Chapter 8: Freddy's Day Off

Back on the clean suburban Nash doorstep. Freddy thought he'd never have to come back here, but it seemed that someone up above didn't like him very much. Hopefully nobody would be home and he could just leave the umbrella on the welcome mat.

He had just spent another disappointing morning at the shooting range. He was still using a two-handed grip, after his first single-handed shot had completely missed the target. Talk about embarrassing; he was becoming a fucking disgrace to the force. Usually firing a few rounds relaxed him, but this time he'd just become more and more tense, knowing that afterwards he'd have to go to the Nash residence to return that stupid umbrella. He was so pissed off when he left that he snapped at Oscar the range master for no good reason. It just wasn't a good day for Freddy Newendyke. He couldn't wait to go home and guzzle down a six-pack.

Freddy shaped his hand into a gun and pushed the doorbell, giving a deep and disappointed sigh when he heard footsteps approaching. Mrs. Nash opened the door. "Detective," she said, obviously surprised.

Freddy waved the umbrella. "You left this in my office. It's my day off so I brought it by." Inwardly, he winced at how curt he sounded. It was because of his disappointing morning, but it was also because of that weird moment in the office, when he'd held her hand. Marvin's widow was an attractive woman, but very definitely off-limits.

"Oh. Thank you." She looked embarrassed, and Freddy was too when he remembered what had happened the last time they met. He'd been a complete asshole and she'd ended up crying like a baby. Not a good memory for either of them. "Would you like to come in for a moment?" she asked, opening the door wider.

Freddy opened his mouth, trying to think of some excuse to refuse, but he'd already said that it was his day off. Fuck. "Okay." He'd just have to keep the visit short. Not get too close or anything. He stepped inside, and saw little Derek in his playpen watching cartoons. "Isn't he a bit young to watch TV?" he asked.

Mrs. Nash smiled. "It keeps him occupied. Coffee?"

"Thanks." He strolled through the doorway and sat down awkwardly at the table. The trim kitchen with its bright colours and warm smells was a stark contrast to his own shit apartment. This was a proper home. This had been Marvin's home. Fuck, he had to stop thinking about that guy, because that led inextricably to Ve–

"Cream? Sugar?"

"Both." Freddy dragged his mind away from the dark turn his thoughts had been taking, and concentrated on how he could cut the visit short without seeming rude. And trying not to notice how nice his hostess looked from behind. Christ, he needed a smoke.

Mrs. Nash set a steaming mug down in front of him, and sat across the table with her own. For a second or two they sipped in uncomfortable silence.

"I'm glad you came by, detective," she said finally. "I wanted to thank you for what you did in the office. I had no right to ask you to relive…" She winced at how she sounded, and began again. "You see, ever since Marvin… ah fuck. What I mean to say is, I needed to come back to reality. It was painful, what you said, but truth is painful. Right?"

Freddy was glad he didn't flush easily. Damn, this was so fucking awkward. "I guess."

"And you were really nice about it, when I – you know –" Cried on his shoulder? Not like he had a choice there.

"Don't mention it, Mrs. Nash," he said quickly.

"Right." She looked more than a little relieved, and they both relaxed. "Look, call me Irene."

He nodded, and placed a hand on his chest. "I'm Freddy."

"Hi." They both grinned at the absurdity of introducing themselves after having met twice before. "So… how's your job going?"

Freddy knew that she was just thinking up bullshit for them to talk about, but he didn't hold it against her. He was doing the same thing. Just talk about bullshit, finish your coffee, and leave. Simple. "It's okay, I guess. I'm on a new case now."

Irene's face lighted up with interest. "Are you allowed to talk about it?"

"Yeah, some parts." He resisted the urge to brag and exaggerate. He knew that if he started describing the case, he'd be jabbering on all afternoon and probably boring the shit out of her. "We're investigating organized crime. It's not very interesting. Lots of research, interviewing people, that kind of stuff. All of the exciting work is done by someone else." He saw that Irene had noticed the note of bitterness in his voice, and he took another sip of coffee to hide his self-consciousness. "So what d'you do for work?" he asked, changing the subject.

Irene thankfully let the moment pass. "I'm a medical clerk at the children's hospital. Don't look so impressed," she said with a cynical smile. "It's just a fancy word for a receptionist. Eight fun-filled hours of working a switchboard."

"Does it pay well?"

"Pretty well. I'm part of a union, so it's enough. And I'm saving up for a trip to Argentina. My parents live there."

Freddy wagged a finger at her. "I thought you must be from South America." He gave a triumphant smile.

"Is it really that obvious?" Irene turned her head to the side as if modeling for a photo shoot. And all at once Freddy found it very difficult to ignore just how pretty she was.

"I've never been to South America," he said, desperately trying to keep the conversation going. Just stick with neutral topics. "Only Mexico."

"Yeah? Well you should go sometime."

"Maybe." They shared a smile. Christ, was it getting warm in here? "Anyway, it'd have to wait until…" He stopped short. Until he got Vega. Everything just kept coming back to that crazy motherfucker.

Irene was looking at him questioningly. "You're preoccupied with something," she observed hesitatingly. "I saw it when you first visited me, and when we were in your office. Is it about the case you're working on?"

Freddy looked away, nearly squirming. She had a right to know. If not everything, she had a right to know some things. "Listen," he said quietly, looking at the tabletop. "What happened to Marvin – it was partly my fault." Irene shifted in her seat, but he didn't dare look up at her in case he lost his nerve. "I was working a robbery undercover. Stuff went wrong – the alarm got tripped, the guys started shooting – and Marvin was taken hostage. They interrogated him about being set up, and he didn't say anything. I owe him my life for that." He paused, wondering how much he should say. "Now, one of the robbers hurt Marvin pretty bad. I thought I'd killed him, but it turns out he's alive and on the loose. The cops – we tried to track him down, and I was so close to getting him again but he slipped away. It's him I'm after. I've gotta get this guy, Irene."

The woman was staring at him, and Freddy wondered if he'd done the right thing telling her so much. He'd tried to leave out the bloody details, but this couldn't be easy for her. Shit, it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for him either.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"What?"

"Thank you for telling me." A small frown line appeared between her eyebrows. "But I don't agree with you. What happened to Marvin wasn't your fault." She surprised him by taking his hand in hers. "I look at you Freddy, and I see a man obsessed. You think that catching this criminal will atone for Marvin's death."

Freddy looked away. "He's sick, Irene. A madman. I couldn't kill him properly the first time. I can't let what happened to Marvin happen to anyone else."

She squeezed his hand. "Was he the one who gave you that scar?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Freddy's free hand went automatically to his right cheek. "No, that was – someone else."

Irene was looking at him with such sympathy and understanding. He was stuck between feeling uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, feeling resentful for her pity, and feeling pathetically grateful for her compassion. It was a very confusing mixture.

"I want to help you, Freddy."

Christ, it really was getting warm in here. His eyes could be playing tricks on him, but he thought he detected a delicate flush on her cheeks. Her hand felt soft and pliant, and he suddenly let go of it. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, screaming "Emergency!" – he had to get out of here.

"I have to get out of here."

Shit, shit, shit. "Uh – dry-cleaning," he improvised. "They're very particular about closing times. And they close early on – um – Wednesdays." Fuck, that had to be the stupidest excuse he had ever come up with. He must be really flustered if that was the best he could do.

He stood to go, leaving his cup of coffee half-drunk, and banged his knee against the table as he hastily moved towards the door.

"I'll show you out," Irene said quietly. Freddy looked at her. Had he hurt her feelings? That was the last thing he'd wanted to do, coming here.

As Irene passed by him in the kitchen doorway, she paused. She slowly turned and looked up at him, and he looked down at her. Freddy's heart was pounding and he suddenly realized how very close they were. He could smell her perfume. Her eyelashes were long and black. They could feel each others' breath.

Suddenly they were kissing, hard enough to make the blood rush from their lips and their teeth click together. Freddy was dimly aware of the sounds of the TV in the other room, where little Derek was. They moved back into the kitchen, bumping into furniture and appliances, struggling with their clothes. A blender crashed heedlessly to the ground. It was just a matter of time before he lost his balance and they dropped to the kitchen floor.

A/N: The rest I'll leave to your imagination.