I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.
A word of thanks goes to Melchy for affording the inspiration for several of the conversations included in this story. It's always a pleasure to write for Pete and Edie and for those who enjoy the pleasure of reading those stories.
A Moment Like This: Chapter 1 of 2
Edie Hart awoke to the sound of the doorbell ringing, insistently, over and over, the echo of ensuing knocks from impatient knuckles resonating in the heavy, warm darkness of her apartment. Quickly throwing aside the bed covers she grabbed her robe, pulling it on over her nightgown as she stumbled on bare feet from her bedroom and across the living room, switching on a table lamp next to the sofa as she made her way to the door. She had the chain half way undone before she was thinking clearly enough to wonder who might be pounding at her door at four o'clock in the morning. Her fingers lingered on the lock as the unsettling altercation at Mother's resurfaced in her mind.
"Who is it?" Her hand dropped to the doorknob as she raised her voice and asked the question of the person on the other side of the door to Number 15.
"It's me." Peter Gunn's voice. "Open the door."
Edie opened it a crack, the chain still on, and peered out. There was Pete all right, in his suit and and raincoat, his hair wet and matted down by the rain, an expression in his eyes that she was unable to decipher as he looked back at her. She closed the door, undid the chain and moved to the side as he pushed past her into her apartment, then closed and locked the door behind him. Almost immediately his hand was on her arm, spinning her around to face him, a muscle ticking in his jaw, that unfathomable look still in his eyes. He was upset, Edie could tell that, but there was something else there too. She didn't have time to figure it out though as Pete began talking.
"Why the hell didn't you stay at Mother's?" he ground out, his voice tight.
Edie stared at him in astonishment. Pete never talked to her like that. He never spoke to anyone that way as far as she knew. At least not when in her presence. He wasn't only upset. He was angry, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. Then it hit her. He was also scared. For her. That's what it was, that's what she saw in his gaze. And that was enough to scare her.
"Pete-" She tried to pull her arm away but he didn't let go, instead grasping her other arm in the same manner and holding on tightly as he stared down at her face.
"How could you just go outside and get in a taxi and come home after that?" He looked like he wanted to shake her but he didn't. "And Mother and Barney should have known better than to let you leave."
He released her suddenly, her hands going to her arms and rubbing at the imprint of his fingers she still felt there. He hadn't hurt her, his grip had been solid but gentle, yet she still felt its aftereffects. He turned around, his back to her, and she saw him run a hand over his hair and down the back of his neck. His raincoat and suit jacket were pushed aside as his hands went to his hips, arms akimbo as he stared at the opposite wall. Or somewhere. Maybe he wasn't looking at anything at all. Edie couldn't tell.
Life had caught up with him. With them. That's all Peter Gunn could think of right now. These past five months had been idyllic. Against all odds he had found a girl when he least expected it, where he least expected it. She was all he had ever wanted and had ever dreamed about and would ever need. He knew things weren't ideal. He worked a lot, they sometimes didn't see each other for days on end when he was involved with a tough case, he couldn't always be with her when be wanted to be or when she needed him to be. But this woman had become his entire world. He hadn't said those three little words yet but they lingered between them in every other word he uttered, in every action, in every moment.
And now everyone knew. Not just their friends. Everyone. Waterfront hoods and mob vigilantes and murderous thugs and criminals out for revenge. They all knew that Peter Gunn had a girl. And that made life not so simple anymore. Because having a girl was different from having a girlfriend. It meant something bigger, implied something more, held a greater quality of importance. And it was the one thing that scared him about this relationship, that put the fear of God in him. The thought that she could become the target of those hoods and vigilantes and thugs and revenge seekers scared him in a way he could barely comprehend. And tonight it had happened.
When Pete walked into Mother's less than a half hour ago and found out that Landon's men had been there, and that they had threatened Edie, it had made his blood run cold. Mother had been so furious she could barely get a word out. Barney had taken him aside and repeated exactly what had been said and done. And the cold in Pete's blood had become a burning fire. Barney promised him that he and Mother and Emmett tried to keep Edie from going home by herself but what were they to do? Tie her up and lock her in the dressing room? Yes, he had wanted to scream. If that's what it took to keep her safe. Barney and Emmett had both said they would take her home but she'd slipped out the door before they even knew she was gone.
"Pete." He felt her presence as she moved to stand behind him. "Nothing happened, they didn't do anything. They were just trying to scare me."
He turned around and stared at her. She was the one who had been threatened and here she was trying to placate him with soothing words. Those two goons had emphasized in no uncertain terms just what they would do to her if Peter Gunn didn't lay off of Mickey Landon's alleged connection with his current case.
"Just trying to scare you." His unblinking gaze remained steady on her face. "Would you like to know what happened to the last person they tried to scare?"
The PI's sarcastic emphasis on those final three words brought an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of the woman's stomach. She backed up half a step, shaking her head hesitantly while wrapping her arms around herself.
"He ended up floating down the river in a dozen different pieces." Pete followed her half step back with a full step toward her, giving answer to his question even though he could see she didn't want to hear. "Just like they told him he would. The police had to put him back together to figure out who he was."
Edie searched his eyes, finding a truth there that she didn't want to see.
"There was a full house at Mother's. They couldn't have done anything even if they had wanted to. They couldn't-"
"They could have waited outside, in the shadows, until you were silly enough to call a cab to take you home," Pete interrupted, his voice tense and impatient. "And then they could have taken you somewhere and-" He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, his eyes saying what his voice couldn't. "And I'd be left to live with that. And I couldn't. I'd kill myself rather than have to live with that."
The private investigator released a choked breath and spun around, a couple of long strides carrying him to the apartment door. He pulled it open, pausing only briefly with his back toward her as his name and a question fell from the woman's lips.
"Lock the door and keep it locked. Don't open it for anybody. I'll be back later to drive you to work." He pulled the door shut behind him with a decisive snap, her question as to where he was going pointedly ignored.
It didn't take him long to track down Mickey Landon. The man rarely strayed from his waterfront office on the other side of the river, instead allowing his employees free rein to take care of any pressing business matters that might either aid or impede his empire of money laundering, murder and mayhem. Landon was one of those lifelong hoods whose oily smile and smarmy work ethic brought out the worst in enemies and friends alike.
Two men were lounging around in the downstairs of the building. Clowney and Proctor, Mickey Landon's number one and number two men. Both were bareheaded and had their suit jackets off and shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows. And both men were packing heat, as Front Page Detective magazine liked to put it. A third man, one who'd probably be referred to as a nerd by the kids of the day, sat at a desk in one corner, his eyes hidden by black-framed glasses as he pored over the pages of a large book. All three men raised their eyes as the door almost silently opened and fell inward.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Pete Gunn," one of the loungers said, folding the newspaper he was reading and dropping it to his chair as he stood. He began rolling down his shirt sleeves as he stared at the private investigator. "You're not welcome here, Gunn."
"You weren't welcome at Mother's last night but you showed up anyway." The detective had left his raincoat behind in the DeSoto and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. "Let's just say I'm returning the visit." He stepped further into the room but left the door standing open.
"Mother's?" The second hood, the redhead named Clowney, pulled himself to his feet and let out a chuckle. "Were we at Mother's last night?" He glanced at his partner and raised his eyebrows. Then he began nodding his head slowly and turned his face back toward Gunn, a big grin splitting his lips. "Oh, yeah. I remember now. That's where we met that pretty little blonde. Come to think of it," Clowney rubbed a thoughtful hand along his jaw, "I seem to remember somebody saying she was a friend of yours."
The first hood, Proctor, had his cuffs buttoned by now and was straightening his tie as he came to stand next to his cohort. He looked at Clowney and gave a snide little laugh and then moved to stand almost chest to chest with the PI.
"A friend, huh? What kind of friend, Gunn?" Proctor sneered. "Cute little girl like that, must be one of those between the sheets kind of friends. You know what I mean? That's what she'd be if she was my friend. I bet she'd be –"
He never knew what hit him, never saw the punch from Peter Gunn's right fist or the left uppercut that followed and left him kayoed on the hard wooden floor. Clowney wasn't as easy to take down. He sported the fists of a prizefighter and a head that seemed as hard as steel and seemed able to withstand whatever Pete threw at him, whether it be a right cross or a wooden stool. By the time it was over between the two of them the private eye sported what would turn out to be one heck of a black eye by the next day and his body felt like it had been run over by a truck. His tie was askew, the breast pocket of his almost new $300 tailor-made suit was ripped and his normally neat hair was mussed all out of proportion, but he was on the winning end of the tussle. Proctor and Clowney were laid out side by side. They would both be staring at the insides of their eyelids for a while.
Pete smoothed his hair and straightened his tie and turned to the mousy man in the corner and almost had to smile. He'd shrunk back against the wall and pulled the big book up in front of himself as though using it for a shield. It was a ledger of some sort. The man must be Landon's money man. Figured.
"Where's Landon?" Pete frowned real hard as he stared at the little man. Apparently his look was intimidating enough because the bespectacled accountant held up a shaking finger and pointed upstairs. The detective bent down to retrieve the blue steel revolvers from the waistbands of both hoods and tossed them across the floor. He gave the other man another hard look as his foot hit the stairs.
"I wouldn't try anything if I were you." Gunn's voice held a subtle threat.
If possible the man made himself even smaller and gave a quick shake of his head. His eyes remained on Pete until the detective disappeared from view at the top of the stairs. Then he began shaking his head and muttering. "Another job, I need another job. My blood pressure can't take this much longer..."
Pete mounted the stairs two at a time then walked about five paces to a half open door. He pushed at it, letting it swing open to reveal a well dressed man sitting behind a desk, seemingly unaware or uninterested in the noisy fracas that had occurred downstairs. The man glanced up as he became aware of movement in the doorway, his eyebrows going up and his eyes widening as he reached toward the side drawer of his desk.
"Not a good idea," Gunn quietly said, the slight movement of his right shoulder bringing Mickey Landon's gaze to the .38 Detective Special the PI held in his hand, barrel pointed toward the floor as his arm hung at his side. Landon's eyes darted to the open doorway. Pete read his mind.
"Don't worry about your boys. They're just having a little nap." Again he almost had to smile. "They had a rough morning."
"What do you want, Gunn?" Landon casually straightened and leaned back in his chair.
"You know what I want, Landon. You're not that stupid." The private detective allowed his narrowed gaze to travel almost insolently over the other man. "Or maybe you are."
"You're sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, Gunn," Landon warned. "The case you're investigating has nothing to do with me or my business."
"Then you have nothing to worry about do you?"
Mickey Landon rose from his chair as Peter Gunn stepped further into the room, the PI slowly backing him into a corner between the window and an old oak filing cabinet. He watched Gunn's face, stared at his almost emotionless blue eyes, swallowed hard as the muscle in the man's jaw clenched and unclenched. Without his goons to protect him and without a gun in his hand Mickey Landon wasn't a very brave man. He swallowed again as the detective raised his right arm and he felt the cold steel of his revolver against his neck. He heard the click as Gunn cocked the hammer with his thumb and then the soft sound of the cylinder revolving.
"You need to call your boys off," Pete advised Landon, his voice low and rough. "And anyone else that might be interested in doing your dirty work for you. Because if I find out that you or any of your friends have been anywhere near Mother's..." Pete allowed the barrel of his gun to travel upwards to rest beneath the man's chin, "...or anywhere within ten miles of someone I care about..." the .38 moved to Landon's temple, "...I'll find you and I'll blow your brains out."
The detective held his weapon against Landon's head until he knew without a doubt that the other man understood his threat and took it seriously. He slowly lowered his arm and backed away, opening the desk drawer as he passed it and removing the pistol he found there. Then he turned his back to Landon and left the room, moving down the stairs and tossing Landon's gun into the corner with the others as he went out the door.
When the telephone shrilled at just after six-thirty that evening Edie Hart ran to answer it. She had been standing at the kitchen window staring out at the small parking lot of her apartment building for the past half hour. She was already late for rehearsal but Pete had said he would be by to pick her up for work and she wasn't about to leave without him. Not after the events of the early morning. The PI usually showed up at least thirty minutes early. Not today. That worried her because she didn't know whether something had happened to him or if he was so angry with her about leaving Mother's by herself this morning that he had changed his mind about stopping by. But that wasn't like him either. Pete had never been angry with her, not in the entire time she had known him, not until this morning. Exasperated, yes. Irritated? On occasion. But never angry like today. She grabbed the telephone receiver and brought it to her ear.
"Pete?"
"No, it's Mother," came the response to the blonde woman's breathless question. "Are you all right, Edie? Have you heard anything at all from Pete?" Mother continued, not giving her girl singer an opportunity to reply. "He was in here after you left this morning and I swear I saw steam coming out of his ears when he found out what happened. I sure hope that man hasn't gone and done anything foolish." She paused. "Well, more foolish than usual."
"He came by this morning," Edie admitted.
"Was he mad?"
"I'm not sure what he was." Edie gave the older woman a watered down version of what had occurred that morning and repeated the instructions Pete had given her, apologizing for being late and asking Mother to tell Emmett she'd be there as soon as Pete put in an appearance. She listened with half an ear as Mother prattled on, absently answering any questions she was asked, her gaze directed through the kitchen window as she picked up the telephone and moved to stand in the doorway between it and the living room.
The sight of Peter Gunn's '58 DeSoto turning into the parking lot had her interrupting Mother in the middle of a sentence, quickly telling the woman goodbye and setting the phone on the coffee table and dropping the receiver into the cradle. She watched as the PI pulled into a space and waited for him to get out of the car, which it seemed he was never going to do but he finally did. Then he leaned with his back against the driver's door and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt, digging into his pants pocket for his shiny gold lighter. After his cigarette was lit he remained in the same position, taking a deep drag and releasing the smoke in an elongated stream. He turned the hand holding the cigarette and stared intently at the ashy tip, his other hand sliding into his pants pocket, obviously deep in thought. Pete finally pushed away from the DeSoto and walked around the car, looked both ways and crossed to the apartment house, dropping the butt into the receptacle placed by the door for that purpose before pulling the door open and stepping into the lobby.
Edie gathered her things together, counting the seconds as she waited for Pete's knock on the door. Her purse. Her dress still in its wrapper from the dry cleaners. Her shoes which she quickly slipped onto her feet. Why was it taking him so long? She heard his steps as he reached the top of the landing. But no knock. Not yet. When the rap of knuckles on the door did finally come she was startled by the sound and her heart began beating fast. Edie had a feeling her life was about to change and not for the good. Pete was going to break things off with her. She just knew it. And all because she'd been stupid, because she'd pretended to be oblivious to the threat those men presented, because she had failed to listen to Mother and Barney and Emmett and had acted like there was nothing to be concerned about and had put herself in danger. Had put him in danger. Because she had known where he was going early this morning when he failed to answer her question to that effect. He had been going after the men who had threatened her, nobody had to tell her that. If he was hurt it was her fault and hers alone. And Peter Gunn didn't need some silly careless girl to become a risk to his life and his work.
The two of them barely spoke beyond her subdued greeting when she answered the door. Pete just made a sound in his throat and didn't really look at her as he took possession of her dress on its hanger and waited for her to lock the door behind them. She made no mention of the dark discoloration already beginning to show around and below his left eye and he pretended not to notice her own red rimmed eyes. He followed her down the stairs and through the lobby and out to the car where he opened the passenger side door for her before neatly laying the dress across the wide back seat. Then he got in beside her, backed out and pulled into Willow Street and followed it until it curved onto River Street. Within minutes they were parked at the curb outside the front of Mother's. They went through the same routine as at Edie's apartment only backwards. Once inside Pete handed the dress off to Edie and she made eye contact with Mother only briefly before heading for her dressing room.
The detective kept his eyes on the woman as she moved away, leaving him standing in her wake near the front door. Mother and Barney both stood behind the bar. Something normal for the bartender but odd for the club's owner. It was almost as though she was using it as a defensive barrier. A little smile straightened Pete's lips as he once again procured his pack of Lucky Strikes and lit one before casually leaning against the bar.
"Looks like you'll have quite a shiner there," Mother said, appraising his eye as Barney popped the cap off a small bottle of Coke and handed it to him.
"Should see the other guys," the PI joked, making a face at his cigarette and grounding it out in the ashtray half smoked before taking a long draw of the cold soda.
"The same two who were in here this morning?"
"Mmmmm." Pete's eyes met those of Emmett Ward as the piano player appeared from somewhere in the back to join the other members of the combo who were already tuning up onstage. At Pete's courteous nod Emmett just raised his eyebrows at him and turned on his bench and began running bis fingers over the black and white keys. "Proctor and Clowney." He pulled his gaze back to Mother. "They won't be back."
"How about Landon?" Mother frowned and looked over her shoulder at Barney as the man set down a liquor bottle with a little too much noise. He just smiled and shrugged.
"You don't need to worry about Landon. He won't be bothering us anymore." The dark haired man finished his drink in one gulp and slid the empty bottle along the bar toward Barney. Then he straightened and felt to make sure his suit coat was buttoned before sliding his left hand into his pants pocket and turning to face the door.
"Did you yell at that girl?" he heard Mother ask. Pete turned around and looked at her.
"What do you think?" he asked after a few seconds of searching her expression.
"I think you didn't," the old woman eventually said with a sigh, shaking her head at him and giving him a pointed look. "But that doesn't mean she didn't hear it."
Pete continued to stare at her, some of his weariness beginning to show through. Saying nothing he turned toward the door again.
"Where are you going?" Mother demanded.
"Finish up the case that started all this," Pete answered back in a voice that held a hint of irritation. Not at Mother but at his client. Then again perhaps some of it was aimed at the woman. And maybe just a little of it was directed toward Edie. Sometimes he wished he knew how to say no to some of the clientele he tended to attract. It would make his life a whole lot easier, especially when it came to the female part of it.
"Pete."
Mother's stern voice stopped him in his tracks and he turned back again, his hand on the doorknob, the aggravation he was experiencing evident in his expression as he watched her move to the front end of the bar.
"Do me a favor and don't say it."
"Say what?" Her eyebrows drew together as she stared at him.
"That you told me so." His voice was graveled with tiredness. "That something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. That next time it could be worse." From the corner of his eye he saw Edie join Emmett and the other guys for practice but he didn't look in her direction. "That I shouldn't have gotten involved with her if I couldn't accept the risks involved."
"That's not what I was planning to say," Mother responded dryly. "But it sounds like you've got a good grasp of things."
Pete drew in a deep breath and released it, his gaze dropping to the shiny tips of his shoes as he waited for the woman to continue.
"Do you love that girl?" Mother placed her arms on the bar and leaned toward him. Pete didn't say anything but he didn't have to. The answer to her question was written all over his face as he raised his eyes to look at her. Not that she needed to ask in the first place. She knew good and well what Peter Gunn's feelings were toward her girl singer. It was obvious in every look he gave her, evident with each touch, palpable in the tone of each word he spoke.
"Have you told her?" Again he didn't have to answer her. His expression said it all. The woman shook her head, glancing from him to Edie and back again. Fool kids.
"Don't you think it would be a good idea to do that?" Mother asked in a kind voice. "A woman likes to know where she stands with a man. Likes to know she's not wasting her time on something that's never going to happen."
Pete didn't answer. He loved Mother dearly but there were some things that just weren't her concern, weren't anyone's concern, especially when it came to him and Edie. Mother meant well, but what was between him and Edie was just that, between him and Edie. He pulled the door open and slipped out, closing it softly behind him, Edie's voice and the sounds of the accompanying combo dancing in the air as he slowly followed the sidewalk to his parked car.
Edie Hart bowed slightly as the final words of her song trailed off into the smoky air, a smile for the audience reaching her lips but not going much farther. Somehow the quick and vibrant words and beat of Goody, Goody just didn't quite fit her mood tonight. She knew the people at the tables wouldn't notice but Mother and Barney and Emmett and the other members of the combo had been around her long enough to be aware that her mind wasn't totally with her music. If it was the mark of a good singer to get through a performance without giving the audience a glimmer of one's inner turmoil or personal doubts then she must be up there with the truly great ones she gloomily decided. After a quick look in the mirror and an extra dab of powder to her nose she left the protection of her dressing room and wandered up front to the bar and sat herself down on the stool by the wall. Barney gave her a Coke and a smile.
It was about a quarter til two. Pete normally came by to pick her up sometime between two and two-thirty unless he called to tell her she needed to make other arrangements. Or unless he didn't have a job that night and instead spent his time at the club, relaxing at a back table and listening to her sing. Edie sat sipping her drink slowly, her fingers idly fiddling with her straw as she took turns watching the customers leave the club and eyeing Mother as she worked on her totals for the night. She was still sitting in the same spot making chitchat with Barney when the door opened and Lieutenant Jacoby ducked in as the last of the regulars slipped out. He stood for a moment and looked around the almost deserted club before removing his hat and acknowledging Mother and slowly walking around the bar.
"Edie." Jacoby nodded politely as he took up residence on one of the stools, leaving an empty seat between him and the blonde. He set his hat on the bar and leaned his elbows on the hard top then glanced at his watch. "Pete been around tonight?" he asked no one in particular.
"Not since he dropped Edie off," Barney eventually answered when neither woman did.
"What time was that?"
Mother gave Jacoby a sidelong stare as she paused in her calculations. She'd been at it with paper and pencil for over an hour already but nothing was adding up right this early morning. Releasing a frustrated sigh she passed both items to her longtime bartender and motioned toward the woman at the end of the bar.
"Edie, will you see of you can figure this out? I can't tell a two from an eight anymore." She turned her gaze back to the Lieutenant. "About seven. Why?" Her impatience with the policeman was evident in the gruffness of her question. Mother didn't dislike Jacoby but she really didn't have any use for him either. He was a friend of Pete's though, and that in itself made him welcome at her place of business.
"Kind of late wasn't it?" Jacoby's soulful brown gaze rested on Edie as his head turned slowly in her direction. "Don't you usually get here at around six?" If he was fishing for some sort of reaction from the blonde woman he was disappointed.
"Not always." Edie gave a little shrug, her eyes on the tip of her pencil as as she made marks on the pad of paper. Mother was really off tonight. She was normally a whiz when it came to totaling her receipts. Her mind must be on something else Edie decided, not having to wonder what. At least Mother wasn't as mad as Pete had been. Or if she was she was hiding it well. Edie risked a quick glance at the older woman as the policeman's attention wandered elsewhere and received a surreptitious wink in return. Apparently she had done something right in Mother's book. When in doubt be evasive, especially when it came to suspicious cops. And how did he know what time she usually arrived at work? What was he doing, spying on her and Pete? If the past twenty-four hours hadn't been such a nightmare it would be laughable.
Edie heard the front door open but didn't look up. She knew without a doubt it was Pete and the manner in which Lieutenant Jacoby gave his watch another glance, clasped his hands on the top of the bar and flexed his slumped shoulders as he leaned slightly back was a dead giveaway in any case. She hadn't known the policeman long but she'd picked up on a few of his nuances in the short time she had. Her pencil continued to move as she kept her eyes on her task. If Pete wanted her attention he'd let her know.
"Where've you been?" The policeman didn't waste time getting to the point as his eyes followed the PI to the seat between himself and Edie.
"Here and there," Pete responded mildly. Reaching into the breast pocket of his crisp white shirt he pulled out his usual pack of Lucky Strikes and lit up. The cigarettes were returned to their rightful place but the PI's gold lighter remained out, his fingers absently moving it in tight circles on the bar as he stared first at the glowing tip of his smoke and then at Jacoby's face. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"
"You could say that."
The detective's gaze bounced away from Jacoby as a short glass of ginger ale was set before him.
"Thanks, Barney." His dark blue eyes held the tiniest bit of humor as his attention slid back to the man seated beside him. "Something's on your mind, Lieutenant."
"Very funny." Jacoby didn't sound humored though and looked even less so as he turned in his seat to face his friend. "Always the comedian, always with the joke. You could be in a lot of trouble, you know that?"
"Me?" The PI appeared taken aback. "What did I do?"
"Mickey Landon is dead." Again Jacoby didn't waste any time getting to the point. He rested his forearm along the edge of the bar and leaned toward Pete. "Now," he began. "Are you going to answer my question in the serious manner in which it was set forth or am I going to have to haul you down to the station and interrogate you like a common criminal?"
Pete almost laughed but managed to contain himself. The policeman was in straight-out serious mode, which meant no matter how ludicrous the situation might seem he wasn't fooling around.
"Well don't look at me, I didn't kill him," he said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. He took it between two fingers and tapped it against the ash tray. "Although if you ask me it couldn't have happened to a nicer fellow," he continued in an overly friendly tone.
"Nobody asked you," Jacoby gritted.
"Now, now, Lieutenant. Don't get your hackles up. You'll-"
"Don't tell me what not to do." Jacoby's voice was low and ominous. "You tell me where you've been all day and what you've been doing. And don't give me any of that baloney you usually try to confuse the issue with."
"Where I've been and what I've been doing is none of your business." The PI stubbed his cigarette out and turned on his stool to face the policeman, unconsciously mimicking the other man's pose. Or maybe he did it on purpose. "Besides, I have an alibi." A satisfied half smile ghosted his lips.
Jacoby's eyes flickered past Pete's shoulder to the woman seated against the wall, her gaze apprehensively meeting his as she watched and listened. When he looked back at Pete again he was greeted with a stony stare and an irritated tic of the jaw.
"If you want to haul me down to headquarters and have a go at me with your rubber hose then fine, do it." Pete ground out. "If not then lay off." Jacoby intuitively knew that last part had nothing at all to do with Landon and everything to do with the blonde.
"I haven't even told you when Landon was killed." The policeman's lips were a thin line. "So how do you know you have an alibi?"
"Why don't you ask those two flatfoots you've had following me around all day." Pete smirked at the sudden crestfallen expression Jacoby tried unsuccessfully to hide. "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to tell you where I've been every minute of every hour. After all, that's what you're paying them for isn't it?"
"When did you pick them up?" Jacoby resignedly asked.
An incredulous look skittered across the detective's face and he almost didn't bother to answer. But he figured his friend ought to be made aware of just how inept some of his men were. It might make a difference in a case that really mattered one day.
"They were up the street from my apartment when I got back from Landon's place." Pete flicked open the top of his cigarette lighter and stared at the workings, then snapped it shut again and shoved it into his pocket and returned his gaze to Jacoby. "You running interference for your boys across the river now?"
"Captain Petrocelli called to tell me you paid Landon a visit. He hasn't exactly been a model citizen lately so they've been keeping a closer than usual eye on him. Suffice it to say the Captain was a bit taken aback when his boys observed a certain Mr. Peter Gunn come calling."
"Then I'm sure Captain Petrocelli also informed you that our Mr. Landon was still very much alive and kicking when I left his place."
"Two of his boys were in here last night," Jacoby observed. "All the way from across the river. Then you go over there today. Not your usual stomping grounds," he mused. "You have to admit it looks a little fishy. You're not welcome over there Pete, especially not by guys like Mickey Landon."
"So I was told."
"What did his boys want?"
"Why don't you ask them?" the PI shrugged as though unconcerned
"Don't think I haven't tried." Jacoby's voice struck a sour chord. "Between Petrocelli's men interrogating them about Landon's murder and my questions about what they were up to this side of the river..." The policeman imitated Pete's shrug. "They weren't being very cooperative. When I asked about you they just played dumb. Believe me, it wasn't much of a stretch. And I don't think they'll give Petrocelli much to go on either."
Pete swung back around to face the counter and picked up his untouched glass of ginger ale and took a sip, watching as Mother accepted a pad of paper and pencil from Edie and rolled her eyes and sighed as she looked at it. She muttered something about paying the girl to be her accountant instead of her entertainment, drawing a vestige of a smile from the younger woman. His eyes followed Edie's fingers as she pulled her Coke closer and took a sip from the straw, her face wrinkling in disgust at the warm taste of the soda. He swallowed his own drink in a couple of quick gulps and got to his feet, reaching beside Edie for her sweater and asking if she was ready to go.
She answered in the affirmative and stood up, her blue gaze taking in the tailored black suit and deep blue tie the PI was wearing. Pete looked as nice as she'd ever seen him, his hair freshly trimmed and neatly combed, his black shoes highly polished, the crisp white cuffs of his Brooks Brothers shirt poking out from his sleeves. She wondered if he had been doing something special tonight and a sharp tingle of self doubt grasped her heart. She didn't want to meet his eyes, half afraid of what she might see there, but she couldn't help herself and looked anyway. He was looking down as he carefully settled the light blue sweater across her shoulders and pulled the collar close and attempted to slip the little button into its hole, squinting in concentration. A relieved sigh escaped his lips as he got the job done and his gaze lifted and met hers. She wondered what he saw in her eyes, if he saw something unsettling. As unsettling as the thoughts skipping through her mind maybe. Whatever the case his eyes darkened in that way they so often did when he looked at her. Regardless of who was there and might be watching he leaned in and met her lips with his in a hard kiss and then took her hand and turned them both toward the door, moving ahead of her as they slipped by the stools that lined the bar.
"That's it?" Jacoby grumbled, sliding off his stool and reaching for his hat. "I could use a little cooperation here Pete."
"What exactly do you want from me?" Pete asked, exasperated, as he stopped and turned back to face the Lieutenant. From the corner of his eye he could see Mother roll her eyes as she closed up the register in readiness for the next night's business, saw Barney untie his apron and toss it into the can with the dirty towels and napkins in preparation to head home.
"The lab boys found your fingerprints on Landon's revolver," the policeman announced.
The PI just shrugged, his lips straightening in the pretense of a smile. He tightened his hand around Edie's as her fingers curled into his palm, her nails digging into the tender flesh below his thumb. He felt her close against his back as he waited for Jacoby to pull his teeth out of whatever he thought he'd sunk them into with his gentle bulldog tenacity.
"And they'll probably find them on Clowney's and Proctor's," Pete conceded.
"Speaking of which..." Jacoby placed his hat on his head and pulled at the brim until it was adjusted to his liking. Then he stood with his hands in the pockets of his raincoat and stared at his friend and studied his blackening eye, his lips thinning in a smile that held a semblance of humor. "Those two looked like they'd been put through the wringer. The boys could probably match your knuckles to Proctor's face. I could arrest you for assault, take you to the station and let you spend a few hours in a cell. Maybe that would loosen your tongue."
The detective sighed, deciding bulldog might be a weak descriptor for the cop. Jacoby wasn't going to give up until he got a little something out of him.
"Proctor said something I took offense to," he told the policeman, not beating around the bush. "So I hit him. I can't help it if he can't take a punch." He quickly held up his hand, palm outward, as Jacoby opened his mouth. "Also none of your business."
"What about Clowney?"
"Tried to hit me over the head with a chair. His aim was bad." Pete smirked as only Pete could. "Mine wasn't."
"And I'm sure none of it was your fault," Jacoby lamented.
Pete shrugged and decided to cut his friend a little slack. As irritating as he could be the policeman was only doing his job. The detective just wished he'd pick better places and times to do it.
"Clowney and Proctor weren't the only ones there," he offered, knowing that little tidbit of information would raise even more questions from Jacoby. But that didn't mean it was his job to produce answers to those questions. And he didn't plan to. He had better things to do with his time than to stand around and be on the receiving end of one of Lieutenant Jacoby's cross-examinations.
"You mean besides Landon?" Jacoby raised an eyebrow as the PI tilted his chin in a curt nod. "Who else?"
"You're the cop. You figure it out."
"Pete-"
The detective ignored him, turning instead toward the door and ushering Edie ahead of him, her hand still firmly grasped in his. As he pulled the door open he abruptly stopped and looked back at Jacoby.
"Oh by the way, Lieutenant." A slightly sardonic grin tilted his lips. "Should I tell your two badges out there they can call it a night or do you want to do the honors?"
The interior of Peter Gunn's big DeSoto was engulfed in a quiet warmth, the glow from the instrument panel the only bit of light breaking up an otherwise inky darkness. He felt the woman's gaze on him as he shifted gears and pulled away from the curb, unworried that any traffic would be coming along behind him at this hour of the morning. Her eyes continued to move back and forth between him and the view outside the windshield until he swung the car off of River Street onto Twenty-Second.
"Pete?"
"I called ahead to Guido's to reserve a table." Edie didn't know if Pete was ignoring her attempt to begin the conversation they both knew was coming and to be perfectly honest he wasn't sure himself. "Not that it was necessary at this time of night but it makes him feel good when somebody thinks they have to make a reservation."
"Pete, I'm really very sorry." She dropped her gaze to her fingers, barely visible in the dark, twisting restlessly on her lap. "I know what I did was stupid." Edie wasn't sure what to say, she just wanted him to know. Just to know. So she forged on, her troubled gaze searching out his profile, lingering on his impassive face with each street light they passed beneath. "You got hurt because I didn't take those men seriously and because I didn't listen to Mother or Barney or Emmett. I never meant for that to happen. I never even thought about it." Her gaze dropped once more to her hands then went back to the windshield before she turned her head to stare out the passenger side window. "I guess that's the problem. I didn't think." She swallowed thickly and gave a short and soft self-derisive chuckle. "I guess that doesn't make me much of a girlfriend for a man-for-hire."
The PI didn't say anything for the final two blocks to the end of the pier where the lights of Guido's stood out against the darkness of the river behind it. He pulled to the side and parked and turned off the ignition, his long fingers lingering on the key for a few brief seconds before he rested his forearms across the top of the steering wheel and stared out into the night. He wasn't aware of how much time passed before he turned his head to look at the woman beside him. She was staring in the same direction he had been, out into the darkness toward the big river they couldn't see but could hear as a few sluggish waves lapped against the shore. His eyes traced the gentle curve of her cheek and he reached out and slipped his hand through both of hers where they lay clasped on her lap, his fingers lacing with hers.
"I would have gone across the river to see Landon one way the other so I'm sure he and his boys were expecting me," he eventually said, staring out into the dark again. "Don't blame yourself for that. Landon took things too far when he sent his boys over to harass you. There are limits to how far most of those people will go but Landon..." His fingers fiddled with the horn button. "There won't be many sorry to see him go." He sighed and flicked a quick glance in her direction as he removed his hand from hers and reached for the ignition key. "And there are times when its not a such a bad idea to listen to Mother or Barney. They've been around and they've seen it all and they were only interested in keeping you safe. As for Emmett..." The PI sighed and Edie almost thought she saw a smile but it never took shape. "About the only thing Emmett worries about keeping safe when disaster strikes is his piano."
The smile might not have been there but a teasing hint of humor was. If Pete was teasing her then maybe things weren't as bad as she thought. She watched him glance toward the little Italian place, restaurant would be an overly generous description, and reach for the door handle. Then his eyes were on her face again, searching her expression in the dim interior of the car. They didn't have to stay and eat just because he'd reserved a table he told her. He could run inside and order something and they could head back to her place. Edie decided she liked that idea, she wasn't really in the mood to be around other people, and while being alone with Pete brought along the possibility of hearing some things she'd rather not contemplate, she would rather be with him nevertheless. She didn't tell him all of that, just said she liked the idea of going home and eating in.
Pete returned to the car in record time, carrying a large brown sack that he set between them on the wide bench seat, shrugging at Edie's questioning look. Guido had chastised him about leaving her out in the car alone, took his money, waved off his order, headed to the back of the establishment and three minutes later came back and shoved the sack into his hands. He had no idea what he'd been given but Edie said it smelled good.
The car was quiet again as the PI drove them back to Edie's apartment house and neither one said anything as they crossed the little parking lot to the front door of the building or as Edie led the way through the lobby and up the flight of stairs to her apartment. Pete followed her across the living room and through the door to the kitchen, setting the sack of food down on the counter while she hesitated in the doorway.
"Do you mind of I go change while you take care of supper?"
Pete glanced up in the process of pulling items from the sack, his laughing gaze saying what his lips wouldn't. Of course he'd take care of getting supper ready, even if it was takeout and was already cooked and fit to eat. One of the first things he'd learned about this woman was that she wasn't a whiz in the kitchen, her repertoire consisting of eggs either boiled or scrambled, which didn't bother him at all because he liked eggs. And while he himself wasn't Chef Boyardee in the kitchen he did enjoy cooking, especially for the two of them.
"Sure," he said with dry humor, returning to his task. "I'll try to manage."
He pulled a couple plates from the cabinet and began filling them with some of the food Guido had sent along. Chicken Alfredo for Edie, Steak Lombardy for himself, some of Guido's famous garlic bread and almond pear tart for dessert. Those were just a few of the things Pete found boxed up in the sack and he was impressed with his little friend's resourcefulness and thoughtfulness. He repacked the remainder of the items and stashed them in the refrigerator. Not finding any wine, he ended up pouring a glass of buttermilk for Edie, then stood there with the bottle in his hand, debating with himself over one of the Budweisers inside the refrigerator door before settling on buttermilk for himself too. He really needed a clear head, he didn't need to foul his thinking with alcohol, even if it was just one beer. After grabbing silverware and paper napkins he carried the plates into the living room and set them on the coffee table then returned to the kitchen for the drinks.
Pete glanced up the short hallway to the bedroom. The door was standing open but there was no sign of Edie. He walked the few steps and stuck his head in the door, hearing the sound of the shower running as he did. He stepped further into the room. It wasn't as if he'd never been in her bedroom before. They had managed to end up there on more than one occasion during the past few months, Edie suggesting in a breathy voice that her bed would be much more comfortable than the sofa they were making out on and he unable to resist. Each time most of their clothes had ended up on the floor before they tumbled to the quilt to continue what they'd started in the living room. Each time he'd somehow managed to make sure they didn't cross that final line, that they didn't reach that point of no return. Because he had promised himself he was taking this thing between himself and Edie Hart slowly. But the softness of her skin against his body as he held her, the warmth of her breath against his face when they kissed, the picture of her lying against the bed covers in the barely-there wisps of her bra and panties was something he had memorized and had taken home with him to dream about each time they'd been together.
Hearing the water shut off Pete turned back to the door, intent on escaping her bedroom before she caught him mooning around, when something tucked into the lower left hand corner of her bedroom mirror caught his gaze. He stepped closer and reached for a small picture, held it between two fingers as he looked at it, a sepia print of the two of them taken in a photo booth at the fairgrounds on the Fourth of July. He couldn't help the smile that tipped the corners of his mouth. Edie had insisted they crowd into the small booth, saying she needed something to remind her he wasn't always that serious-minded Peter Gunn, Man For Hire that she had come to know and love. The smile faded a little. She'd been using that word more and more lately, this whirlwind named Edie Hart. And it scared him, just like everything else about their relationship had scared him from the very first moment he laid eyes on her. Pete returned the picture to its corner and stared at it for another moment then returned to the living room. He removed his suit jacket and hung it carefully over the back of the sofa then went to stand in front of the book shelf in the corner, quietly browsing the titles until she joined him.