondering if they ever tired of
the burden he carried. He was tall, like a towering spruce, powerful. He looked strong, his body taut,
as much out of tension as hardness. She'd never known such intimacies of another human being before. The
little nuances, the idiosyncracies, the different smiles that told her what he was thinking. She doubted
he knew he had any. She knew he had them as she smiled to herself. That was a little secret she'd keep
for a while.
Finally, he turned from her. Listening to the sounds around her, he walked softly to the chair and sat
down heavily. She heard the pop of a can of beer from their greasy pizza dinner and the hungry sounds
of gulping. She knew he was exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under them had only
gotten worse as their situation did the same.
She closed her eyes, the memory of how he looked the first time she'd seen him still vivid in her mind.
The impression he'd made then was still strong. But that had been two long days ago. He was dark, his
stare pointed and to the business, his clothes as dark as his mood. He wore jeans, a black Harley
Davidson T-shirt and boots. Didn't Dick Tracy wear a suit and tie?
But the moment they had met, she knew he was different. He didn't look at her as though he were
undressing her with his eyes as most men did. He didn't sneer at her as his eyes devoured her. His way
of introduction was to nod his head as his Captain continued the drill of what was to follow. He was a
real professional.
She 'd never forget that night. The night she saw her first dead body. The night her whole world changed.
