I have nightmares I have dreams of you gone – Black Lab

X

I settle in, ready to play my favorite game, "all right, Detective Goren, what do you want to know?"

The Hulk adjusts himself; pen held in that left-handed grip that makes my arm hurt looking at it. Pen poised above paper, "let's start with your alibi. Does your lady friend have a name?"

"Yes, she certain does," I chuckle. Why is it that some cops never learn about asking yes or no questions?

"Well?" He looks up, clearly irked by my literal answer to his question. Silly puppy dog, what did he expect?

"Oh, you mean you want to know her name," shaking my head in amusement. "Well, why didn't you say so? Her name is Alice Pierce." I motioned for his pen, "would you like me to spell it for you?"

The Hulk ignored my offer of help, "thank you. And her address?"

I leaned back for a moment, savoring what I was going to say next. Cops hate rich addresses. Rich people always causes problems with the Brass.

"101 W. End Ave, #513," I flash the Hulk my most charming smile. "That's the Park Hudson, in case you were wondering."

Flashing me a slightly scary smile of his own, he nods. "Not bad." He sets the pen down and looks at me. "You must be doing well to have a lady friend on the Upper West Side."

Grinning, I answer him sincerely, "I do alright. Real estate is decent work."

Closing his portfolio, the Hulk stands and starts pacing in front of the mirror, eyeing me. "Come now, Mr. Jenkins, how long are you going to continue with this charade?"

Drawing out the silence a few moments, I watch him pace. "What charade would that be?" I ask, innocently.

He stops directly across the table from me and leans down, trying to catch my eyes. "Your real estate charade."

"That all depends," I remark, reclining in the cold metal chair, folding my hands into my lap. "How long are you going to continue your charade? You can't fool me." I snicker softly, "I've been where you are now."

"Really? And where would that be?" He starts pacing again, although in a much smaller area this time.

"Oh, I think you know." I gesture towards the mirror, by way of indication. "But, if you'd like, we can always ask the exquisite Detective Eames." I smirk at the Hulk. "I'm sure she know exactly what charade I'm talking about."

Again, he stops his pacing: alighting, once more, in his chair. "Mr. Jenkins, I can assure you that neither I, nor my partner, have any idea what you are talking about." He reaches for his portfolio and opens it, again posed to write.

Too bad we are done talking about why I'm here. Won't he be surprised?

"Are you positive? Remember, I wasn't always a real estate broker. I've got a nose for these things." I curl my chest over my arms, matching his draped posture.

"Why don't you dazzle me with your insights?" His hand continues to hover over the paper, as if to mock me.

"Tell me, Detective, do you dream about her?" I lower my voice, causing him to lean forward slightly to hear me. "Is she there, behind your eyes, when you lay down in your cold, empty bed?"

I glance quickly towards the mirror, wondering what is going on back there. Is the Waif straining to hear his answer?

"Is her name the one on your lips when you finally succumb to loneliness and take matters into your own hand?" I nod knowingly at his silence. I've been where he is, after all. "What about the anonymous women that you pick up in bars, do they look like her? Do you weep after they leave because that hole in your heart hasn't been filled? Are they disgusted with you because you call out her name?"

I reach over to pat his hand, offering the comfort of someone who has felt the same pain. He jerks back, anger burning in his eyes. Just a little more and I should have him on his feet and at my throat again.

"Do you think she knows? Has she caught you looking at her when you think she's not paying attention? When your eyes meet, do you look away first? Are you afraid of what she'll see there?"

Slamming his portfolio shut, he is on his feet and shoving the table out of his way. Just as his hands reach my lapels, the door is thrown open by a man with gray-blonde hair, probably the captain. The Waif is standing behind him, a look of disgust in her eyes.

"Goren, out, now."

I wonder what I'll have for dinner tonight.

XX

TBC