Phoenix, November 1974
Bill walked in the front door, exhausted from a long day. And by the look on his face, it was clear that the day wasn't over yet.
"Come on Bill. You're gonna be late. Larry and Shirl are having us over for dinner. It's a Fondue party."
"Fon-deeeeeew? What are you talking about, Lil? What is that? Were's dinner?"
"Aw, Bill. I told you last week. Larry and Shirley are having a fondue party at their place tonight. We were all supposed to be there. Don't tell me you forgot again?"
"Uh, sorry, darlin. I don't have time tonight. Tell them I'm sorry. They'll understand." As Bill talked, he made a straight line for the kitchen, and poked his head in the refrigerator.
"What? Nothing to eat? Not even left overs? Come on, Lil! I'm starving here. You got a sandwich, maybe?"
"Bill, I can't tell them that. You missed the last three parties, and more than few dinners. I'm tired of going to these things alone."
Bill poked his head out of the kitchen with a piece of bread, smeared with butter. "Come on, Lil! I'm working on a big case. I don't have time to sit around a table and have voodoo food."
"It's fondue, Bill. Not voodoo."
"Yeah, poking little sticks into the bread? It sounds like voodoo to me..."
Years ago, Lillian would have giggled at one of Bill's little jokes. She was surprised that he was in an uncharacteristically good mood. But once again, she knew her husband was about to disappoint her. Bill returned to the kitchen, looking through the mostly empty fridge, as if staring long enough could make cold cuts spontaneously appear.
"Come on, Lil. I gotta get back to the office. Didn't you go shopping yet? There is nothing here! What's this..." Bill pulled out an avocado green Tupperware bowl. Cradling it in his arms, he popped open its cover and watched the gelatinous mass wobble back and forth in its green container.
"Leave the Ambrosia Jello alone, Bill. I'm bringing it to the party tonight."
With a sigh, he pressed the cover back on, then put it back into the fridge. "Lil, you know I have to get this one... I don't know what happened to that last one... I... uh, I..." he cleared his throat...
"You messed up?"
Bill poked his head around the corner, looking out of the kitchen again at his wife, as she poured herself a drink by the bar and puffed on a cigarette.
"I did NOT mess up!"
"Then why did Klein have to bail you out, again?"
Bill stared at his wife. He was angry that she would bring that up, but deep inside he knew she was right. That was the tenth big case since he got to Phoenix that he had screwed up.
Still, he was grateful that his boss liked him so much. Bill was, in fact, his favorite agent. Klein had told him so. And every time Bill messed up a case, he'd apologize to Klein. His boss, in return, would pat him on the back, put his arm around his shoulders, and tell him how much faith he had in him.
"You're a good agent, Maxwell," Klein would always say, although lately Bill wasn't sure if that was true. Klein was supportive, always reassuring Maxwell that he wouldn't hold this last incident against him. And he never did. Bill kept getting new chances to solve the big, important cases.
"Don't worry, Bill. We look out for our own. Always remember that."
Listening to his stomach growl, Bill once again focused on his wife. "You know, ever since you've been hanging out with Shirl and Larry, I haven't had a decent, homemade meal!" He pointed a finger at his wife, and shook it.
"You know, I should have bought you a bicycle. Why can't you just fix me something quick?"
"I'm busy," she said, as she inhaled the smoke from her cigarette, sipped at her sherry, and stared at the wall.
"Geez, Lil! Your husband's out there, pounding the streets. Day in, day out. All he asks for is a nice dinner when he gets home! Could you do that for me, Lil? Could you?"
"When he gets home?" Lillian was infuriated. Without thinking, she threw her glass across the room. The dark golden wine splashed against the blonde wood paneling, and the glass shattered into a million shards as it crashed against the wall.
"I never know when, or even if, you're coming home anymore!" She fought back tears, trying to control the emotions he'd unleashed. "Bill, half the time, you just call me up, and tell me you're working late, again. And for what? You work late, but can't even close a damned case!"
Calm and composed, the agent bottled up his hurt and his anger as best he could. "Come on Lil. Would you lay off? This is the one!"
She turned her back on Bill, and began to sob. She hoped that he would come over and wrap his arms around her. That was always how these fights ended. She had gotten used to the routine, since the screaming matches and tossed china events were happening more and more frequently.
"Aw, come on Lil," Bill cried out. Only this time, he turned his back on her, too, and walked back into the kitchen. "You've been married to me all this time, and now you don't know the drill? I've always worked late. Lil! I work late. I go on stake outs. You remember, don't you? With Harlan... Teddy... BoBo...? You never complained before. Not once! What happened to my good, old, reliable Lillian?"
Those final words echoed in her head. Good. Old. Reliable. Like a cheap used car.
"You never complained before," Bill repeated.
"Bill," she whispered "it's never been like this before." She stood there, crying, as Bill stormed out the front door.
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"Bill, what are you doing here? You don't have night watch tonight."
"I gotta close this case, Sammy. My witnesses are willing to testify, the smugglers are ..."
"Bill, don't bother..." said Sammy, the middle-aged agent on night duty. He tossed down his pen, and shook his head as he looked at Bill Maxwell.
"What do you mean, don't bother?" Bill tossed a brown paper bag into the garbage. The greas from a cheap hamburger lingered on his fingers. He wiped them on his pants. "I'm gonna nail these guys tomorrow! They'll never know what hit 'em!" Bill laughed, knowing this would be the case he could finally redeem his career with.
"Bill. Didn't you hear? The case is already closed. Your boys are already locked up. Downtown."
"What do you mean, solved?" He laughed, uncomfortably. He searched his desk for the paperwork.
"Klein wrapped it up, about an hour ago. After he sent you home for dinner."
Bill continued to look for the folder and his paperwork, incredulous.
"Bill," Sammy said, hating to be the one to break the news. "Klein has taken your case, and has put his name on it. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"I was just about to close this. The file was right here!" Bill walked to the back of the room, and opened a file cabinet, hoping he had simply misplaced the file.
"I know you like him, Bill, but First In Line Klein isn't doing you any favors. If you know what I mean."
Bill stood at the open drawer of the filing cabinet. His fingers, just a moment before furiously walking through the manila envelopes, now rested motionless on the cabinet door.
"Come on Bill. You're not a rookie anymore...Did you really think you messed up on all those big cases?"
Staring blankly at the cabinets in front of him, Bill realized the price he had paid for his years of loyalty. He turned around, closing the drawer. His eyes scanned the near empty office, as if to see if anyone else was a witness to this revelation.
"Boy, he sure had you pegged. Bill. Come on! You know that Campbell tried to tell you, all those years ago. But you never listened. You think he liked losing a good partner like you?"
"Nah! Campbell was old," Bill stated, as a matter of fact. "He was ready for desk duty. That's why they broke us up."
"No, Bill. Campbell just wanted to stay out of Klein's way. He'd gotten burned too many times with Klein's slash and burn tactics. All he wanted at that point was to put in a few more years until he could collect his pension."
Bill shook his head, and searched through his paperwork, again.
"Have you ever wondered how a man who never leaves his office can close on so many high profile cases?"
"Get real. He's the boss! He's got the experience. He's got..." Bill looked for the files on his desk again.
"Bill. He's got first dibs, that's what he's got. On all our cases. You just happen to be the best agent here, so you just get burned the most."
Finally realizing the magnitude of the betrayal, Bill looked around the empty office, as if trying to find an explanation.
"The Ortega Kidnapping?"
Sammy nodded.
"The Phoenix Arsonist?"
Another nod.
"We call him First In Line Klein, Bill. All the good cases are his, and he gets first dibs."
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Bill Maxwell stood by the fireplace, facing the mantle. In one hand he held a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon. In the other was a glass; it was clean and unused. Not even realizing it, Bill was drinking straight from the bottle.
Lillian shut the front door behind her as she walked into the dimly lit house. From the dimly lit hallway, she looked into the living room, and noticed the broken glass still on the floor. Without much feeling, she simply said "I'll clean that up tomorrow."
As she turned to make her way to the bedroom, she heard him speak.
"He's been stealing my cases, Lil. Not covering my ass. He's been stealing them. Right from under my nose."
Lillian turned around and looked at her husband. Deep down, she felt sorry for him. The once confident, aggressive and strong man she had married so many years ago was a lost soul, standing all alone against the wall. At that moment, the tall man seemed small, defeated, and tragic. His voice was soft and surprisingly insecure, and slurred by the affects of alcohol.
"He waits until I am just about to close. Then, all nice, he rides in. Just like the cavalry. BAM! He grabs 'em."
"Bill," she began, cautiously. "Larry hit on me tonight."
"I can't believe it," Bill said.
Lillian was not sure if he was responding to her, or if he was still absorbed in his own thoughts.
"Bill," she repeated, "Larry hit on my tonight." This time, the words came across her lips slowly.
Bill turned to his wife. His eyes weren't fully focused on her, and he didn't seem upset at her comment. She wondered what he would say. Although she thought nothing would surprise her at this point, she was in fact disappointed by his response.
"I'll make it to the party next time, darlin. I promise."
"Bill," she repeated slowly, and clearly annunciating . "Larry. Made a pass. At me. Tonight."
"Five years, Lil." Bill took another sip of his bourbon, pursed his lips, then drew his eyebrows into a knot on his forehead. "He's been stealing my cases for five years! And you know what the kicker is? Everyone else knew about it. And not one guy down there told me. Not one guy. Just Campbell. And I didn't listen. I didn't believe him." He took another sip of bourbon. "And I turned on him. I got burned by Klein, and I turned on my own partner. The man covered me. He would have taken a bullet for me. And I turned on him."
"Bill, have you heard a word I said?"
It was clear that Bill was not listening to Lillian at all. For almost five years he had been distant, and completely obsessed with his work. He was not simply the dedicated agent he had always been. It wasn't simply the enthusiasm of a rookie that he had, back when they lived in L.A. And it wasn't the pride and bravado he had as a top notch agent in Detroit. He was simply obsessed.
For the past few years, she stood by him, watching the tragedy unfold. She could do nothing as he increasingly threw himself into his work. There was no advice she could offer anymore as he grew more and more bitter with each supposed "failure" and "botched case." Still, the best years of her own life were quickly slipping through her fingers, and all her hopes of finally starting a family were being washed away by bottle after bottle of cheap bourbon.
She still wanted to tell her husband all that happened that night. Maybe she'd leave out some of the details. After all, she didn't need to explain how she pretended to have a dead car battery. Bill really didn't need to know about the calculated ruse designed to get Larry to drive her home. Perhaps the details of their bodies entwined in the back of a 1969 Rambler on his used car lot would be too harsh to share.
And it was completely unnecessary to tell him about how she'd released four years worth of sexual tension, all in the back of that brown station wagon.
The torn dress. The tangled hair. The broken heel. They all should have clearly outlined for Bill every thrust, moan and scream Lillian shared with Larry that night. Yet, he didn't even notice her standing in the hallway.
Lillian looked at her husband. She was angry that he was ignoring her. Despite her feelings of guilt, she was genuinely angry. The man she once loved was completely uninterested in why she had arrived home well past 4 am in the morning.
She softly confessed to her husband, in a final attempt to gain his attention.
"Bill, Larry made a pass at me tonight, and I didn't say no."
"First In Line Klein, they call him," Bill answered as he took another sip of bourbon. "I just can't figure out how I missed it."
Continued
