Thank you for the wonderful reviews!

Sorry this has been so much longer than usual in coming – there's more on the way soon, it'll just have to be edited in between holiday insanity! As always, I hope you enjoy…

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Chapter Thirty Four:

Tea for two and two for tea…

I'm surprised when my little Tonto offers to drive me to my destination (because let's face it, I haven't exactly been all sunshine and puppy dogs with the poor kid.)

"I haven't scared you off yet?" I wonder aloud, as he follows me out of the building so I can get in a cigarette. Although my 'debrief' with Eddas was a Hell of a lot less draining than my debrief yesterday, I'm still feeling a little dragged out by the entire process. Outside, the air is bitter cold and there's about three inches of snow on the ground from earlier. I'll bet the that somewhere over my head, the sky's completely clear, though; it's always this kind of almost unbearable cold when the sky is clear. (I'd still rather be here than in Mexico.) I light my smoke and lean back against the building with Spencer sitting practically on top of my feet – guess he's feeling the cold, too.

"Cat got yer tongue?" I ask when I realize Tonto hasn't answered my question yet.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Tonto actually sounds a little hurt… swell. A kid with a thin skin really isn't gonna last one day with me, let alone three (even if I were to try and behave myself) and I'm going to fucking need him out there. I don't have to like it to know that – well, just in case no one's been paying attention, I can't see my hand in front of my face these days. That means I need somebody to read things like signs and addresses… somebody to help me go through Collins' sock drawer, just in case there is something useful there. "When I'm trying to get rid of you, you'll know it," I answer – my tone is almost as frosty as the air. I pull out my phone and call for a cab before the kid can respond. "No offence," I tell him, pocketing the cell once more, "It's more a matter of – hmmm – how can I explain this – it's just better if I arrive alone, that's all."

"I guess I really don't understand how this kind of thing is supposed to work."

I just shrug, "D.C. ain't Ohio." And I suppose Tonto over there really is operating out of his depth. At least it sounds like he realizes it too. (Hey, it's a start. If Eddas had given me some young hot shot, I might have had ended up shooting him…)

"What's it really like?" Tonto asks then. Sounds like sincere curiosity to my (slightly frozen) ears.

I offer up one of my more charming smiles, "Probably nothing like what you've got in your head, there kid."

He seems to be – waiting. Ok. Why not, I have nothing to do but wait, anyway. "It's nothing like the movies – nothing like on tv. The bullets are real. The blood is real."

"I'm not that naïve." Offended? Sounds like I might have hit a nerve.

I almost laugh (not because I hit a nerve with the kid, but because – well, come on…) "You sure?"

More silence.

"Lighten up, would you?"

"It's hard to tell when you're trying to be funny and when you're just being – rude."

Rude? "I'm an ass – you shouldn't be afraid to say it out loud. I do. I am an ass."

"I don't swear."

"Well gosh, golly, gee – I guess I'm a donkey's behind then." Christ on a crutch, this kid really is a throwback to Mayberry.

"I'm just trying to be – civil."

"Don't waste the effort." I throw what's left of my cigarette to the ground and head back in – I seriously cannot feel my fingers any more. (I'll still take this over Mexico any day of the week.) Predictably, Tonto follows me – maybe instead of a sidekick, Eddas gave me a puppy. (Maybe I should start calling him Toto instead of Tonto?)

"You've been all over the world –?" the kid asks.

I just shrug. Technically, I really can't comment – and I don't happen to want to.

"The furthest out of the country I've ever been is Canada," sounds like he's really straining to keep the conversation going…

Oh what the Hell, I really don't have anything better to do until my cab gets here. "Where abouts?" I inquire, finding a nice cozy chair to park my ass in, in the lobby. (Cozy – yeah, I think the last time they redecorated this side of the building was the seventies – I mean, that's when people stopped using 'pleather' right?) Tonto is speaking to me – guess I'd better pay attention.

"Toronto – I took my fiancée to see Phantom last Christmas – well, she was just my girlfriend at the time. I proposed over dinner, after the play – "

"How sweet." Sarcasm? Whatever gave you that idea?

"Have you been there?"

And I swear, I think my tone went right over his head… not only that, he sounds genuinely interested in whether or not I've ever been to fucking Toronto. "Once – but it was a long time ago." Fuck – I was twenty – three? It was before I met Holly… God I feel old all of the sudden.

"Business – or –?"

I favour him with a bit of a smile, "I was still in school. Decided to treat myself to a little vacation." Because that trip to the mountains that I would take some years later was definitely not this city boy's idea of an ideal vacation, let me tell you. Give me sky scarpers and a penthouse view… well, give me civilization anyway. Can't really appreciate a penthouse view so much any more. "Ever been to New York?" I ask.

"I took Jeanie to see Cats in New York last July – that's my fiancée, Jeanie Baker. I'd never been to a play before we met." (I think he's blushing – really, if I could see his cute little dimpled face – hey, I've got good imagination – I would bet that his cheeks are as pink as new-born's bottom about now. And I'll bet just about anything he really has dimples, too. Now, if he's a freckle faced red head… I'm almost glad I can't see that much… )

And let's see – Phantom, Cats… yeah. "I s'pose there's something to be said for Andrew Lloyd Weber," I say to him.

"What do you mean by that?" (There goes that thin skin again.)

"Just that maybe you might want to see what's playing locally, that's all. Don't get me wrong, nothing beats a big Broadway production – but there's still something to be said for black box and dinner theatre too. And believe it or not, Weber isn't the only guy out there who's put pen to paper, if you know what I mean." Hmm, maybe I should find out for myself what's playing around here. If Emma is at all her mother's daughter, she's gotta dig the theatre, and I'd be willing to bet my last cigarette that Beth probably does too. She just strikes me as the type… (watch, with my luck she'll be into tractor pulls and monster trucks… does anyone understand the point of a tractor pull? Of course, if she is into that stuff, I could always take her to a rodeo…)

"You – like – theatre?" Is that Tonto's jaw I hear hitting the floor next to my feet…?

"Don't sound so shocked. It's a fuck of a lot easier to shoot a guy on the stage who's botching his lines than it is to take out a movie star."

Silence.

"That was a joke."

"Oh," he sounds genuinely relieved.

"You never take out a target with a room full of witnesses, no matter how sure you that they'll applaud the effort," I favour the boy with a mischievous little grin. "So when's the big day?" I inquire, changing the subject so fast I think his head is spinning; but I really don't think Tonto there can handle much more on the topic theatre.

"Big – oh – right – we're getting married on November 10th – next year."

"That's one long engagement."

"Jeanie's a few years younger than me – only twenty two – she graduates this spring."

So unless she's a super genius, I can rule out law… but of course Tonto has a real problem with loose-lip disease, so I don't even have to ask, he just tells me:

"She's a teacher – or she will be. K through twelve."

I swear this is sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of my head. I'll bet they're just the picture perfect little couple…maybe she has red hair and freckles, too.

"So – um – you – married?"

I almost laugh out loud. Married? Me? "Wasn't that in your info packet?" I query in very neutral tone.

"Er – no – not really."

"Not too many guys in my line of work get hitched, kid. Being out of the country for months – sometimes years – at a time can put a real damper on any relationship." Take for example one's relationship with one's baby sister…

"I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. It must've been hard for you to ever have any kind of relationship." Hmmm…. Sympathy? Wonder if he caught an edge in my voice and got the wrong idea…

"Depends on your definition of relationship, there, boyo. I haven't exactly spent the last sixteen years alone, if you know what I mean." Too bad I can't wink, just to drive the point home…

And yep, I was right, I can just about hear poor little Tonto blushing… "I guess – I'm just – old fashioned," he finally stammers.

How old fashioned, I wonder… but maybe I'm better off not knowing… (I mean, my Christ, a twenty six year old virgin? I want Emma to hold of a good long while – but I think even I'll start to think something is wrong with her if she's twenty six and hasn't gone there… which isn't to say I won't break the knees of the first fuckmook who puts the moves on my little muffin.) However, in a tone that's real nonchalant, "Whatever blows your skirt up, I guess," I tell him.

"It's something we both agree on," he sounds defensive.

I just shrug. Could Eddas have paired me with a guy any less like me? "So why exactly did you want this gig?"

"It's – personal."

Hmmm… yeah.

"I'm not out to change you," he adds, "You or anybody else. I just – wanted the chance to work with you, that's all."

"Am I that infamous?"

"Sort of."

I just smirk. Ok – that I'll buy. (I'm still kinda curious as to what the kid hopes to gain from working with me – what I told him before was true, schmoozing me will not help his career one iota. In fact hanging out with me too much might just hurt his chances for advancement.)

"Your cab just pulled up," Tonto tells me – but wisely does not offer any undue assistance.

"A manana," I offer up one of my more charming grins.

"Ah – yeah."

…………………………………………………………..

Author's note – sorry, I have no idea how to put a flipping tilda on that first 'n' in manana – if anyone really cares it's pronounced 'manyana' – basically Sands just said 'til tomorrow'.

………………………………………………………..

It's about a fifteen-minute ride to my destination – which factoring in how long it took the cab to come pick me up –

"Sands!"

Yep. I'm late.

I follow the sound of her voice, and with Spencer's help manage not to bump into anyone. Damn – this place got awful popular since the last time I was here – about three years ago, I think. (It doesn't escape me that other hollering my name across the room, Paula makes no move to offer assistance – a test? Or maybe she's just pissed at me for being late – possibly because of all the times I chewed her a new one for that self-same offence.)

"I was beginning to think you'd stood me up," she says, when I finally reach her. If my memory of the lay out is correct, we're near the back wall, not too far from either the bar or the kitchen. At least it's reasonably quiet back here.

"Now why would I stand up a beautiful girl like you?" I really only meant it flippantly – but I know that laugh. She's actually accepting the flattery…? You know, I'm glad I'm in a fucking bar – and that the waitress arrives, Johnny on the spot, to take my order before I've even parked my ass, because I think I really need a drink long about now. "Tequila with lime," I say, more out of habit than anything else, as I shrug out of my coat. "Neat. And make it something top shelf." Because around these parts at least I can get something better than rot-gut (and I have to remember to order that without ice – i.e. 'neat' for you non-connoisseurs.)

"I'll have another glass of wine please," Paula says, before the girl retreats. Paula actually takes my coat from me – of course she could just be trying to separate me from anything I might have in the pockets… but she's gotta know by that I never keep anything of interest in my overcoat.

I listen for Paula to sit back down and then park my own ass across from her. I fold up the cane and place it on the table next to me – poor Spencer, I don't think he likes this place at all. (I really hadn't expected it to be this crowded.) He's curled up practically on top of my boots. (And oh yeah, I've got that phony phone on my hip recording the whole thing for Eddas, because – well, I'm still not real sure of her, but I guess I should play along for now, just until I get it all sorted out.) "So – here we are – " I offer up a wee bit of a smile in Paula's direction. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"All business and no pleasure, Jeff? That's not like you."

Christ – is she flirting with me? Well, I guess given our history, Paula might do whatever she had to, to get to me – like I've said, there is no honour amongst spies. "Why don't we get business out of the way first," I suggest. "You know what I'm like when I'm curious – how about you satisfy me – then we can talk about you satisfying me." I favour her with a lascivious grin that should get me slapped… (and I think briefly about my boss lady listening to this – but oh well. I'm sure Milo warned her about me.)

Paula just laughs, "Fair enough," she says – there's real warmth in her tone, too. "Yesterday really didn't go the way I'd thought it would."

"I'm sure it didn't," I smirk back at her. I'm sure she thought I'd be hauled out of there in chains, not walk out a free man, with head of the Intelligence Policy and Review Office at my side, no less. (Our drinks arrive, just in the nick of time, too. I think I'm going to need a whole lot more where this came from, because I'm having a Hell of a time pinning down Paula's game tonight.) "How much did you lose?" I inquire, taking a tentative sip of my tequila – I think it's Quervo.

"I never bet against you beating the odds, Jeff. Ever." And it's not what she says, it's the way she says it that gets to me, because it's that same sincere tone that bugged the shit out of me yesterday – and ladies and gentlemen, I know this woman. This is not play-pretend. This is really for fucking real, genuinely unaffected sincerity, and I just do not know what to make of it.

"Thought you said I'd used up my last life getting out of Mexico, there Sugar." My tone is borderline cavalier. (I'm not ignoring her tone, I'm just letting her think I am. Truth is that it's bugging me even more tonight than it did yesterday – just in case you managed not to pick up on that all by yourself... Paula hates, me remember?)

"You pulled out a real wild card on us yesterday. No one expected you to show up with Marlina Eddas."

Yeah, not even me. "So is that what this is all about, you're hoping to get the skivvy on that little deal?"

"Is it a deal?"

I just smirk, "Just call me Mickey."

"Mickey is a mouse."

Oh yeah, I already had this one with Milo. "Ok – come up with the name of a cartoon rat, then."

"This isn't a game, Jeff."

You know, I think Milo said that too… you'd think these people didn't realize how much value I really do place on my own fucking hide. Hello, Mr. Self-Centred over here – shit. Of course, I know this isn't a game – but do you think I'm going to let Paula know how seriously I take it? "So are we on the record or off the record?" I ask her.

"We're on my record – but no, I'm not going to try and record this. I don't want to play on again / off again with you and a tape recorder."

"And here I was, looking forward to pressing your buttons some more," I grin at her. "Well then, Officer Basil, it seems as if my life is in your hands – be gentle. Oh – say, though before we get all official, how about satisfying a blind man's curiosity – what are you wearing?"

There's a moment of silence. Then, "Silk blouse. Skirt – snug – comes just above the knee. Hose. Boots – up to the knee. Not snow boots."

Damn. I love a leggy woman in high-heeled boots – and she knows it, too. "That silk blouse of yours, real or synthetic?" I inquire, not at all politely. Somehow she doesn't seem to mind…

"Why don't you come a little closer and figure it out for yourself."

Well there's an invitation if ever I heard one. I reach out and discover that Paula's met me half way – well, that's not her arm… but it is silk. "Colour?"

"Does it matter?"

"You know how I feel about you in red."

"Sorry to disappoint – it's green."

To match her eyes… "And the rest of it?"

"Black. That goes for what I've got on underneath as well."

Damn. "Lace?"

"And steel."

I'm really not sure who's flirting with who any more… but yes, we used to have some real interesting times undressing one another because she packs as much heat as I do. "Still carrying that little derringer?"

"If you want to know that, you're going to have to come back to my place."

I just smile, "So – what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Her chuckle is soft. So's her tone. "You said you gave Collins a run down on what Barillo was up to, on the thirteenth of October – correct?"

"Yes – I believe I did say that. About a hundred times, in fact, Hot Lips." I can't quite help it – my tone doesn't have as much of an edge as it really should. I should be pissed – but – well… "But that wasn't the last time I spoke to him."

"Just – humour me a minute," her tone isn't scathing either. "Collins' report has you making a cryptic remark about balance, then hanging up and that was the last he heard from you."

"We already went over this."

"Once more," she says – it sounds almost like a request.

I have no idea what she's up to… but here we go. Again. "Collins, lying sack of shit that he is, falsified that whole conversation. It never happened – not the way he says it did. I gave him the full skivvy on what Barillo was up to, everything I had up to that point. Then he tells me that word had come down the pipes to take out Corazon and he'd like me to handle it – which made perfect sense, what with Barillo waging war against Corazon – and vice versa. It would be nothing for the two of them to take each other out – no one would be any the wiser."

"You called Collins – or he called you?"

Not that it makes any difference – all calls are logged, whether coming or going, but – "I called him. It was a regular check in."

"And you never questioned the part about taking out Corazon?"

"Come on, Paula – you know the kind of weird shit that can come down the pipes. Why would I think he was making that up?" Although it doesn't escape me that she isn't actually questioning the validity of my claim that the order came from Collins… So is she trying to knock me off guard by making me think she believes me – or does she really believe me? Now there's a good question…

"How often did you check in?"

"Usually – every other week, but with the kind of major shit that was going down, I was calling in every three days – and emailing every day – just a 'green signal' to let Collins know that everything was on track. He fucking knew what I was up to the whole time." Well, except for the part about me and a girl and twenty million pesos… but that doesn't pretty much moot at this point. I don't even know who ended up walking away with the money (and I'm pretty much past caring, too. I mean – it's not like I can buy my eyes back, now can I?)

"And you continued to check in regularly between the thirteenth and first."

"That would be an affirmative, there pretty lady." I drain the last of my drink.

Apparently, Paula noticed my quickly emptying glass and signaled our waitress, because just then a fresh drink is set in front of me. I smile my thanks – at both Paula and our girl. I wait for the latter to retreat before continuing. "I called Dan Collins on November first. I was being shadowed by the cartel. I'd been sold out by one of my guys and lost touch with another. Everything was going to shit on me and I knew the only way I'd be able to pull it off was if I could get some back up – and you know how much I love working with other officers."

"Yeah."

Oops – but she doesn't really sound pissy… I really wish I could figure out her angle in this… but anyway… "After Collins hung up on me, I preceded a restaurant called the Flying Cow. I ordered lunch. I called into the central office to ask for a new line because I was pretty sure mine had been compromised – in fact by then, I was pretty sure my whole fucking op had been compromised. Looks like I was right, huh?" My choice of words there was no accident – and I'm damn sure Paula knows it, too.

"Jeff – "

I wave aside what sounds like some sort of platitude. "Forget it." I drain almost half my glass in one gulp. It's getting to me. I'm letting this whole fucking thing get to me. I take a minute to pull myself back together, and light up a cigarette – at least in a bar I can still fucking smoke. "I'm not making this shit up, ok? I was set up – and you know, it might be one thing if it was just to take the fall for someone who wanted Corazon out of power – but – " but they fucking drilled my eyes right out of my face. They left me blind – worse than blind –

"I know about your call for a new line."

"So in other words, you've known all along that my last check in really was November first – and yet you kept on insisting that I hadn't been heard from in a month," drip, drip, drip goes the venom off my tongue…

"That's the official Company 'line' – it's what I wastold to tell you. I'm not sure I was supposed to be flagged when you called in on the first – I'm not sure I was supposed to know you'd been back in touch with us at all."

"My guess – probably not," I sip at my drink. Now isn't this interesting… "So – even if it was a slip up, why would have been copied on my request for a new line anyway, Hot Lips?" Not that I'm real sure it was a slip up – I think somebody tipped her off. Only question is who and why…

"Because I've been on you since Collins reported in that you'd 'lost it'. He speculated that you may have gone rogue – but couldn't prove it because you'd vanished."

"And that would be – ?"

"October thirty-first."

"In other words not soon enough for you to catch up to me and stop me – but with just enough lead time that it wouldn't look like he might have had anything to do with the Day of the Dead." And because I was doing my job and keeping him in the loop, he knew it would all come together then…

"That's pretty much what I'm thinking. The only problem is that Collins had nothing to gain by removing from Corazon from power, not unless there's something really big that I'm missing."

"And just what do I have to gain from taking out the fucking Mexican president?" I have a hard time keeping my tone conversational. "I mean – really?"

"Collins has done a real good job of making it look like you went over the edge – it's not like you're the world's most stable individual, Babe."

I almost miss something right there – but not quite. See, she hasn't called me Babe since – well, since China. However, for just right now, I choose to ignore it. "Collins isn't the cherry on top, he's the lowly banana, the bottom of the sundae."

"And you're after the cherry, aren't you?"

I smirk at her, "Me? I'm just doing my job. But you should remind the boys back at Langley that just because one patsy has been removed from active duty, doesn't mean another one isn't being maneuvered into place. Someone wants El Presidente removed from power – and I really don't think that someone is going to let a little thing like me screwing up on the Day of the Dead stop them from getting the job done." (Even if technically I didn't screw up… it was that damned mariachi. Although realistically, I should probably be grateful he got hit with sudden case of National Loyalty. I don't think Eddas would be half as friendly towards me as she is, if Corazon was pushing up daisies right about now.)

"You really think this is some kind of conspiracy?"

"You said the 'C' word Sugar, not me. Just the same, I'd hazard a guess that Collins knows a fuck of a lot more than I do – it's just a matter of who gets to him first, you, or me." Yes, there's some real venom there. I take great personal pleasure in the knowledge that by the time Eddas – and probably sweet little Paula here – are done with him, Collins going to be feeling a real squeeze on his balls. It honestly doesn't matter why Paula's suddenly so interested in what I have to say – what'll matter is if she acts on it the way I'm starting to think she's going to. And the beautiful thing is that she doesn't even have to do much, just start asking questions. Just put that much more pressure on ol' Danny boy… I take a long drag of my smoke, wishing I could be a fly on the wall when he really starts to sweat.

"Level with me, Jeff – what's really going on here?"

"What's really going on is that I was set up to take the fall for – something. Something involving Corazon getting smoked – maybe Barillo too," which would explain Suarez and deJesus… but I'm not going to say that to the lovely lady in the green silk who suddenly seems predisposed to believe me. "I'm not ready to use the big 'C' word – but I know that whatever it is, it goes a fuck of a lot higher up than Collins – he's just a little ass-wipe and we both know it. We also know that it starts with him – unless of course you buy his version of what happened, in which case I'm just blowing smoke up your ass and I orchestrated the whole thing over some fucked up obsession for balance – or because the wind is blowing north-north-west."

"Yeah – I caught that yesterday."

"Think anyone else will?"

"The way you quote Shakespeare? Besides, even if they did catch it, there are more than a few people ready to believe Collins' take on your sanity – I'm just not one of them."

"Whispers round the old water cooler there, Hot Lips?"

"You could say that. I figure Marcus was probably too polite to tell you what the odds are that you'll end up in a rubber room."

I just smile at her, "I know where all my marbles are."

"What about this DOJ thing?"

"What about it?"

"Is it for real – or just some last ditch effort to keep your ass out of the fryer?"

I keep on smiling – and start humming the Mickey Mouse Club tune… at least I think that's what I'm humming. It's been a few years. But apparently I'm either getting it right or her memory is as bad as mine on the subject of Mousketeers…

"Jesu Christo, Jeffrey," she hisses at me (and yeah, it's gotta be bad for her to revert to Spanish – and call me Jeffrey. Or 'Heffrey', complete with trilling on that 'r' because she's in full Spanish mode – that would be Spanish as in Spain, by the by. And you'd never guess from listening to her speak English that she was brought up in a predominantly Spanish speaking household. Both her Spanish and American accents are flawless.) "I think you'd better reconsider which way the wind is blowing because you're fucking playing with fire here, Babe. Have you ever considered that this might be the reason Collins – or whoever's pulling his strings – set out to burn you?"

Well at least that part of the plan worked – she seems to honestly believe that I've been with Eddas for longer than the weekend… "Anything's possible. Of course my charming personality makes me – a visible target."

"That's putting it mildly. Do you still have your phone – the one you placed those 'imaginary' calls from?"

"No. Lost it along the way." Which was really fucking stupid – although at the time I didn't think I'd need to clear my 'good name' when I got home – if I got home – because let's face, I was in pretty rough shape there for a while.

"Do you remember the number?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me," she slides something over – business card, probably hers, and a pen.

Oh this oughta be fun… my handwriting wasn't exactly legible to begin with. "Tell me something," I make the effort to keep my face turned in her direction while I'm writing – just for effect. "Why do you believe me all of the sudden?"

"Who says it's sudden – or that I do believe you –?"

I smirk – good girl, at least she learned that much from me. Whenever possible, neither confirm nor deny anything, not even that you're not confirming or denying. "Hope you can read that," I slide her card back to her, along with the pen.

"I'll manage. If you really made those calls, I should be able to find something somewhere in the system to prove it – but if you're lying, God help you, I'll kill you myself because I do not like to have my time wasted." It sounds more a joke than a serious threat, but… hmmm… kinda glad I'm really not playing her…

"So what about the 'official' Company story?" I inquire.

"If Mitchel wanted puppet on a string, he would have given this somebody else. I won't let our history influence the way I handle you – one way or the other."

"Oooh, Baby," I just grin. Not much else to do when handed a line like that.

Our waitress brings a fresh round of drinks – good thing I'm not driving tonight. You know what they say about tequila – one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor… but it's kinda comfortable, being here with Paula again – I can almost forget that she refused to even speak to me for eight years. (We used to come here all the time, that's how I knew she'd know where to go… yeah, I'm starting to feel the buzz…)

The conversation turns to lighter things – I ask her what else she's been up to, besides the less than desirable task of tracking my ass down. We don't really talk too much about my more recent activities – I figure the less she knows, the better – but Paula's contented enough to chat about herself (I doubt I'm getting any real personal details, but I don't mind. I'm kind of just enjoying the company.) I manage to bite my tongue before I ask if she and her new partner (as of last year) are doin' the ol' horizontal mambo or if once was enough…

"Did you ever figure it out?" Paula asks, after our girl has left us with our fourth – or fifth? – round of drinks.

"Figure what you?"

"You really never could see the – I – shit, I'm sorry." And I hear the way her voice catches, "Jeff, I swear, I didn't mean –"

I wave it away, "I'm getting used to it – the way people talk. It's just stuff that you – you as in everybody – say without even thinking. Go ahead and finish your sentence."

I hear her take a very deep breath – and what I imagine is a pretty hefty swig of her wine. "You could never see the forest for the trees. You're always so focused on the details – you miss so much – you miss all the big stuff."

"So I've been told," but I know she didn't mean it that way, so I just drink my drink, wondering if the glasses are getting smaller of if I'm drinking faster. Maybe we both are, because our waitress is back and that is definitely the sound of two glasses being set down on the table. I finish the one I've got so she can away the empty – Paula does the same. "Hope I'm not the only taking a cab tonight."

"I hate driving in this city," Paula affirms. Then, "Tell me something – just for my own curiosity – that year and half that we were together – how many other women were there in your life?"

" 'In my life', there Sweet Stuff?" I ask, because to me 'in one's life' sort of implies dating and I haven't 'dated' since Holly. Now, don't misunderstand, I've always observed the 'rules of engagement' and taken whomever I happened to be fucking out to dinner – even out to a play or a movie, but that's just a part of the accepted mating ritual of the American male and we all know it.

Which I guess does make Paula a special case, because I spent more time with her outside both the bedroom and work than I've spent with just about anybody else – and she's certainly the only person that I had regular encounters with. We had sex once or twice a week – at least when we weren't knee deep in kim-chee. Or when I wasn't temporarily fascinated by someone else (but I always seemed to wind up back in Paula's bed – or with her in mine.) So – ok, I guess you could say we dated. I just never thought of it in quite those terms before now…

"Come on, you know what I mean," she coaxes when I remain mute on the subject for too long.

"I don't know – this going to affect the outcome of your little investigation?" I'm teasing her. Mostly. I'm relatively confident it won't matter – but it sure won't hurt if she comes up with something that makes me look good.

She just laughs, "I don't expect to be surprised by whatever number you throw out, Babe. I'm honestly just curious."

"Honestly then, I never kept track," I tell her the truth – and wait for the explosion… but there is none.

"You know, even that doesn't surprise me. Tell me, though, did you ever figure out why I got reassigned to someone else and why I stopped speaking to you?"

"Um – I never thought it was any great mystery. I got you shot and left you in the field. You were pissed. End of story."

"Not even close. Oh, I was plenty pissed about being shot. If you'd stuck with the plan we agreed on, I wouldn't've been compromised like that. But I always understood why you had to leave me there, I wasn't in such bad shape I couldn't protect myself and you had to finish the job. I know you came back as soon as you could."

"So – then why the Hell did you refuse to speak to me for the last eight years?" I want to know – and I mean, I really fucking want to know. It's not the kind of thing I lost any sleep over – but that was because I'd always figured it was over getting her shot…

"Do you even realize that you never came to see me at OMS? You never even called to say 'hi' or see how I was doing. I'll bet you didn't even know that I'd never been shot before."

I truly had no idea… and I guess my expression gives me away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I'm sorry – " I really am. I didn't know – when I'm laid up all I want is to be left alone…

"I'm over it – I just wondered if you'd ever figured it out."

And she really doesn't sound pissed – I'm just fucking gob-smacked.

"Guess I really couldn't see the forest for the trees, Sugar," I concur. I'm only vaguely aware that she's standing – moving – sitting back down, next to me – speaking:

"Well then let me be blunt about something. Would you like to come back to my place with me now, and find out for yourself about that derringer?"

"Are you asking what I think you're asking?" Because fucking a…

Paula's breath is pleasantly warm on my ear – and her hand is…um, yeah… anyway, I think you get the idea… "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she purrs at me, "As I recall, getting each other disarmed was as much fun for you as it was for me. Only – bear in mind that this time it really will be no strings attached, Jeff. I will not let my emotions get involved – at least not until I can really prove you're – well, not innocent – but at least not guilty of treason. And I really do believe you, but I couldn't tell you that yesterday – we both know that being recorded – and I'll bet I wasn't the only one recording." And just about then she reminds me exactly why I started calling her Hot Lips in the first place…

…………………………………………
And now my charms are all o'erthrown
And what strength I have's mine own
Which is most faint: now t'is true
I must here be released by you
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults
As you from my crimes I'd pardon'd be
Let your indulgence set me free

William Shakespeare

(Set to music by Loreena McKinnit)