A/N: Pants here. Sorry about the delay in posting. Someone *coughAhelmcough* went to Florida for a couple of days to see Kings of Leon with Little Miss Whitlock, Little Miss Masen and hammondgirl and left me here to fend for myself. *wipes away a single tear* Anyways: New POV this week, darlin's! ;) Hope you enjoy.


I didn't much like Fridays. My "job" on Friday nights wasn't the best way to end a long week. But when I thought real hard about it, I figured I didn't have much choice in the matter.

When Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Margaret gave me a place to live after I graduated from high school, I was grateful. When Uncle suggested I go through the police academy, I was flattered. When Rosalie took over Lilly's, I thought it would be good for everyone.

Then I realized where events were leading.

Family is one of the most important things in my life. I was raised to respect my elders and bring honor to the Whitlock name. "Duty to your family comes before anything, even yourself," my grandfather used to say.

Being raised in Texas, I learned right from wrong early on. It was drilled into me by both Mama and Father. Obey your parents. Work to better yourself. Make the family proud.

But when duty to your family comes into direct conflict with duty to a profession you've sworn to uphold, what do you do?

On Friday nights, I visited Lilly's. On Friday nights, my partner, Peter—who still thought I was an upstanding enforcer of the law—and I had coffee before we headed back to the precinct to clock off. On Friday nights I had to pretend that I didn't care that my family, and I, were breaking the law.

I had no inkling that on a Friday night, my life would be changed forever.

Pete and I always sat in at a table in the front booth, near the window. It was the same table we'd been sitting at for months. Our beat took us past Lilly's on a daily basis, but it was only on Fridays that we stopped in to sit a spell at the end of our shift. I often worried that Pete would question the routine, but he never did. On this particular Friday, he was too animated to notice anything. He'd met a girl the night before.

"Jazz, I can't explain it." Pete had been "trying to explain it" since our shift started at 8 a.m. I smiled, trying not to let the nervousness I always felt when I was at Lilly's show.

"She's the cat's meow. The bee's knees!" Pete swung his arms wide, nearly knocking my hat off my head.

Rose was standing behind the counter talking to Felix, her back toward us, when we walked through the door. I tipped my hat toward the burly man and he nodded in my direction. I felt even more uncomfortable when Felix was around; the mook was bad news.

As was our tradition, Peter headed to the table and I walked toward Rose. "Evening, Rose, Felix." I stood tall and waited for a response.

Rose looked at me, her blue eyes sharp. "Good evening, Jasper. Beautiful Friday we're having, isn't it?" she smirked. I loved my cousin, I really did, but her attitude toward the goings-on of this … restaurant … left a bitter taste in my mouth. I never understood why Uncle had allowed Rose to have so much free reign in her life—My own sister Maria was married and had two children by the time she was Rose's age. I bit back a retort and merely murmured an affirmative.

Rose turned back to Felix. "Demetri should arrive any minute. You stay out here." She turned and walked to the doorway that led into the kitchen. "Oh and give the boys their coffee." She winked at me. "It's on the house."

Felix pulled two white porcelain mugs out from underneath the counter and filled them with a dark, steaming liquid. I thanked him and took the cups back to the table at which Pete sat, staring out the window, a dreamy look on his face.

He started in again before I'd even set the mugs on the table. "She's something else, Jazz. My sweet Charlotte." He sighed. I picked up my coffee and took a sip.

I had to hand it to Rose, for what it actually was, Lilly's certainly served a good cuppa' Joe.

Pete continued to go on about his new dame as I watched for Demetri to arrive. I nodded and occasionally mumbled an "attaboy" as I listened with one ear to his tales of his visit to Coney Island. He'd gone with some bell-bottoms he knew from high school who were in town on leave. The sailors had taken a shine to a group of girls, and Charlotte happened to be one of them. "She's tiny and perfect and her hair's a lot like yours, Jazz, only lighter," said Pete, who'd finally noticed his coffee. He took a sip and grimaced; it was most likely lukewarm, he'd let it sit there so long.

A black Buick sedan with darkened windows drove around the corner of 38th and disappeared into the alley next to Lilly's. I grimaced. I took a large gulp of my coffee and turned my attention back toward Pete.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a sleek silver car the likes of which I'd never seen pull up across the street. I hoped it would be there for a while so I could check it out after Demetri was done with his drop-off.

" … is a total Sheba, Jazz. I mean, she blew all her friends away. She's like an angel."

I heard the front door open and a female voice speak to Felix. My attention was now on Pete, however. I worried a moment; he usually wasn't this much of a pushover. He'd just met the girl the night before. He didn't know her from Eve. My pragmatic—some might call it pessimistic—nature led me to believe that she could turn out to be bad news. And I didn't want to watch my best friend get hurt. Pete tipped his hat in the direction of the front counter. I almost turned, but I wanted to make sure he knew what I was thinking.

"Pete, you just met this dame. You sure you're being smart about this?"

"She said I looked like a movie star," Pete asserted. "Like someone she'd seen in the pictures."

At this, I had to laugh. Pete wasn't a slouch, but he was no Valentino.

He feigned a hurt look, then smiled. "Maybe we can have a double date sometime this week?"

I stared at him, quizzically. I wasn't seeing anyone, and he knew it. Pete suddenly stood up, and took off his hat. I looked to my right and stumbled as I too stood.

"Hi boys, the name's Alice. Mind if I sit down with you?" A tiny young woman—a flapper from the look of her clothes—peered up at us with sparkling grey eyes. I couldn't move. I just stared.

Pete took control of the situation. "Of course ma'am." He moved to pull an empty seat out from under the table and gestured at the chair.

Alice thanked him and sat down. Pete's earlier words—"Like an angel"—reverberated through my mind. No longer was it him I was worried about moving too fast.

I tripped over my own tongue as I tried to speak. "Ma'am." I forcefully sat back down in my chair; my legs felt like jelly. What was wrong with me? I never got like this around any girl. My calm, collected nature was what made me me. And yet here I was, mooning. Like a woman.

Alice smiled at me. Even in my emotionally addled state, I registered that except for the thanks she'd given Pete, she'd been looking at me the entire time she was at the table. My heart jumped into my throat.

Pete coughed, lightly. I pulled myself together. "I'm Jasper Whitlock, ma'am. And this here's my partner, Peter le Nord."

Alice turned to Pete. "Le Nord? Is that French?"

Pete smiled. "It sure is, ma'am. That's where my grandfather came from."

"It's lovely. 'The North.' It's a very strong name," Alice mused. "And Whitlock." She turned to me. "I can't say I've ever heard that name before." She placed a tiny hand on the table and began absentmindedly tracing the grain of the wood. "Where are you from?" She peered up at me from behind thick, dark lashes. I suddenly understood how Pete could have crushed so hard and so fast. I shot him a quick look; his arms were crossed across his chest and a smug smile lit up his face. Sometimes he was smarter than I gave him credit for.

"It's, uh, English, ma'am. By way of Texas."

"Texas?" Alice nearly squealed with excitement. "You're a southern boy, then. I've always wanted to visit Texas. See, I grew up here in Brooklyn. Since Mama died, it's just been Pops and me, and we don't get out much, what with him being so busy at the hospital and all. Texas, huh? Did you have horses? Cows?" She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "Outlaws?"

I laughed. This girl was a bearcat, that was for sure.

"What brings you all the way to New York, Officer Whitlock?"

I frowned at the formality. Most times I liked it when people called me Officer Whitlock, but I wanted to hear Alice call me Jasper.

"Please, ma'am, call me Jasper."

Her smile grew even wider. "If you want me to call you that, Officer Whitlock, you need to stop calling me 'ma'am'."

"Of course, ma—Alice." I grinned at her.

"Thank you, Jasper." The sound of my name, spoken by her, was music to my ears. My name had never sounded so important. It belonged in her voice.

I took a deep breath to try and clear my head. "Family brings me here. My uncle, aunt and cousin, actually. And the opportunities New York presented."

"That right? Who's your family, anyone I might know?"

"The Hales. Rose, who runs this place, is my cousin."

"Says you!" Alice slapped the table. "I know Rose pretty well."

A little voice in the back of my mind whispered a warning. Rose's friends were usually trouble. Particularly if they were patrons of Lilly's Back Door. With Alice's look, and her attitude … Another voice in my head abruptly hauled off and clocked the worry wart.

I glanced toward the window as a black sedan pulled out from the alley and drove off down the street. I could hear Felix telling Rose there was someone waiting for her at the counter as they moved closer to the front of the shop. I looked toward the counter and noticed a man sitting on a stool, his back to me. I guessed it was the owner of the silver car across the street.

Rose and Felix appeared through the doorway. I looked at my watch, then at Pete, and nodded. He stood up. I sighed, then looked at Alice. "I hate to have to leave so suddenly, Alice, but our coffee break's over." I also stood, offering my hand to help her as she got out of her chair. "Duty calls."

"As does mine, Gents. It was lovely to meet you both." She placed her tiny hand in mine and I felt a shock of electricity shoot up my arm. She smiled, and removed her hand. When I looked down, a slip of paper was lying on my palm. Tel. Brighton 1901. I looked back up and the sprite was already standing at the counter, speaking in a quiet voice to the man with the fancy auto.

Bearcat indeed, I thought to myself.

Pete grabbed the now-cold coffee mugs and took them up to the counter. I followed behind, still reeling from meeting Alice. No one had ever made me feel this way.

I shot a good-natured glare in my cousin's direction. She was speaking to the man at the counter, saying, "Now's not a good time, Mr. Masen. I've got to prepare for the dinner rush." I'd been annoyed when we arrived at Lilly's, but I was leaving on cloud nine. Who cares if I wasn't exactly doing right by my city, or my country, by playing lookout for Rose? I didn't. Not at the moment, anyway.

I watched, out of the corner of my eye, as Alice blatantly stared at me. My heart did a jig.

The man at the counter huffed, then handed Rose a card. "Give me a call when you can talk. Or I can keep coming back until you make some free time."

I didn't like the man's tone. "Something wrong, sir?" The man turned. I was expecting a glare, but his eyes were sad. "No, officer. I—,"Alice poked him with her elbow."We were just leaving."

I nodded. "G'night Rose, Felix." I led the way to the door, Pete close behind. Masen and Alice followed suit.

I held the door open as the other three exited Lilly's. Masen and Alice walked across the street toward the shiny silver car. Pete whistled. Masen opened the driver's door and got in, while Alice walked around the car to the other side. I scowled. Being a gentleman was something else I'd learned growing up; this Masen guy could use a few lessons. Alice shot me a smile and a wave before she got in the car. The tires squealed as it drove off into the city.

I think I was beginning to like Fridays.


A/N: Yes, Jazz is a bit of a chauvinist, but he's just a product of his time. He'll learn. ;)

I've been doing a lot of research on the 1920s to try and keep this story as period as possible. Something interesting I ran across is that telephone numbers in New York in the 1920s were seven numbers, but were written different than they are today. Which is why the message in Alice's note might seen cryptic. In her case, Tel. Brighton 1901 means telephone BRIghton 1901 or 274-1901.

Also, check out our profile for links to images of "Pete" and Demetri's car. And a link to a list of 1920s slang, to clarify some of the words we've been using. :)