Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.

A Lifetime in Eight Days

Chapter 7: The Clue in the Lighter

Four days. Four days he'd been working the case now and still he was no closer to finding an answer, still he was no closer to finding Pete. He was also no closer to locating Pauly Denner. Lieutenant Jacoby blew out the deep breath he'd been holding since he stepped through the door of Babby's pool room and back into the bright sunshine. Today was the first day since Pete's disappearance that it hadn't rained. Perhaps that was an omen of good things to come. Jacoby kind of doubted it but the thought was comforting anyway. He stepped off the curb, rounded the hood of his black unmarked police car and stood for a moment just looking up and down River Street. Finally he leaned back against the driver's door and removed his notebook from his left shirt pocket. Babby hadn't had anything to share with him but Jacoby knew he was working through his own string of contacts. He was one of the few that the policeman had made some progress with when it came to Peter Gunn's circle of 'friends'. And it wasn't from lack of trying, but more so from a meagerness of opportunity. He didn't know by a long shot who most of Pete's informants were, and those he did know about weren't exactly easy to find save for a few, such as Babby.

Jacoby snapped his notebook shut, stuck it back in his pocket and considered his next move. So far his detectives and uniforms hadn't had any better luck than he had. Word on the street was there was no word on the street. The police department's regular snitches were either afraid to talk or they honestly didn't know anything. Not a big help when you were trying to find someone before that someone became a statistic. He had promised Edie Hart that they would find Pete. He should never have done that. What he hadn't told her was that the longer a case like this stretched out the less likely it became that the victim would be found alive. Which meant that after four days or five days or six days finding that person rarely brought closure to the case or to the victim's family. It just bought a plot at Rosemont Cemetery up on the hill and a nice spray of flowers to cover the casket. But Edie had to know those things already, right? You don't live your life as the wife or the girlfriend of a man in his type of job or Pete's type of job without realizing the hazards that come with it. And even if you don't enter the relationship with an understanding of those hazards they become reality at some point. You wake up one morning and sleepily watch as your man puts on the accouterments of his profession and it suddenly strikes you out of nowhere that there's a very real possibility he might not come home that day. And it scares the hell out of you, but there's nothing you can do about that because you love him and you're in it for better or for worse, so you end up spending a lot of time on your knees praying that it won't happen and that he'll walk through the door today and tomorrow and the day after that just as he has every day since you've been together. You pray that he won't become that statistic.

Jacoby got in his car and drove slowly up the street through a few stoplights that turned green just as he approached them, passed by Mother's on the left, then made a right and a left and drove further on down Tidal Street. He should have stopped at Mother's. The fact that he didn't left him with a hollow feeling inside. Pete had been a part of the old woman's life for a long time, brazenly setting up shop in her club and using his charm and unabashed good looks and occasional strong-arm tactics against the seedier element in the area to worm his way into her good graces and into her heart. Mother's would have closed down a long time ago if it hadn't been for Pete helping to keep at bay all the hoods and punks who wanted a part of the action on this side of the river. Mother was as aware of that as anybody and she appreciated it and was proud of Pete for taking care of that part of her business. Jacoby couldn't quantify his reason for not stopping, for not having been back to Mother's at all since that first night. Maybe it was the memory of the way they'd all looked at him that night. As if they blamed him. And maybe they should. After all, he was the public servant being paid by the taxpayers to help police this town. He was the one who wore the badge and that meant he was the one who should be doing the work behind the badge or delegating to the people who worked under him. He shouldn't be asking Peter Gunn to put his life on the line doing something he wasn't being paid to do. And he would let Pete know that. If he got the chance. And he hoped to God he would get that chance.

The car rolled to a stop across the street from Wilbur's place. The goatee-sporting bistro owner had to be one of Pete's oddest acquaintances in a world full of odd. And then there was Wilbur's girlfriend Capri, always hanging over his shoulder listening to his every word or relaxing in a corner posing for some indescribable work of art. And never saying a word. Jacoby often wondered how and where Pete found these friends of his but in most cases was afraid to ask. Wilbur's bistro was a hangout for an eclectic group of beatniks, writers, musicians and other less favorable characters. Maybe there was a common ground in there somewhere that involved Pete's predilection for jazz. Jacoby remembered once hearing someone call Pete a jazzhead. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant or whether it had been a compliment but perhaps jazzheads and beatniks held some common beliefs about what made the world turn. Jacoby wished he himself was more with it so he would know these things but figured he'd forever be without it. He got out of the car and crossed the street. At least Wilbur was easy to talk to, if you could figure out what he was saying.

Jacoby walked into the bistro and was met by a thick swirl of cigarette smoke. He hoped that's what it was in any case. The more it tickled his nostrils the more obvious it became that another aroma was intermingling with that of tobacco and nicotine. He heaved a sigh as he realized he'd have to go home for a change of clothes and a shower before heading back to the station. No way was he walking through a crowd of police officers smelling the way he would when he left here. He received a few curious glances as he made his way past a host of men drinking at the front end of the bar. At the back end he found Wilbur and the ever present Capri. They and a group of laid back and hairy young people were listening intently to a woman on the stage who was speaking what sounded to Jacoby to be gibberish. He stood quietly until the woman ended her spiel and received some overly enthusiastic applause before moving to stand in Wilbur's line of sight. The man's eyebrows rose slightly as he noticed Jacoby.

"If it isn't the man." Wilbur put his hands together and bowed his head slightly before running his eyes over Jacoby's standard hat and suit and tie. "The heat has found the coolness of my pad. Glad you could make the scene, you dig?"

"Uh, yes, I guess," the policeman answered with a puzzled frown.

"Like crazy, man."

Wilbur stared at him, Capri hanging on his neck. Jacoby cleared his throat.

"I got a radio call from headquarters that you might have some information for me?"

"Oh yeah, man. I think I have some news you can swing with, you know what I mean?" Jacoby was fairly certain he didn't know what Wilbur meant but he nodded anyway. Wilbur picked a cigarette from a nearby ashtray and took a long drag before handing it off to Capri. He looked the policeman up and down and wondered where a cool cat like Pete had found him. To each his own he supposed.

Jacoby waited.

"You need to fall by Sammy's Pawn over on Fourteenth and Waverly." Wilbur spoke softly and emphasized the name of the business and the address, talking with his hands. Capri dipped her head knowingly. Jacoby nodded and reached into his shirt pocket for his notebook and pen. "Sammy says a cat's been in trying to sell a certain item, you dig?"

"What item would that be?" Jacoby glanced up from the page he was scribbling on, pen at a standstill as he waited.

"Take a wild swinging guess, man."

"I'm all out of guesses at this point." Jacoby was becoming impatient with the man but didn't want to seem ungrateful for his help. "Why don't you clue me in?"

Wilbur reached for the cigarette that Capri had returned to the ashtray. He held it up in front of his face and made a motion with his other hand that involved snapping his thumb against the top finger of his closed fist.

"A lighter, man. A solid gold swinging cigarette lighter."

Lieutenant Jacoby didn't know Sammy but Sammy apparently knew Pete and that was a starting place. The pawnshop owner actually knew Pete well enough to recognize the gold cigarette lighter as belonging to him. Another one of those odd acquaintances when one considered that Peter Gunn certainly wasn't a man who needed to be spending a lot of time in such an establishment. And to make Jacoby's day even brighter, Sammy was in possession of the article in question. Jacoby used his pen to turn the lighter over in his hand where it lay on his folded handkerchief. He doubted the lab would be able to pull any identifiable fingerprints from it but it was worth a shot. He stared at the lighter curiously, wondering where it had been for the past four days, wondering when it had last been in Pete's possession.

"You say you know the man who brought this in?"

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," the fortyish man nodded, elbow resting on the glass top of the counter behind which he stood. He absently smoothed a droopy mustache that contained the same small glitters of silver that sprinkled his dark hair. "The guy comes in pretty regularly. He runs a shoeshine stand outside the Bennett Hotel up at the end of Waverly. Name's Harry Lunn. When he pulled out the lighter and showed it to me I knew right away it was Pete's. I'd recognize it anywhere."

"And he'll be back when?"

"Should be any time now. When he asked how much he could get for it I told him I had a buyer who collected things like that and if he'd leave it with me I'd contact the buyer and see what I could do for him. Like I said, he's a regular so he pretty much trusts me." Sammy looked toward the door at the sound of a bell and gave a courteous nod to an older, grizzled man who made his way toward the other side of the store. "I told him to come back early this afternoon and I'd have some news for him. Then I called Herman Klip and he said he'd pass the word to Wilbur because Wilbur would know who to call."

Jacoby nodded, not quite certain what type of response that information merited. He decided he really should keep a file on Pete's contacts. A list like that would have come in real handy right about now. He made a mental note to do just that and quickly made another mental note of this Herman Klip.

"Herman Klip?"

"Yeah. Short dark-haired guy, wears glasses as thick as molasses." Sammy chuckled at his own rhyme then became serious again. "He feels kinda bad, you know, because he gave Pete some information about those guys he was meeting that night. Feels like it's partly his fault that Pete's in trouble." Jacoby nodded, remembering Barney saying that one of the messages he'd given to Pete the morning before his disappearance had been from a little guy with thick glasses. So that was his name, Herman Klip.

The bell above the door jingled again and this time both men looked in that direction. A tall wiry man with a receding hairline stepped into the shop, glanced toward the counter and then began slowly browsing when he saw that the pawnbroker was busy. Jacoby looked at Sammy, who gave a quick nod and then called the man over. Harry Lunn's eyes brightened when he saw the cigarette lighter that Jacoby still held in the palm of his hand.

"You the fella that collects these things?" Lunn gave the policeman a big smile.

"I suppose you could say that." Jacoby looked the man up and down then pulled out his badge and introduced himself. "Can I ask how this item came to be in your possession?"

"Why?" Lunn looked from Jacoby to Sammy and back to Jacoby.

"This lighter belongs to a man who's been missing for four days." Jacoby watched the man's eyes. "It was in his possession when he went missing. Now somehow it's in your possession. Does that answer your question?"

Lunn raised his hands, palms outward, and backed away.

"Look, Mister, I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know what you're talking about." He seemed rattled but truthful. "I did a shine for a guy, he pulled the lighter out to light a smoke and it didn't work. Guess it ran out of juice, you know?" He shrugged. "Anyway, instead pf paying me my fifty cents for the shine he tossed the lighter in my jar. Seemed like an even enough trade to me. I figured I might get a few dollars for it at least."

"Can you describe the man?"

"I don't know, it's been a few days."

"I want you to come downtown with me and give a description of the man to a police artist." Jacoby carefully folded his handkerchief around the lighter as he began to usher Harry Lunn to the door of the shop. Lunn didn't appear too happy as he accompanied the policeman but he didn't put up a fight. "You think long and hard during the drive and come up with a real good description." Jacoby gave Lunn a hard look as he opened the car door for him. "You got that?"

The other man nodded.

"What about the lighter? "

"What about it?" Jacoby scowled, looking at the man through the rear view mirror as he stuck his key in the ignition and started the car.

"That was my pay for the shine. Will I get it back when you're done with it?"

Jacoby just stared at the man for a moment then slowly shook his head in disgust. He pulled a couple quarters from his pocket, leaned over the seat and dropped them in the shoeshine man's hand.

"No, you're not getting the lighter back," he sighed.

Lieutenant Jacoby paced the hallway outside of Peter Gunn's apartment. It was at times like this that he wished he had picked up his friend's smoking habit. At least it would give him something to do besides fiddle nervously with the lighter in his pocket. As he expected the lighter had yielded no clear fingerprints, just smudges that might belong to anybody, most likely Harry Lunn and Sammy the pawnbroker. Lunn had been able to give quite a clear description of the man who had dropped the lighter in his jar and the police artist had created a very good likeness of his face. It was not the face of Pauly Denner. More than likely the man was an associate of Denner, someone who worked for him, someone who took part in Pete's abduction. Copies of the drawing were now in the hands of every cop working the case and hopefully someone out there on the street would recognize the face. It was also being compared with all mug shots on record. Right now, in a case with very few leads, discovering the identity of this man might be their last best hope of finding Pete.

Stopping in front of the door, Jacoby raised his hand to knock, then slowly let it fall back to his side. He pushed his cuff up and glanced at his watch. Almost ten in the evening. Edie might not even be awake. Then again, had she actually been sleeping at all? As Pete's friend he was finding it difficult to get in a few hours each day so what must it be like for the woman who loved him? He felt bad that he hadn't stopped by the previous evening. He had just given her a call to update her on what was, or in this case what wasn't, happening with the investigation. He knew from the shift reports of the officers watching the building that Mother and Emmett and Barney and a dark haired woman who turned out to be a girlfriend of Edie's had been by at various times, each of them evidently keeping tabs on her in one form or another. Edie herself had mentioned to him that a neighbor lady in her apartment building was feeding Thomas, the cat that Pete had brought home as a kitten compliments of Loretta Gymp following the Frog murder case. So she had people who were taking care of her in ways that he couldn't. But that really didn't make him feel any better.

Jacoby executed a sharp right turn and slowly paced down the hallway to the window that led out to the fire escape. After staring through the window for a few minutes he did an abrupt about face and retraced his steps to Pete's doorway, staring down at the floor and absentmindedly counting his steps as he walked. When he looked up Edie Hart was standing in the doorway looking at him, a wary expression in her eyes.

"Edie...hello." He stopped in front of the open door and removed his hat. "I was just coming by to let you know what's going on and..." His soft voice trailed off as Edie raised her eyebrows.

"You've been pacing back and forth out here for the last half hour." She tried a smile but failed miserably. "The news can't be very good if you can't get up the nerve to knock on the door."

Her blond hair was tied back in a short ponytail and there were dark smudges under her eyes indicative of sleepless nights and ceaseless worry. She stepped away from the door, allowing Jacoby to enter, then closed and locked the door behind him before preceding him into the living room and taking a seat on the sofa. This time, instead of sitting down next to her as he'd done a few days prior, Jacoby sat down on the chair opposite her, a small coffee table separating them. He placed his hat on the table and shrugged out of his gray overcoat then leaned back, hands clasped loosely on his lap. His gaze took in her cream colored silk blouse, tan slacks and bare feet. She was obviously tired but still holding up.

"We need to talk." Not a great ice breaker but Jacoby didn't know how else to start the conversation. He had to quit pulling punches when it came to Pete and this woman and this investigation. And when it came to himself as well. All the evidence, or lack thereof, in this case didn't bode well for a positive outcome and Edie and he both needed to realize that. This conversation was as much for him as it was for her.

"I sort of figured that." Edie stared down at her hands where they rested on her lap, then turned her face slightly away from him, her eyes flickering over everything but seeing nothing as she looked around the room. "I need to call Pete's Dad." She looked across at Jacoby, her gaze clear and overly bright. "How do I do that? Pete is all he has. How do I tell him-"

"You don't. Not yet." Jacoby moved forward to perch on the edge of the chair and then leaned in toward Edie, his soft brown eyes finding her blue gaze. "There are enough people worrying about Pete right now. We don't need to let his Dad know anything one way or the other until we know something solid. He doesn't need that worry on his shoulders and Pete wouldn't want that either." He glanced down at his hands then lifted his gaze back to hers. "And if and when that time comes we'll do it together. Okay?"

Edie searched his eyes, saw the honesty and compassion there, and nodded. She waited, watching as he tapped the fingers of one hand against the other and stared at her with a considering look. Then he reached his right hand into his pants pocket and brought something out. He looked at it for a few seconds before placing it gently on the coffee table. She stared at the item for several long moments, everything about her paralyzed. She finally reached out and picked it up, turning it over and over in her hands, her fingers running over it gently. It was Pete's gold cigarette lighter.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, not taking her eyes from it.

"Fellow tried to hock it at a pawn shop over on Waverly." Jacoby's voice was incredibly gentle as he watched the woman sitting across from him. She held the lighter as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And he guessed that at this precise moment it probably was. It was the closest she'd been to Pete in many weeks. And it might be the closest she'd ever be again.