Jerry Weible waded through a sea of cubicles and stopped at the opening where Mike sat in front of a computer. A grin spread across Mike's face as he spoke into the phone.

"Let me call you back on that."

Mike dropped the phone into the cradle and eased back in his chair entwining his fingers behind his head.

"Have a seat, Jerry. You looking for food stamps to supplement the poor pay of a detective sergeant who's trying to feed a growing family? I'm afraid you won't get much sympathy from a lowly state social worker."

"Hiya, Mike." Jerry smiled broadly before he sat in the straight-backed chair next to his former boss.

"I was here covering a burglary at the other end of the building. Some 'smash and grab' of an important somebody's computer. So I thought I'd come see how the working class goes about their day."

Mike sat forward quickly in his seat and snatched up he phone again placing it to his ear.

"Let me see if I call somebody and uh… get you the data you need fer that."

Jerry laughed aloud.

"How are ya, Mike?"

"Nine to five, two fifteen minutes breaks and a half hour for lunch..." Mike called out as he replaced the phone. "And then I've got classes at night. Finishing my Master's of Social Work."

"Are you attending classes and working full time?" Jerry asked shaking his head.

"Sure. I still have more free time now than eight months ago."

"Do you miss it, Mike?" Jerry asked plainly.

"Are you kidding? Maniacs walking the streets with loaded weapons ready to shoot the first person that asks them the time of day? And on top of that I had to worry about the 'bad guys'..." They both laughed at this.

Mike settled himself before he answered.

"Funny thing is, when I miss it the most is also when I miss it the least. Some dink shoots a red light or cuts off somebody ahead of me in traffic I find I wanna hit the accelerator, hard, in pursuit... That's when I miss it." Then Mike grew contemplative and a broad calm settled on his brow. "Then I sit back and remember it's not my chase. That's when I remember I can drive to work and not worry about the idiots of the world. That's when I miss it the least."

Jerry nodded.

"Prudence needed 40 hours of community service in order to get into the sophomore honor's program so I hooked her up with an elderly lady, uh a shut-in, so Pru could read to her. The lady speaks French and is teaching her the language." Mike added with a chuckle, "I couldn't."

"So now she's trying to converse with me… She calls me oie pere."

Jerry shook his head not understanding the term.

"It sorta means 'Father Goose.' She said because there's always some lost soul I'm taking care. The term isn't quite right but she's learning."

Looking down at the carpet Jerry spoke. "You heard about the professor… committing suicide and all?"

Mike pushed out his lower lip at his. "Sure Jerry, I read the paper. I was there at his funeral just wanted to see who'd show up."

Jerry nodded but knew who Mike really meant without saying her name.

Mike was still hoping to find someone who could lead him to Lizzy or Melissa Anson's murderer.

"I was surprised at the number of suits who showed up. I had no idea he taught so many heavy hitters in this state."

"You know it happened only a couple of hours after he was released from..." Jerry hesitated to pick out his words carefully. He didn't want to blurt out some cruel phrase used by other officers to denote short term psychiatric care. He settled on, "...supervision."

Mike nodded as if distracted, not wanted to devote his full attention to the subject.

"I don't think anybody really realized he was at that point." Jerry continued.

With a shrug Mike replied, "Some people did."

"What? You an..." Jerry shot back abruptly but then let his voice trail off as he realized his mistake.

"Lizzy?" Mike responded in a more positive tone than Jerry expected. Jerry touched the black and white mug shot that Mike had taped to the side of his computer screen. Velcro had been taped to the back of the photo and Jerry could see it had been detached and reattached (fraying under the heavy use) many times in the months since Jerry had last worked with his former boss.

"Have you..." Jerry cleared his throat in hopes Mike would complete his question. When Mike pulled the photo free of the computer screen and stared at it Jerry knew he would have to finish his own thought.

"Um... have you heard from anyone about her?"

Mike stared at the photo a moment longer before he pressed it back onto its mount. He responded with a quick shake of his head.

"Nah. I flew to Denver to check out a lead but it wasn't her."

Jerry furrowed his brow. "Mike, did you... pay for that yourself?" (How can this dept pay for...)

Mike sat back suddenly in his chair and snapped his head towards his former partner.

"Are you kiddin'? We don't have the kind of budget to fly me around the country to follow up on every wayward girl who's in trouble." There was a hint of mischief in Mike's tone.

"So what happened?" Jerry asked haltingly.

"Nice kid. Damn, darn," he corrected himself quickly. "I had her here for three weeks. Clean, sober... and then she skipped out on me." The levity Mike infused into his comment couldn't mask the sadness that clung to each syllable. "Whadda gonna do?" Mike spread his hands wide as he applied a weak smile to his face. "I asked Cynthia and she said 'I hold on too tight, sometimes.'"

"You seein' Cynthia again?"

"Oh, just as friends, but yeah."

"So what do you do on the cold winter nights?" Jerry asked joking.

Mike glanced away slightly embarrassed.

"Well you remember Lydia Anson?"

"Melissa's mother?"

"Yeah. We're still in the phase of 'dating' but I have hope it could lead to something worthy of headlines."

Jerry joined with Mike's soft chuckle. Jerry leaned forward to spy a photo of Mike with his daughter Prudence.

"Man, Prudence is getting big. She's looking like a woman." Jerry said as he held up the picture in his hand.

"She's 13 now. That was a couple a' months ago at the aquarium. But I swear I must be losing my ability to parent. I think she actually enjoyed herself."

Jerry smiled at that.

"Take care of your little one, Jer. They grow up before you know it."

"But I do get a win every once in a while. Remember Lizzy's friend from the hospital, Billy Carter?"

Jerry nodded as Mike picked another photo from the number on his desk and handed it to his former partner.

"I got her enrolled in a GED program, you know she's got Hepititus C and so none of the school districts wanted her, but she's making it." Mike shrugged and chuckled softly. "I just gotta keep 'er at it. And she can be a real chore, sometimes. Me and uh Nurse Bridges from Saint Jude's, do you remember her?"

"I talked to her phone, that was about it." Jerry replied.

"Well Bridges got some government grant money to employ Billy, she does some stuff in their lab and they house her right there. She's doing okay, when they're not forcing her to study or she's havin' a fit about something…"

"What?"

Mike smiled. "Well the whole hospital staff has kind of adopted her, and I think she's a little spoiled because of it. But she's doing much better. I was supposed to be her NA sponsor and meet with her at least once a week at her group therapy sessions. But found some nice kid to dote on. Even so, if I don't hear from her every couple of days then I call her."

"Wow, Mike. You're really becoming the busy bee with these kids," Jerry smiled at Mike almost with envy: a man able to see positive tangible results from his efforts.

An honest contented smile crossed Mike's lips. "Best work I ever did, Jerry."

Jerry couldn't explain it but he felt sad inside. He couldn't tell if it was envy at Mike's transformation into a family man who's worst concern was a parking ticket or disgust at Mike's transformation into a family man who's worst concern was a parking ticket.

Maybe it was because Jerry couldn't determine which it was. Each man deals with his personal crisis differently but Jerry had yet to have that crisis cross his path

Jerry was now well aware of a growing discomfort seated before his former boss. The change was too complete and too sincere for Jerry to argue with and too appealing for him to completely ignore. The measure of Mike's efforts was so broad and visible causing Jerry to think about his own

"Well," Jerry's cleared his throat. "I should be getting back to the investigation."

The phone on the desk rang. Mike looked at the readout and held up his open palm.

"It's my boss, give me just a second." Mike lifted the receiver to his ear and made several sounds of agreement.

While Mike spoke into the phone Jerry sprang to his feet and edged away from the cubicle in hopes he might sprint for cover with some growing discomfort threatening to strangle him.

With a sigh Mike replaced the receiver. "It seems I'm the only one around here who can clear the copier."

Smiling weakly, Jerry extended his hand to Mike quickly to affect at escape.

"Stick around. We could have lunch," Mike piped up as Jerry backed away. "I got some pictures of Prudence and her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Jerry choked out.

"Easy partner," Mike said matter-of-factly as he stood and pulled his coat on with the same practiced maneuver Jerry witnessed a thousand times before. "They've been out together, exactly twice. And I was nearby with pepper spray and had his grandmother for backup."

Jerry laughed.

"You taught me: never go in without backup." The two men shared a chuckle. "You taught me a lot of things, Mike." Jerry finished softly while Mike nodded in agreement but like a man suffering from amnesia or affected by traumatic stress, being reminded of something once painful but now only a dim memory.

"You know, I got in a scrap the other day," Jerry offered out of the blue as the two began to walk through the maze towards an open doorway.

"Over what?" Mike expressed genuinely surprise.

"Some rookie patrolman who's a sophomore at U Maryland was talkin' smack about getting a four point oh in the AJ program and how easy it really was and Captain Cobin walked in on him and busted his ass hard. I jumped in on the kid's side and yelled back, 'He didn't know Mike like we did.' Bill backed down."

"I guess you're not bucking for that next promotion, huh?" Mike offered up cheerfully.

"Nah, I got all the attention I could use when I was partnered with you."

"Jerry," Mike's gaze burrowed into his former partner and the pair stopped.

"Hm?" Jerry answered as Mike searched his former partner's eyes.

"You're a good cop. But you can't beat 'em every time. Most of the 'donut eaters' on the force don't care if they can beat 'em ONCE in a while... as long as they still get to be cops."

"I know. Hey, I'm a fourth generation 'copper badge.' I know all about it." Jerry shook his head at his confession.

 "Yeah, just don’t take any of it too serious. We can win some of the time, ya know?"

"I feel I've accomplished more in the last year than I ever did on the force."

"Mike?" Jerry called out from the hallway. Mike stopped with his hand on the crash bar of the door to look back towards his former partner. "Do you think you'll ever find her?"

"Lizzy?"

Jerry nodded.

"Won't know if I don't try." Mike finished with a genuine smile.

Jerry fought a choking sensation as he asked the next question.

"What then?"`

Mike shrugged and answered with a look on his face that screamed everyone should know the answer to that simple poser.

"Do you know how many more Lizzy's are out there?" A pedantic tone crept into Mike's voice as he stood in the open doorway.

"No, I don't." Jerry shook his head slightly at Mike's poser.

There was a hint of a smile on Mike's lips as he answered, a sad but almost self-satisfied look that told Jerry, Mike had found a way to "protect and serve" but from the other side of the fence. And that Mike now felt complete.

"Neither do I," was Mike's flat response leaving Jerry to stare at his former partner's back as the man eased through the doorway with unhurried steps towards a broken copier.

Coda

Eight months later Michael Joseph graduated top of his class with his Master's of Social Work while Billy finished her GED and took a position working as a veterinary assistant.

Two months after graduation Mike married Lydia Anson while his daughter stood up as his "best man" offering a toast to the couple in French.

Four months after the couple married a then 18-year-old Lizzy appeared on Mike and Lydia's doorstep cradling her newborn daughter, Melissa. Lizzy, who now goes by Elizabeth, attends the local community college where she is enrolled in a program to earn a degree in social work. She moved into a condo near the couple that Mike loaned her the money to buy. Lydia cares for Melissa while Elizabeth is in class or at work.

Elizabeth and Billy remain close friends.

Though Elizabeth is still estranged from her mother she hopes to find her soon and reunite.

THE END

I await your comments, grammar catches, misspellings, errors, omissions, likes, dislikes... et cetera. Please, I need the proofing on this, AND your thoughts about it. It is based on factual events.

I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Best, mark

Newspaper and cast off handbills swirled in the wake the breeze of the passing garbage truck: hurrying to an early morning appointment it vanished into the foggy gloom. It was 3:30 AM. The city was mostly deep in slumber unaware of the deals, purchases, acquisitions conducted only scant hours earlier beneath faded advertisements for businesses long forgotten. Peeling paint on the neglected brick walls bore solitary witness to the transactions of the misfits, dopers, flesh brokers, drunks, crazys, all searching desperately for the antidote to poverty, disease, despair, boredom… reality. By now even the night-beat cops were firmly esconced on the cushioned vinyl stools of the 24-hour donut shop sopping up black coffee with "sinkers" still warm from the frier.

The fog hugged the streetslights in an orange colored embrace, glowing halos of illumination rising skyward readied to grudgingly yield to the coming blaze of dawn. A dawn that lifts the fog like a curtain sweeping the night people ahead of it, sending the square pegs scurrying back to their single-room-occupancy round holes before they're caught in the sun's glare, baring their flaws cloaked by a sympathetic night.

Mike stood staring into the gray darkness. Was that a movement? Could that be Lizzy? Was she warm? Was she awake? He kicked at the pavement and shoved his hands deep into his pockets before he wandered slowly along the sidewalk. What used to be her sidewalk.

Sleep had escaped him for several days but shuffling along the concrete track where Lizzy had plied her craft and cared for the eccentrics nobody else could be bothered with, eased his distress. What will happen to Max the wild-haired man without his benefactor at the ready? Mike wondered.

An old man Mike had seen before panhandling on the edges of Sidell Square cut across the concrete expanse with a hurried limping gait, a bottle wrapped in a paper bag clutched close to his chest. The last of the night crew cutting a path through the fog. Change of shift. The park readied for the office workers that would soon be trudging towards their cubicles with caffeine fix in hand.

Mike sat down on the bench, the same one where he sat when she first approached him, seeing through his disguise in a moment. A crying jag hovered behind the man waiting for the moment when Mike least expected it, when he could least afford it. Laying down on the wooden slats he peered up into the orange sky as he had before when he was a self-confident cop ready to protect and serve without question. Tina his former partner was right: he didn't have the stomach for this business any longer. That revelation didn't leave him feeling empty but instead filled him with some odd optimism. An amorphous hope that he would find something waiting around the corner, something that would allow him that latitude to intercept the meandering descent of the ailing, the frail, the feeble, and the fatigued able to assist them to the side of the busy road we all shared. A safe place where they might regroup and gather themselves to once again merge into… well, at least the slow lane, as Mike saw it. Lives were lived much faster where Mike had stood guard before.

He wanted this change. He needed it.

The meeting with his daughter did not go as he planned. They met at a coffee shop in the afternoon near her school. Sitting across the narrow table from one another Mike started.

"Pru, I'm leaving the police force. I can't… I can't do that and be a father to you."

"Wait! Don't you dare blame me for this." Prudence carped.

"And… I just can't do it anymore." He finished in a rush. "I'm not blaming you, okay? I'm going back to school and I'll do something that's more a regular type job.

"I'm going to find something that still lets me help people but somehow in a different way. And I need to be your father right now."

"Oh, jeez. What's that mean?" she mumbled under her breath.

"Hey! It means I plan to be around a little more…"

"What, are you gonna follow me to school?"

"Is that what you want?" He replied knowing the answer was "no."

"Dad, don’t be a dork…"

"Dork?" Mike echoed her comment in disbelief.

With no sign of discomfort his daughter went on, "I know what the word means, Dad."

Mike cleared his throat loudly while he set about planned some retribution for the girl's impertinent language.

"I've heard worse from your mouth…"

Now he sighed to gain a moment, still mulling over some reprisal for her.

"A lot worse…"

"Yeah, Pru… We've been through this, already." He ended the one-up contest with his retort. He couldn't punish her for her usage of a relatively innocuous expletive after she brought up his often explicit vocabulary. She was getting old enough now that he could no longer hide behind the "because I'm your father and an adult" rationale any longer. She was too old and becoming too wise for such specious wiles. His lot would have to be: a personal reformation or acceptance of his daughter's unseemly articulations.

"I'm sorry Pru. It's just that you're becoming a woman and I'm not there to… help out, or..."

"Help out, how? By tellin' me a story about some day at the beach? I'm not one of those slutty girls from that park…" the young girl declared, pursing her lips.

"Stop it! Don't say…" Mike caught himself quickly. Sitting dead still—he was trying to break the habit of pinching the bridge of his nose when he wanted to calm himself—he continued to his annoyed daughter in a forthright tone.

"I'm sorry, really. Pru some of these girls came from situations that were bad… very bad…"

"Not that Anson girl," Prudence piped up defiantly.

"No!" He started out loudly but then forced himself to go on quietly. "But some of the others did come from…" He sighed heavily not knowing how to explain to his 11-year-old daughter about the tribulations that some young people went through prior to their existence "on the block."

"Some have seen… Wait!. Why are you being so snotty about this? This is supposed to be a good thing."

"Dad, I'm almost an adult." Prudence young face carried the unmistakable look of self-importance and Mike couldn't laugh but nor could he dismiss her tender years and limited exposure to life's daily tensions.

"So if you're gonna be around a lot more you have to start seeing me more like an adult."

Mike didn't dare smirk at his daughter's serious proclaimation. "Okay, Prudence. I'll do that, I promise."

"Okay," she agreed softly. "Why haven't you ever told me about those girls?"

Mike sighed heavily and then stared directly into his daughter's eyes.

"All right. Let me tell you about one girl." His gaze dropped to the table as he started to recant his relationship with Lizzy. "One girl, I found to be… more adult… than most adults I know."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Prudence!" Mike snapped.

"I'm asking, that's all…"

"No," he intoned seriously. "And… uh, I don't even wanna know that you know about sleeping with someone and uh…" His voice trailed off.

With a slow-motion blink Prudence replied flatly, "Fine dad. I know nothing about that… side of life. I'm your perfect little angel and I'll become an adult, I'll never sleep with anyone, I'll be your perfect…"

"Stop it!" He snapped.

"No, dad. It's gonna be like I'm your little devout Mormon daughter…"

Mike held up his hand to stop her sarcastic retort.

"I don't even want to know where you got that comment, or what it means… Okay?"

Prudence nodded with a sidelong motion: half agreement, half dissent.

"I did not sleep with her. She offered many times, but… that was her way of ingratiating herself… you know what ingratiating…"

"I'm not retarded, dad!" Prudence broke in.

"Okay…" Mike ran his finger along the edge of the table while he put together his next statement: the statement about his true feelings for Lizzy. Feelings for a young girl that he himself had not fully explored but feelings he knew consumed many of his waking hours.

"She cared for everyone in her world… um, no matter how insignificant or crazy or… even if they noticed…"

"Sounds like somebody I know…" Prudence crossed her arms and waited for his response.

He deflated. "I'm so sorry for that, I…"

"Don't apologize to me…"

Mike stopped dead.

"That lady you married, my mom, remember her? She's the one who deserves the apology." Now Prudence sat defiantly in expectation of his response.

Mike sat with mouth hanging open for several seconds trying to decide what to say next.

"You're growing up faster than I anticipated." Mike shook his head in acceptance of her burgeoning maturity.

His daughter dipped her cheek towards her shoulder and shot him a cheesy grin the same as Lizzy had done many times before. Mike chuckled at that.

"So I take it you and your mom have made up…"

Prudence shrugged. "As much as two women in a blood feud can make up," she answered sardonically.

"Okay, Pru. I consider myself 'balled out.'"

Now Mike's daughter donned an expression of guilt and placed her hands on the table as if to steady herself while she continued.

"I'm not mad at you… Dad, I just want to be included a little more in your life. But on my time. Not when you have a spare minute. That's not when I need you. The other day when you listened to me on phone… that's what I needed. You were there when I needed it. That was great.

"And it seems like I need that… more every day," Prudence shook her head sadly.

"I understand. This is a confusing age." Mike took a deep breath and laid his hand on his daughter's. "From now on… I can do that for you… Okay, Pru?"

Her gaze softened and she smiled slightly. "Okay, dad. Thank you."

Mike felt as if a wall between him and his daughter had tumbled to the dirt broken beneath his promise of a new career, a new relationship, a new direction.

A smile grew quickly on his daughter's face. "So," she leaned forward. "Can you give me a hundred dollars?"

Mike stared back at his daughter not knowing what to say.

Prudence let loose with a giggle. "God, I'm just kidding, daddy."

"Ha, ha." Mike remarked plainly.

Prudence shot forward again. "I only need seventy five."

Mike pursed his lips to subdue the smile lurking close to the surface, before he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. Prudence dropped her hand on his holding the billfold.

"I'm, just teasing." She grinned. "But if I want money, now I know where to go." Prudence raised her eyebrows.

Mike licked his lips slowly and peeled a twenty out from the rest. "Here you can pay for our coffee," he finished cynically.

With a smug grin Prudence added, "What? With only a twenty?"

"Go on," Mike playfully swatted at his daughter's forearm as she rose to pay their bill.

Seated at their table Mike watched his daughter, the unmistakable changes in her physique beginning to manifest but now he felt more ready than he had in the past. When she glanced back over her shoulder at him and grinned he even felt some joy that she would soon start that journey towards adulthood. He hoped she might be better equiped than many of her peers. He prayed she would anyway.

*****

As Mike passed the nurses' station at Saint Judes a voice called out to him.

"Detective Joseph? I have a note here from Nurse Bridges." The woman said the Head Nurse's name as though it burned her tongue.

He tore open the stapled page. It read: Detective Joseph, I DO wish you would honor your promises to that young girl. She expected you this morning. She asked about you several times. I could only remind her of your glib nature and that maybe you forgot.

Sincerely, Nurse Bridges.

Mike almost laughed but knew better. He folded the note and tucked it in his coat pocket.

Pushing open Billie's door slowly Mike saw no messes on the floor and her bed still neatly made.

"Hi," she offered quietly.

"Billie, you look good today." He meant it.

"I went to my first meeting this afternoon." She meant her first NA/AA counseling session that the hospital held on site.

"Really? You didn't need to till next week…"

"I was bored." She said in snotty voice.

Mike saw through her tone and inside felt elated that this girl was reaching out to someone: anyone.

"I think I was supposed go with you to your first meeting…" Mike let the words hang between them.

Billie shrugged, as much as her neck brace would allow, and said, "Nurse Bridges sat in with me. But I met a kid in there, younger than me… She was really fucked up." She finished sadly.

The words Billie spoke took Mike's breath for a moment, both at Nurse Bridges' compassionate act and that Billie could see beyond her own misery opening her eyes to others . All that in the first meeting!

A feeling of well-being settled onto Mike's frame and he could see more positive results in the few days since he walked away from the police department than he had seen in many years on the beat.

Billie grimaced. "So I agreed to help out that poor kid… I felt so sorry for her." Billie glanced up at Mike and seeing something in his expression felt she needed to explain.

"She had it worse than I did so…" Billie sighed and now sat silent. Mike knew then she might make it, now that she had something driving her: another girl who also lived through some horrors that Mike couldn't even imagine.

"You won't… need to sponser me, now. Trishia… that's the girl's name, me and Trishia will sponser each other… for now. We're not supposed to do that, but we're both here in the hospital, she's got a tumor and so um, she'll be here for a… a while… I hope." She finished sadly.

Billie sucked in a quick deep breath, "Is that, okay?" Billie stared at Mike expectantly.

Mike nodded his assent. "That sounds good. Really."

The girl dropped her gaze to her sheets. "I'm gonna try it… and just… see." She shrugged slightly at that. Mike stroked the back of her hand. "No guarantees… 'right?" She finished quietly.

Mike pursed his lips and stared at the girl before he turned and wandered towards the door.

"Tell Lizzy…" she blurted out. Mike spun back towards Billie quickly who sat quiet for moment. "Tell Lizzy, if you see 'er… that… um… I'm gonna try it." Billie nodded once, wincing with pain as she did. "Okay?"

"I will… And I'll…. Stop by soon. Just to see ya… and let you know if I find Lizzy." Mike turned again to leave. As he did Billie raised her fingers to him in a small wave, as if it was only an acknowledgement with the least possible effort. She wanted to thank him but still clutched at that whit of "street kid" she had yet to shake. Unable to interact with the enemy—a cop—and still maintain her credibility with the crowd she once claimed as her own she flicked a camouflaged signal to Mike. To the man and his efforts expended for her.

Slowly a grin spread across Mike's face: contained within that a heart-felt elation. A wheel set into motion, Mike hoped that Billie's own inertia and the horrors she had been witness to might pick up speed, sweeping many others before her, carrying them towards a life-long salvation whether it be secular or theological. This was where Mike saw the greatest stength of ecclesiastical dogma: reclaimation of fallen spirits ready to attend some higher influence. Carrying others or being carried, Mike saw the many positive measures found in that arena.

Mike raised a single hand briefly, open palm facing her ready to catch whatever she could spare and open to her needs and desires.

Then with a tug he jerked the door aside and wandered into the white hallway.

*****

Lydia grinned at Mike when she pulled the front door open. She wore a nice sun dress and her hair tied up.

"I'm glad you're here." She said casually.

Mike scooped the dimunitive woman into his arms, lifting off the floor while he carried her through the livingroom.

"Well, where's this guy been hiding?" She cooed as she let her arms snake around his neck. Her face against his chest, she continued quietly. "Who cares where he's been. I really like it that he's here now."

Mike kissed the top of her blond head as he maneuvered down the hallway and through the bedroom door.

Dropping her gently onto the bed he smiled at her, his expression leaving his heart exposed to her hoping for the ame in kind.

"Hello, Mike Joseph," she whispered searching his eyes.

"Hello, Lydia," he replied with a smile.

Bill leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. "Sit down, Mike. When I first heard that you were coming. to this department... all the hype... the talk of the AJ program at U of Maryland... I was afraid. I thought I'd be workin' fer you..."

"Would that be so bad?" Both men chuckled at Mike's rapid fire quip.

Now the Captain rubbed his open palm across his jaw and sighed.

"Remember the pogues and politicians we both hated when we were in the Corps?"

Mike nodded once.

"They're running this fuckin' dog and pony show... and the fuckin' high and mighty citizens..." The captain of the King County police department let gaze fell to the stack of files on his desk. "Well, they change their mind about as often as they change their underwear. That leaves us, jumpin' through a different hoop every other week." The chair groaned as the Captain sat forward and flipped through the stack of files quickly until he found the one he was searching for. With one tug he yanked the folder from the pile and placed it on top of the rest.

"I have to do this, ya know."

Mike shrugged.

"A report came down from uh... one of the alphabet agencies in DC. I can't let you see it... being suspended and all." A gentle push on the top folder caused it slide to the middle of the Captain's desk. "I have to piss. I'll be back in," the man was rising out of his chair and looking at his watch as he spoke. "In.. uh... five minutes. We need to finish this discussion."

Bill adjusted his pants and sidled away from his desk striding down the hallway in slow even steps. The language made it abundantly clear: Bill wanted Mike to look at the "confidential" file while he was out of the office but couldn't share it with him within the framework of employee and employer. This was the act of a friend to someone he respected and admired but given the short shrift within the political arena: the arena supported by those spectators that always yelled about the efforts of others but never invested any personal effort for fear of falling short or making the incorrect decision.

Mike picked up the folder his commander had separated from the rest of the pile and flipped it open. The first detail Mike spotted was the number of names listed after the "cc:" line. Courtesy copies is what they were called, but everybody knew that the names were really a list of political movers and shakers who would stand up to show support for any "hot button" issues that could further their political aspirations. A list of individuals who would not hesitate to throw their collective shoulder into any issue that could be addressed without actually requiring some concrete written commitments in regards to an action. Mike and Bill had jokingly referred to these on the "cc:" lists as CABS "citizens against bad stuff." They had laughed at their characterization of these oft seen names on more than one occasion. The names Mike saw listed on the cover sheet were "the usual suspects."

The rest of the document was nothing more than a litany, in time line form, charting each and every move Mike and the King County Police Department had taken to that point. The list was exhaustive, covering all actions up to and including the previous afternoon. But the last paragraph started with the line, "The afore mentioned agency is no closer to the apprehension of suspected principals at present than the date the crime was discovered. Given the extraordinary passage of time it is highly unlikely the guilty party will be in custody within the foreseeable future."

The rest was nothing more than a brief rehashing of those most effected by the investigation, prominently displaying the most recognizable names from the Clinton Street Baptist Church and their television ministries (WSVR). Nothing in the two page report offered any suggested actions or directions. That was better left to the people who had to live with the consequences of those acts, rather than those whose career depended on exposing inadequacies rather than offering solutions.

Mike sighed, flipped the folder shut and tossed it back onto the Captain's desk. No mention was made of any individuals who might be held up to public scrutiny as the "responsible parties," but instead a soft pedaled blanket statement followed that "there was a failing at some level within the chain of investigation." Mike knew the lingo. It meant someone would be crucified, probably demoted and in a few months reinstated back to their former function supposedly apologetic and wiser for their previous failings.

The people listed on the "cc:" line had enough political savvy not to mention any one name individual as such. It was always better to let someone else make those decisions just in case it might reflect poorly in a future Congressional Subcommittee's final report.

Mike knew those on this list would never cry "wolf" even it their collective leg between the jaws of the beast but would but shout out a vague danger's call if a mosquito targeted the herd. It was that "hand's in the pocket" sort of diatribe both Bill and Mike found detestable because of the great ease with which those, who cried out the loudest, could shift their voice, backing one horse then another as the jockeys rounded the clubhouse turn. No one on the list stuck with an argument any longer than the retributions, opting instead to duck their heads back inside their shell to prevent decapitation.

Bill Cobin walked back into his office. "Mike, I'll put you in..." the captain of the division and Mike's friend pushed aside the stack of files and peered an eight and half by eleven inch piece of paper taped to his desk,"... as the Desk Sergeant for uh night shift, we've talking about getting a second one for a while… Or you can stay with homicide if you want. I'm not even gonna fill your position."

"Maybe I should take some time... off." Mike stammered.

"Mike, it's not permanent. It's just a temporary thing coming from the... I don't know. Somebody bucking for a promotion in the State Bureau, I guess. Even they know it's a temporary thing. Till this blows over in DC."

Mike pursed his lips. "I'm not sure I wanna do this anymore, Bill."

"Mike, this is nothing. You'll be back at it in no time..." the captain was pleading with his friend to reconsider.

"I'm... not sure... I'll ever be back... Bill."

"Mike, come on. I need you here. You're a better investigator, in your sleep, than just about anybody else in the state."

Mike stared at Bill's desk, not moving.

"And you know, you'll take this chair when I retire." Many within the department saw Mike as the heir apparent to Bill Cobin's position as the Captain of King County police Department

Mike licked his lips before he spoke haltingly. "I'm not happy, with… what I'm doing any more." Eyes still resting on the dark wood of his boss's desk, Mike continued almost embarrassed, feeling like he was letting this man down somehow.

"It's just… too many dead ends… not enough… good things," Mike looked up at Bill, holding his gaze so that his eyes might actually plead his case better than wavering words.

"Don't you ever feel like we're never going anyway?" Mike asked softly.

Bill re-examined the files on his desk briefly. "Yeah. But I'm not as smart as you are… So what am I gonna do?"

"It's not smart, Bill. It's just 'eyes open.'" Mike shook his head.

Bill took a breath, held it, and then spoke quietly. "I'll give you a couple of… weeks off to… reconsider." He added quickly, "And I want you to reconsider.

"Mike, you're the best cop I've ever seen… don't throw that ability away because of some…" Bill picked up the offending file and tossed it into the trash can. "Pogues, with their panties in a bunch."

Mike knew his boss would retrieve the file again after their meeting was over. Bill learned this technique from Mike.

A new detective had been accused of some minor infraction and Mike briefed the man about the complaint. With Bill sitting in on the briefing, Mike finished the conversation by tossing the complaint into the trash. The new detective appeared relieved and thanked Mike for his vote of confidence.

Once the man left his office Mike dug the paper work out of the waste basket and brushed it off replying to Bill's smirk, "Just in case he does something stupid." The pair shared a laugh over that.

Now, it surprised Mike that Bill pulled the same ruse when everything inside Mike's gut was telling him to get out while he still had a clear path to navigate.

Rising from his chair stared at his boss openly. "I'll go clear out my desk…"

"No. Mike, it's not like that…" Bill Cobin pleaded.

With a strange smile pasted on his face Mike nodded to assure his boss "it was like that."

"Fill the position, Bill." Mike answered quietly.

Bill Cobin turned his head away opting to peer out the window rather than hold the gaze of his good friend and his chosen heir apparent.

Mike showed up on Lydia's doorstep feeling free; free from the trials he was subject to as a cop, free from the prying eyes of the public, free to make any mark on this earth that he wanted.

"Hi, Lydia," Mike smiled broadly at her at she tugged open the door.

She snapped her free hand to her hip and grinned back at him. "Well if it isn't my favorite cop." She dipped her head as she laughed. "Come on in, Mike."

Mike felt giddy in his new-found freedom and he sat down quickly but rose up again as Lydia followed him into the room and sat on the couch across from him.

"Always, the gentleman…" she remarked coyly.

Mike chuckled and remembered without looking at his notebook: language. He had been working to clean his rough verbiage for a while and this was his time to shine.

A silly grin rest on his face.

"What?" Lydia begged grinning in response.

"Um, does the offer from the other day, uh night… still stand?"

She smirked at him. "What offer was that?" Tipping her head she wanted to prolong their verbal fencing.

He grew serious. "To make… to make love to you?" He was breathless with anticipation.

Lydia searched his eyes briefly. "Yes," she whispered also breathing heavily staring at him expectantly.

Mike pursed his lips for emotional control before he nodded. "Good," was all he said.

Her shoulder's fell when she saw Mike was only testing the water: hoping he still had an opening into her life. She would tell others, that was the moment she fell in love with Mike Joseph the former Chief Detective of the King County Police Department.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together but Mike didn't collect on her offer that day or that night, even. Mike wanted to feel good about himself when the moment of supreme pleasure arrived. Till then he just wanted to be close to Lydia to share her time.

*****

Mike unwrapped the computer examining each and every fitting and plug.

"Dad, are you gonna catalogue the contents of this box or are we gonna hook it?" Prudence asked with heavy sigh.

"Are you the impatient girl?" He pronounced quietly.

Shaking her head Prudence began digging through the contents. "It's a not a 'you-build-it' thing. Okay? Everything's here I guarantee."

Mike smiled at his daughter as she sorted the plugs and pushed the white box into the middle of his dining room table.

"Okay," she started pedantically. "This is the CPU, that's 'central processing unit.'"

Mike smirked at his daughter's gruff academic tone.

Prudence stopped. "Are you listening?"

"I am now." Mike answered.

"Good," Prudence popped. "You're gonna get exactly what I get." She wrinkled up her nose at her father before she burst into laughter.

The pair had the computer assembled and they were navigating the internet within the hour.

"You know, Melissa Anson was doing her business on the internet, don't you?" Mike asked with some reverence at her expertice.

"Sure, dad. I read the paper." She replied quietly.

Mike sucked in several breaths as though ready to speak but no words would come out. At last Prudence turned towards him.

"I know, daddy. It was a terrible thing. Don't worry about me. Okay?"

Mike nodded and threw his arm around his daughter's slender shoulders as she showed him the internet protocols and answered his detailed questions. They had a pizza for dinner while Prudence continued to assist her father in the "care and feeding" of a computer.

Prudence spent the night at his apartment sleeping in his bed while he stretched out on the couch. He felt good about the time they shared and wondered silently at what point he should introduce Prudence to Lydia, hoping the two most important women in his life might find some common ground besides him to share.

The his thoughts drifted to Lizzy.

In the morning he dropped Prudence at home and swung by Saint Jude's to check on Billy.

Strolling past the nurses' station Nurse Bridges glanced up at him over her glasses, sighed heavily and returned to the patient files she was studying.

Mike fought the smirk he felt growing on his lips. Pushing open the door to Billie's room he saw the source of the Head Nurse's exasperation.

Billie sat in her bed, arm crossed, glowering at Mike as he entered, on the floor were more NA and AA pamphlets. This time Mike didn't both to pick them up, walked straight to the window instead to throw it open.

"Beautiful morning, huh?" Mike offered in a chipper voice.

"Get me outta here, cop," she growled.

"Nah, I'll shoot ya first," he smiled weakly at the girl approaching her bed to fiddle with the covers. She kicked at the blankets that he had smoothed out never changing the scowl on her young lips.

"I wanna go home."

Mike stopped and turned to catch the girl's gaze. "Really? To Indiana?" Billie's rap sheet had her home of record listed as a suburb of the northern western corner of the Hoosier state: more than 600 miles from Saint Judes.

"Humph!" Billy snapped her glare out the window, crossing her arms in disgust as she did.

"You know Lizzy, was pretty easy to talk to… and she found I was pretty easy to talk to." Mike started slowly.

"Good, maybe you can marry her," Billy snapped.

"What is that: 'k-i-s-s-i-n-g?'" Mike asked referring to the first grade rhyme.

"Shut up," Billie chuckled. "I don't wanna laugh."

Mike sucked his lips into mouth and bit down bobbing his head around like a bird pecking at seeds.

"Fuck you!" Billie continued to laugh.

Mike sucked in a loud breath. "Tsk tsk, I don't use that language anymore."

"I wanna be just like you when I grow up," Billie replied sardonically.

Mike grew serious now. "You gotta have time to grow up, first." Billie was no longer laughing instead styaring at the floor where the pamphlets lay in a pile.

"Maybe, I don’t want that." Billie voice was meek and Mike picked this moment to sit on the edge of the bed next to her.

"It's not so bad…" Mike hesitated. "Especially, if you find someone you like and… can be with…"

Billie turned her face towards Mike's. "Like your girlfriend, Lizzy?" She said in a droll voice.

"She's not my girlfriend."He answered plainly. "But yeah like, Lizzy. She's a good friend. Someone I really like. I can tell her things I wouldn't tell anybody else."

"Why? Just because you fucked her?" Billie glared at Mike.

"No, I never touched her… except to give a hug once in a while." Mike cocked his head. "Didn't she tell you?"

The years Mike had spent as an investigator, the best investigator, paid off in trump cards now. A change swept over the girl's eyes detailing a pathway Mike might exploit to reach this girl. A pathway begging for some traveler who could share it with this lost soul.

Tears rested on her eyelids as she stared at him.

"She did tell you, didn't she?" Mike continued softly.

Billie blinked sending tears streaming down her cheeks.

Staring at the rumpled covers Mike tugged them tight once again but this time Billie didn't lash out.

He stood and glanced up at her, dropping his gaze to the floor once again. Shaking his head gently he finished, "I'll be back tomorrow, to check on you."

Billie could only blink with her secret so open to this man. Mike realized the girl must have felt more exposed then, than during any tryst for pay no matter how degrading the act. Mike could feel the red-faced heat of her embarrassment, wishing to hide herself from this man who could see inside her. She, having no screen to cover herself, sat frozen in her sorrow at being discovered by a cop: the enemy.

Mike wanted to give the girl some room: room to cry, to self-examine, to wallow in self pity until she could surface once again ready to grasp anything new, no matter how uncool it might seem on the surface.

The sniff Mike heard from the hospital bed pulled him inside out but he knew she needed to find her own depths before she could be reached.

Stopping by the nurse's station, Mike smiled at the hard-working Nurse Bridges. "I was kind of hard on Billie maybe you can… talk to her later?"

The woman peered over the top of her glasses with a modicum of disdain at Mike. "We'll take care of her, Detective Joseph," she replied in an even tone. Mike smiled broadly at the woman now.

"Thanks, you old softy." Mike said glibbly.

The woman sighed heavily and slapped the file in her hands shut with a loud "clap" before she hustled out of the station to her rounds.

Autumn 2008 - As we roll into our busiest season ever, I have been thinking of the fantastic celebrities who have been in attendance over the years to see me play detective in murder mystery.

One night, several years ago, I played the Academy Room of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. This was also the venue where the very first Oscars ceremony was held in 1928.

I played there a couple of times. One night in - Nineteen Ninety Something – there were several legends in the house. Red Buttons was there. I asked him to stand and I interrogated him. I said, “Mr. Buttons, if that is your real name…” and he said his real name was “Blue Zipper” but “you can’t open with that”. Wonderful smile. A gentle soul. He made me realize that the bigger the star, the smaller the ego. Gene Barry was there too. I remembered that Gene was the first ever Columbo Villain in “Prescription Murder” back in the 60s. I interrogated him. He never smiled. I was upset but I realize now he was just playing along - acting cagey like a good suspect should.

You know who was there that night? Jack Klugman who played Oscar Madison on the TV version of the ODD COUPLE. He later achieved critical acclaim as QUINCY, the crime solving medical examiner. I asked him to attend to the body of the murder victim. Mr. Klugman had just had throat surgery and couldn’t speak but he grinned from ear to ear in his inimitable style. I always loved Klugman. Tom Bosley was there that evening – Yes Mr. C from Happy days and Father Dowling from his own TV Mystery show. I grilled him and said “Clever Boy” --- I felt like the Fonz. That night, Mr. Blackwell signed a dollar bill for me as a handwriting sample. I think that was the night that Jennifer Love Hewitt came in a green wig for her 18^th birthday party dinner with her folks. Not sure.. That might have been a different night. Whatever night that was, she was lovely then and lovelier now. Just this year in 2008 I met Scott Wolf – Jennifer’s co-star on Party Of Five. I had the privilege to play for a private audience made up of his family and friends. I went undercover that night. I was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. That’s right. Those Wolf boys are not only impossibly handsome TV and Movie Stars but they are also really nice guys. That really burns me up.

Once, when I played a Murder Mystery Dinner at Yamashiro’s in the Hollywood Hills, I had David Faustino in the house. He played Bud Bundy on Married With Children. He was there with a group of 10 or so from his family. I put him in a police line up and called him Bundy all night. He was a fantastic sport. He kept pulling me aside and asking me to interrogate his family members. Nice guy.

Oh there are so many moments… I’ll write some more soon. It just goes to show you that Hollywood’s elite has the same thirst for Murder and Mystery as everyone else Who knew?

Do you desire love stories?  Sweetsmoke should thoroughly satisfy your cravings.

Do you revere historical fiction?  Your journey though Sweetsmoke is sure to be enlightening.

Screenwriter David Fuller's first novel, Sweetsmoke, combines all three of those genres by brilliantly entwining intrigue, romance and fact.

We navigate the story by following the personal agenda of Cassius, enslaved but favored by his Virginia master Hoke.  His soulful narrative makes twists and turns much more resembling the undercover paths of the Underground Railroad than the long straight tracks that the troop trains travel of the time.

Fuller carries us along with a story of courage, faith and devotion that honors the lives of slaves most often left unrecorded.   Sweetsmoke provides us with a safe passage through the uncertainty doubt and fear.

Newly released by Hyperion, you can may read more reviews and ratings for Sweetsmoke on LibraryThing or find it in a library near you.

 Click here to see Kristina's clip in high definition: http://www.vimeo.com/1597050

Enjoy.

"Douglas's unique professional experience and his exclusive personal access to Rader offers a different perspective.”—Publishers Weekly

August 25, 2008—For 31 years a man who called himself BTK (Bind, Torture, Kill) terrorized the city of Wichita, Kansas, strangling and sexually assaulting a series of women (and one child), taunting the police and the community with frequent letters, communications, crime scene photographs and property stolen from his victims. He bragged about his crimes in correspondence to local newspapers, TV, and radio stations, describing himself as a "psychotic and sexual pervert" who claimed that "I can't stop it." After he seemed to disappear for nine years, he suddenly reappeared, complaining that no one was paying enough attention to him, that he had committed crimes for which he had not been given credit.

INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK: The True Story Behind the Thirty-Year Hunt for the Notorious Wichita Serial Killer (Jossey-Bass/Wiley; September 2008; $16.95, Paper; ISBN: 978-0-470-32515-5) by legendary FBI profiler John Douglas and Johnny Dodd, tells the whole incredible story and also draws from it a program for new and improved police methodology to prevent such serial killers from remaining at large, including early intervention in childhood development, and more community involvement in apprehension.

In INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK, Douglas describes many of the techniques ultimately used to apprehend Dennis Rader, the killer known as BTK. Douglas was first called into the case as an expert profiler in 1978 and has been deeply involved in the case and all its principal players ever since. After Rader was arrested, Douglas was able to obtain the only exclusive interview since sentencing, as well as exclusive interviews with family, friends, and the police. As a result, INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK reveals new information about why Rader did what he did, and why he stopped for a long period before surfacing again, one of the more baffling questions confronting investigators.

About the Authors

John E. Douglas is one of the most successful true crime authors in the country. Douglas was an FBI agent for 25 years, but has been involved in criminal profiling for over 35 years. Douglas wrote the Number One New York Times best-seller Mindhunter, which first introduced the public to the idea of psychological profiles as a tool in hunting down killers. He's appeared on every major network as a behavioral crime expert and analyst, including “Today”, “Dateline”, “60 Minutes”, “Good Morning America”, Court TV, “Cops”, “America's Most Wanted”, and has been the subject of several documentaries. He served as technical advisor for the film "Silence of the Lambs," much of which was based on his work. Douglas now consults with police departments all over the country, including the JonBenet Ramsey case for both the prosecution and the defense, provided consultation for the plaintiffs in the OJ Simpson civil suit and is also consulting on the in the high profile West Memphis Three case. He makes his home in Virginia.

Johnny Dodd is a writer at People magazine and lives in Santa Monica, California.

For more information, contact: Mike Onorato 201 748 6361 monorato@wiley.com

Inside the Mind of BTK: The True Story Behind the Thirty-year Hunt for the Notorious Wichita Serial Killer By John Douglas with Jonny Dodd Wiley; September 2008; $16.95; Paper 978-0-470-32515-5; Paperback

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"Mike!" The excited voice on his department answering machine begged for his attention. "This morning at um 3:45 you became the partner of a father. Regina Louise Weible made her entrance when um… I had to take Sadie in last night because um… (what, sure okay)… Mike. It was great." Jerry's voice began to shake a bit. "I got to hold even though she was a little premature… she's in uh, um… an incubator for now but she's beautiful. She's perfect, Mike…" Jerry sniffed quickly. "I'll be in tomorrow, early. I gotta go."

Something in Jerry's tone carried some great change and Mike could sense this event effected his partner in that brief period. Births could do that to some men. Mike was relieved when his daughter was born. He could concentrate on his classes again, even while changing diapers and helping with the midnight feedings he found the role of harried care giver easier than doting husband. When Prudence was first born he relished in his singular position at diaper duty and cry squelcher while Cynthia was only too glad to relinquish those tasks. Mike could carry Prudence in one arm and carry an open book in another, all while reading complex AJ lessons in a soothing voice to his new born child.

Infant Prudence developed a quiet dependence on his strong intonations to put her to sleep but this was only the prelude to Mike's deeper ambitions: holding erect the societal pillars for the weak, dependant, youth, elderly, all the citizens open to the assault of the predators and usurers, those Mike held in greatest contempt.

*****

Jerry stood in front of Mike's desk that morning with his hands clasped in front of him.

Sitting up stiffly—Mike had slept in his office again—he ran his hands through his thick hair. Mike recognized Jerry's submissive stance and inside himself anticipated his partner's confession. Ever since Jerry's daughter had been born, mere hours earlier, the Chief Detective had sensed a dramatic change in the man's demeanor. There was a slight tremble in Jerry's voice as he spoke.

"Uh... Mike. I can't guaranty that I'll be beside you... mentally, I mean."

Mike's expression didn't change as he soaked up his partner's words.

"I can't..." Jerry looked away briefly as if he were ashamed or possibly confused by the words tumbling out of his mouth. "Nothing has ever effected me like this. When I held my daughter in my arms for the first time, my heart..." Jerry stopped. He clenched his jaw and stared down at his shoes while he stood silent for a moment.

"Sadie wants me to go to burglary. Actually she said it about week ago. I should've said something sooner," The man shook his head. He stood passive before he continued. "I'd like to start Tuesday... Is that okay? If not I can…" Jerry's words trailed off.

After a slow sigh, Mike nodded his head slowly.

"You're a good cop, Jerry, and a good partner. You recognize something inside you has changed and you're not willing to put your partner at risk while you sort it out. That's the first sign of a good cop: know yourself. Tuesday'd be fine."

Jerry nodded halfheartedly. With a flick of his Mike head dismissed his former partner—his friend—without any hard feelings or prejudice. At the doorway Jerry let his hand linger on the jamb, turning his body back towards his boss. Then his face slowly floated back towards Mike.

"This case is..." Jerry stopped and gently cocked his head. "You're harder than me. I can't take this, anymore." With that Jerry turned and was gone. Those words cut deep into Mike's soul. He wanted to chase Jerry down and tell him it wasn't true, that everyday he wanted to scream into his pillow in frustration and anguish.

Mike had a daughter too and what he had seen was turning his stomach inside out but somebody had to keep chipping away at this thing. He wanted to shout at Jerry: to tell him that the people who joke this case up and pretend it doesn't twist them into a knot were lying to themselves. He wanted to pull Jerry back by the lapels and scream at him "If this doesn't affect you somehow today, it will later!" Mike knew from classes and personal experience about the cops who closed off that part of themselves and how it could come back with a vengeance.

Every day some cop was sticking a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger when the "ghosts of Christmas past" showed up to collect payments due. There was always some lucky soul—someone to disprove the rule—who could stash the demons they confronted daily in a little drawer inside themselves and lock it shut. Everybody else had to come up with a technique to compartmentalize the fear, the tension, and sometimes the simple prejudice or focused hatred one developed after years of dealing with the deadened souls a cop encounters as a part of their daily rigors.

Some drank, others kicked their dogs to cope with what they saw day in and day out. Mike knew one guy who had a patch of dirt in his backyard garden and when the stress built up the man would beat the patch savagely with a pick until he felt better. That patch was left fallow every time Mike visited the man but each time he saw it had been worked anew.

But Mike knew the worst part of the job was also the best. To finally wrap the details into the restraints of societal acceptance: the norms most citizens agreed to as the "minimum daily requirements" of healthy behavior, neither harming others nor themselves. To prevent another crime—some sociopathic outrage against one or many others—was the motivation for the good cops. To actually solve a case and put the offenders under the harsh light of justice fueled many of the best.

The rest did it for various reason. Some, so they could a blowjob from a pretty woman after a routine traffic stop. Others, because it was normally light work: only occasionally requiring a sweat. The reasons were myriad. Some were born to it: son, grandson, great-grandson of cops: like Jerry Weible.

The excitement of the TV cops attracted many. Those drawn to the excitement usually fell out of the profession or found some niche where they could act out their fantasies, making some of them good cops in the process while others only thought they were good. Mike had found few "good" cops amongst those who thought themselves to be "good." The best Mike had seen always expressed some passing doubts about their ability to honestly change the course of one life much less all the lives on their beat.

The good cops knew they were only there to clean up the mess after the "milk had split" but if they were meticulous and sometimes lucky they could prevent a second rash of crimes. A good cop could only hope to prevent a worse crime from occurring at some future date. That's how many of, what Mike called, "the good guys" kept themselves going to the job each and every day despite the con men (who talked their way out of a sentence), the repeat offends (unwilling to break the pattern for whatever reason) and those caught up in something bigger than themselves. Occasionally, though not often, Mike did see some glimmer of "Les Miserable" playing out on the streets. One memorable case involved a twelve-year-old kid who had swiped a one-hundred-dollar pair of shoes for his grandmother's birthday present. The store owner brought in the police when the boy returned the purloined items at his grandmother's behest.

When the store owner carped about the "niggers getting away anything they want 'cause they're black" Mike, then a patrolman, found he had to step outside to cool his anger. The store owner pressed hard for confinement and the kid was remanded to a juvenile detention center where he inexplicably committed suicide within the week, jumping from the third tier to the naked concrete below. It was only a month later that the "whites only" incident had occurred. That was partially why Captain Cobin had covered for Mike, knowing full well his patrolman's feelings in that case. Bill Cobin had been one of the few "good guys" in Mike's estimation to make the upper ranks. Some felt a department was only as good as the men who ran it and Mike considered himself lucky to work for a man like Bill a fellow Marine and a "good guy."

Bill Cobin peeked around the jamb of Mike's door.

"Thought I'd let ya know the restraining order thing from Watts…" Bill poked out his bottom lip and shook his head stiffly. "Tsk, seems a cop doing his job is given a little leeway, especially if he's one of the best…" Bill pursed his lips and let his gaze fall to the floor.

Mike sat back in his chair and laced his finger behind his head. "Did uh… did this come from that judge or somebody else?"

Bill shrugged. "Well, it seems, some of the…" Bill sighed heavily before looking up to Mike again. "Someone from the King County Commission called—I don't know, maybe the governor or somebody—and uh… said that you were okay and just doing what you do best."

"Roughing up televangelists…" Mike replied with a smirk.

Bill smiled broadly. "Nah, I think that's just a hobby." With his shoulder Bill shoved himself off Mike's door jamb to wander back down the hall.

"Thanks Bill," Mike offered.

"I didn't make the call," Bill stopped and replied quickly.

"I know. But someone you talked to, did."

The captain shrugged before he answered. "You are still on thin ice, Marine."

Mike nodded. "I know. Thanks."

The face disappeared from the doorway and Mike fell back to his work.

*****

After work Mike headed back to St. Jude's to visit Billy. He needed to see her face to know she was improving and possibly that he could save at least soul from hell.

Behind the nurse's station counter was the hardworking Nurse Bridges looking drawn under the harsh lights. Mike wondered if this is what years of public service without seeing many rewards—keeping a patient alive long enough to transfer them to another agency—does to the selfless. Then he pondered the others in her life. Did she have children, a husband, all the trappings of the "real world?" With a smile Mike decided it didn't matter: she was too good for the "real world" only existing to serve it rather than partake of its rewards.

"Good evening, Nurse Bridges," he said sheepishly with a modicum of admiration tinting his tone.

The woman glanced up quickly before returning to the open file in her grasp.

"Chief Detective, Joseph," she replied enunciating each syllable completely and not letting any emotion touch her tight drawn lips. Mike couldn't help but grin at her self-control.

"I'm here to see Willamina Carter." Mike made sure he addressed her with respect.

"Billy?" she asked plaintively still not glancing up.

"Yes, ma'am." He tried to hide his grin.

Nurse Bridges slapped her file shut and shot Mike a hard stare.

"Detective Joseph…" she started. Offering up an open palm she pointed towards a small room off the waiting room. "Please, I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

Mike agreed, "Okay."

The pair sat down opposite one another at a square table.

"Detective, Miss Carter has Hepatitis C. We just got the results back, today." She spoke flatly.

Mike sighed unsure what the prognosis of that might be.

"She does not carry HIV, that's common with young women in her trade, but  cirrhosis is the most common outcome of Hepatitis C. We can treat her and prolong her life but she'll have to subscribe to a program of restraint and…"

Mike held up his hand to stop the woman. "I'm not… authorized nor equipped to make any decision on her behalf. I'm just a cop who…"

The glowering stare from the nurse caused Mike to pull up short.

"Detective, you are a concerned party. I can see that." She finished with a tight smile.

"Yes ma'am. You're right." Mike nodded and the woman continued to explain what would be needed for the Billy's recovery. Mike absorbed every word jotting everything down in his notebook.

"I'll expect you here at least once a week when she has her counseling. It's important she have a sponsor and until we can find a better match, that'll be your job." Nurse Bridges finished without any change in her tone, standing up brusquely.

With her short business-like stride she scurried out of the room while Mike finished writing. He then raised his face towards the woman's back.

"Nurse Bridges…" Mike called out. She stopped and turned to peer over her slender shoulder at him.

Still fighting a smile he continued. "Thank you."

"For what, detective?" Her head bobbed so that her nurses' cap looked like a bird's beak pecking at new found seeds before she hastened back to her realm: that of "the woman in charge of the sick, injured, and needy." Mike felt some kinship to her and envied her in her security and the niche she had created with her force of will and dedication. Mike found a growing sense of respect and deference for the woman whose towering spirit belied her compact physical appearance.

Now, Mike readied himself to approach Billy, to reach out in hopes she "might be thirsty."

Mike studied his notebook while he paced the hallway outside Billy's room. He wanted to have all the information ready to fire at her if she had questions to ask.

No one sat in front of her door this time filling Mike with a modicum of angst. Could they somehow keep her from running again?

Pushing open the door, Mike saw Billy had recovered somewhat. Refitted with a neck brace Billy was sitting erect in her bed, a handful of Narcotics Anonymous pamphlets lie scattered on the floor and a scowl was appearant on her young lips.

Picking up the paper debris Mike started in slowly on the girl. "I take it somebody's already told you about… um what you have to do for the rest of your life…"

"I won't do it…" she growled through clenched teeth.

"S' okay," Mike responded casually placing the pile of paper beside her knee on the edge of her bed. "It's just that… if you don't, yer gonna die."

She kicked the pile back onto the floor and snapped her gaze out the window.

"You should'a left me where I was…"

"Hey, I'm a cop. I could take ya back and dump ya off…" Mike started to tug half-heartedly on several plugs and wires attached to the girl's monitors. "Is this the one keepin' you alive?" He quipped as he wiggled one green tinted hose on the box with multiple blinking lights.

Billy couldn't help but laugh as Mike acted the fool momentarily.

Her laugh faded. "What am I supposed ta do?" The girl whined in confusion and fear.

Mike pulled in a deep breath and held it for a moment. "Um," he sighed heavily. "Whatever they say."

"I'm scared…" she whispered.

Mike nodded. "All the more reason to do what they say."

Her bottom lip quivered now. "You're that cop… Lizzy's friend, huh?"

Mike smiled broadly at the girl. "I'm Mike." He extended his hand in friendship to the girl.

"You can't make me do anything," she glared at him not shaking his hand.

"You want me to go get that head nurse, lady?" He asked mockingly casting a quick glance over his shoulder as if plotting out a path to her.

Billy chuckled. "No… she scares me."

"Hey, she scares me, too." They shared a laugh at that. "Billy, you're sick, but…" Mike stroked the back of her hand as he turned serious. "But you can be okay if… you don't go back to your old life."

She pushed out her bottom lip, "That scares me the most." She whimpered.

Mike leaned into her slight frame corralling her slim body in his grasp, careful not to disconnect her wires and hoses.

"Hey, I'm here and I gotta gun." He smiled at her.

The girl chuckled sadly at that.

"Shoot me if I don't like it, huh?" she whimpered.

Mike stood back up, closed his eyes, and slapped his right hand over his heart. "Promise. And I'm good shot."

Billy giggled despite her tears and the desperate fear she harbored inside: fear of the unknown and untested. The same terrors that stared down most of the street kids, becoming one of the "regular" people, not being a part of the inner circle: the cool crowd.

Mostly street kids did not want to become whatever their parents were, the primary cause for many kids' exit from the "regular" world. Living that boring life of the celibate, the sober, the work-a-day existence that pushed some people to the brink of insanity while they would cling to the trappings and illusions of normalcy. Keeping up the appearance of stability while spiraling downward into a secret disposition of neglect, pain, and torture for those nearest the drop zone.

There was, within some of these young people, that experience: being pulled under by a parent, guardian, relative and the struggle to break free of that grip, surfacing alone and unprepared to buck the current. To regain a footing that offered stability. Mike was becoming more aware of the struggle many street kids fought, fought before they left their old life and fought again after they hit the unyielding pavement where they carried out what most saw as the least painful option.

The embarrassment of failed parents and family structure sent some youngsters into a self-created therapy group for similar species: kids forced into adult roles, kids forced into physical violence, kids forced into sexual submission, and the odd kid who merely can't conform. They all find solace in their close kept company, holding at bay the social workers, cops, parents, and bleeding hearts who cannot understand or over simplify the objectives: growing up in a happy, nurturing atmosphere free of the liabilities beyond the norms.

No test, nor licensing process could glean out the "good" parents from "corrupt" and even those parents with the best designs could fall short as Mike felt he had with his own daughter.

Some parents saw their own weakness and kept an open channel in their intellect for growth and understanding while others assumed a preternatural wisdom to growing up no matter how inhibited or awkward their own youth might have been. Mike hoped he was still on the learning curve and that he could adapt to his daughter's rapid development. He had been unable to adapt to his ex-wife's transformation and lost her because of it. Because of that, he was focusing his efforts on amending the connection between daughter and father before that bond collapsed, leaving it irreparable.

Mike told himself his dealings with both Lizzy and Billy were advanced groundwork for the perils he might face with his own child. Somehow that made it easier in his mind to accept that both these young women were not under his control and their lives whether they turned out for the better or not he could almost divorce himself from that outcome.

"Hey Mike. Remember that girl you talked to at the hospital? The one that got beat up and walked in with your buddy from the candy store?"

Mike glanced up from the growing mountain of files and paper on his desk, a mountain that was threatening to consume him. He rubbed his eye with a finger, sighed, and settled back into his chair awaiting the news that he knew could not be good news.

"She walked off the 'Jenkins Honor Farm' last night after bed check. A patrol found her near Sidell Square this morning OD'ed, meth amphetamine. She's back at Saint Jude's if you wanna… uh…" The man dropped the file on top of the building pile of paperwork. "They're doing everything they can, I guess, but she was in pretty bad shape when they found her."

Turning away with a distracted mien the man was obviously working hard to get out of the chief detective's office before the gathering storm.

Mike sat motionless for several moments, his gaze resting on one more piece of paper, like so much confetti. But each item represented a human life and their actions, lives, and—sometimes—deaths.

His index finger and thumb snapped to the bridge of his nose but Mike stopped short this time. Finger and thumb ground together with an audible report and Mike let his thumb glide along his brow before he slowly picked up the folder which fell open in his grasp, a folder that contained almost everything the "real world" would ever remember about this girl if she died today. Mike felt he knew more about her than the flimsy eight and half by eleven sheets of paper could ever hold. He had only met her once, briefly not exchanging more than a dozen words, but given the insights of Lizzy, the girl's friend and competitor, he still felt he held a greater insight into the life of this girl than any report could yield using mere words to ascribe to a parochial description utilizing mere ink and paper.

The detailed police report outlined a well-worn trajectory: arrested the first time at age thirteen, for possession and delivery of narcotics, again a year later for prostitution, and possession of narcotics… a repeating pattern of the same, throughout the girl's short life, appeared. Mike wanted to cry. Or cry out: he couldn't decide which. Every effort to appeal to this girl, to salvage her from the community scrap heap, fell short.

"She's just not thirsty yet," Mike muttered under his breath. He had closed one of his papers on rehabilitation failures with a derivation of the old saw about leading a horse to water but being unable to make them drink. Mike's coda read: a horse will drink only when they are thirsty. This led to many in the department and the nearby departments to observe—upon witnessing a "miraculous" turn-about in someone's behavior—he or she "must've been thirsty."

He needed to get away from the frightening pile that grew ever larger atop his desk robbing him of his soul. Without Lizzy to reflect his inner most thoughts he didn't know which direction to turn, until suddenly, he spied an address that made him grin. He knew where he could go to break his funk.

 *****

The broad smile on Lydia's face when she yanked open her front door and spotted Mike standing on her porch squeezed his chest, causing him to pant briefly in order to fill his lungs.

"Hi," was all he could manage, the swelling in his heart taking up so much space.

"Hello, Mike," she answered sweetly as she pulled the door wide and offered her open palm, beckoning him to enter her living room—and her life, he hoped.

Standing in the entryway Mike took a deep breath and thought through the list he had prepared for himself: language, smile, eye contact, and lastly, relax and be yourself. He released his breath in a rush, almost laughing. For too long he had controlled his emotional state of mind to preserve his sanity but in the presence of Lydia and away from the pressure of being "the best cop ever" he didn't need to follow the litany of internal devices he used to be a chief detective.

His shoulders fell gratefully and he glanced downwards towards Lydia's oval face and found a grin burst onto his lips before he knew it. "Hi, Lydia. I was in the neighborhood…" He stopped, his thoughts lit onto Lizzy and the times they had spent together. Lizzy could always anticipate his emotional state and made him feel sophomoric for concealing it behind the authority shield he had grown so used to for comfort.

"And I… I missed you." Mike felt a return of that feeling of companionship he shared with Lizzy when she prompted him to admit that same fact.

Lydia almost bubbled over at Mike now and he couldn't contain his own joy at her response, it welled to the surface unable to rest beneath the calm exterior he had built up as personal armor over so many years.

"Good," she replied pleasantly. "Please, come in and sit down," Lydia's voice carried some lyrical inflection that Mike had never heard before. That tone was something Mike decided—at that moment—was to be cherished and he wanted to hear it often.

Following her into the kitchen Mike was surprised to see an easel set up near the window and a half-finished canvas bathed in the morning light streaming in. Looking more closely Mike saw darkness giving way to successive hues of gay colors that culminated in a pyramid topped in white.

Pouring Mike a cup of coffee she glanced back over her shoulder as he leaned in closer to inspect her work in progress. "I'm calling it 'Reawakening…'" She handed Mike his cup and slapped her palms on her hips—arms akimbo—staring at her canvas. "I just have to figure what I'll put on the peak."

Mike felt a nervous flutter in his gut. Then he was hit by a certain sadness that threatened to rob his joy from him. He felt his mouth pull tight as he fought to speak without crying. After swallowing hard he said slowly, "I wish… it could be… Melissa…"

"Yeah, me too," Lydia whispered her nose wrinkled up laboring to hold back a flood of tears.

Mike sat down near the table in order to stare at her painting. Lydia pulled a paint splattered smock on, picked up a brush, and dabbed at the canvas while she spoke.

"I didn't give Melissa what she really needed, I guess. I was working so hard trying to keep myself afloat and… you know we can get so wrapped up in our own misery that we become… blind to the… sadness that might be right next to us. It's terrible that people can be so cruel to one another and that when that happens we can miss someone else's sadness. I only wish…" Lydia began to cry  softly and Mike stepped forward encircling her shoulders in his grasp.

Laying his cheek atop her blond head, Mike took in a deep breath, a sample of the woman, her scent. It was paint and something Mike couldn't put his identify but it triggered something inside his chest. He knew he could live with that scent—that woman—for the rest of his life.

"Somebody told me something like that once… that kids can skip out of their house because of the tension there and the pressure it puts on them…" Mike started softly as he released his grip on her shoulders and reseated himself. He felt uncomfortable so close to a woman he was fond of while she was still married.

"Really?" Her head cocked slightly. She squinted a bit, feeling some importance to his admission. "Who was that?"

"Oh, a friend of mine. A sixteen year old who…" Mike searched for the right words. "Who was in the same… A street kid who lived in a pretty bad neighborhood but still managed to take care of herself and a lot people around her."

Lydia shook her head now. "She must be pretty aware for a 16 year old."

"Yeah… she really is." Mike said sadly.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Mike as if she were reading something in his face that cried out. "Where is she?"

Mike glanced at his feet for a moment. "I… I dunno." He finished in an unsteady voice.

"She meant a lot to you, didn't she?" Lydia answered with a knitted brow.

"Yeah," he replied softly.

"Did she know Melissa?"

Mike nodded mutely.

"How well?" Lydia continued.

Closing his eyes Mike sighed softly. "Pretty well, I think."

The pretty blond sucked her lips into her mouth. "Okay," she whispered hoarsely. Wiping several stray tears onto her sleeve Lydia continued. "Ahem, so she… this um… girl… did she like Melissa?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "Seemed to like her, a lot…" he choked out.

Lydia nodded once, "Most people did…" she answered in a squeaky voice. "She was smart and always wanted to please everybody…"

The pair stood together in a silent embrace accepting from the other the comfort shared between them.

Finally Mike pushed himself to arm's length from Lydia and smiled sadly.

"I have to go check on somebody. I'll see you later, okay?"

Lydia pulled in a deep breath as though trying to inhale as much of Mike as her lungs could hold, before she nodded weakly.

He kissed the top of her head and sauntered away.

*****

Mike needed to stop at St. Jude's hoping Billy might be able to answer some questions: primarily if she had learned anything about Lizzy while she had been back on the street.

The pale skin of the young woman reflected the green and blue tubes stuffed down her throat an