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 8: Keep the Good Thought

Choking and sputtering, Pete rolled his head to the side and coughed reflexively as cold water invaded his airway, causing his throat to constrict painfully. He could feel it on his face, invading his eyes, trickling into his ears, numbing his parched lips, seeping into his hair, running down his neck. He shivered and choked again as someone lifted his head roughly and held a container to his lips, pouring more water into his mouth and forcing him to swallow. He pushed at the container with one hand and coughed some more as his head dropped back to the ground. He opened his eyes a crack against the light and watched and listened as two men argued, the light eventually dimming and the noise of their voices fading as he slipped into unconsciousness...

"You stupid idiot! If he dies before the boss is finished with him we'll end up just like Lou and Vince, floating face down in the river with our heads full of lead." Charlie Malloy, the bigger of the two, a husky man with black hair and dark brown eyes and sallow skin, dropped the can that had held the water and glared up at the man standing beside him.

"Hey, you're the one that pounded his head into the cement to begin with," the slighter man argued back, his voice tight with anger. Bennie Marconi stood a good four inches shorter than Charlie but his wiry body held the muscular toughness of a professional boxer. "And you're the one that kept punching at him when I yelled at you to stop. Now there's something wrong in his head and he won't stay awake. And when Pauly finds out he's gonna blame both of us." He ran a disgusted hand through his crop of red hair.

Charlie leaned forward from where he rested on his knees, giving Pete's cheek a light slap before grasping his chin and shaking. Pete's eyes opened and he gave the two men a confused look. Or were there four of them? His eyes were unfocused and everything seemed to be a blur. The man leaning over him said something. Pete could see his lips move and could hear the words, but the lips and the words didn't match. His eyes slid shut again. Charlie got to his feet, pulled the string that turned off the ceiling light and started toward the stairs, pushing Bennie along in front of him. The redheaded man pulled his arm from Charlie's grasp and did a half turn back toward Pete.

"We need to put the cuffs back on him."

"Forget the cuffs," Charlie grunted, glancing back at Pete. "He's not going anywhere."

It was several hours later when Pete slowly came to once again. It was dark, almost pitch black, not even the muted light of the streetlamp making a difference on this night. The drip of water that had disappeared for a time was back and Pete could hear a strong gusty wind and the sound of hard drops of rain or maybe sleet hitting the small window high on the wall. He shivered, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his arms across his middle. It was only when several sharp pains coursed through his back and chest that he realized he was lying on bis side, his wrists free from the handcuffs that had bound him for...how long? He had lost track of time. A day. A week. It was all the same to him. With his body free of restraints he attempted to move, unable to withhold a grimace of pain and an agonized groan as he slipped sideways onto his back. His fingers curled into the dirt and sharp gravel of the floor as he tried to withstand the searing aches caused by just that minimal amount of movement. The hard solidness of the floor felt good on his back and shoulders after all the time spent on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind him, but the ground was cold and the air was damp. And his muscles were sore and his ribs ached and the pain in his head came and went. Weakly lifting a hand to his face, Pete touched one cheek and gasped in pain, quickly dropping his hand back to his side. His head began to pound and he allowed himself to drift once again...

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Because she was there. And the only times she'd been there lately had been when he was in bed asleep. When she could get into his head and he wanted her to be there and he allowed her to be there. Not like when he was awake, when he tried to keep her out, most of the time anyway. Because if she got into his head when he was awake he would be thinking of her, and not the job, and he might make a mistake and he might miss something. Something that would jeopardize the case or have him on the wrong side of some thug's fists or maybe even get him killed. And he didn't want that. Not that last outcome anyway. Because he wanted her back, more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He would do anything he had to do to make her part of his life again and getting himself killed didn't factor into that anywhere. She wouldn't be pleased if he did that either. He knew that because he knew her. And no matter what they were to each other right now, he knew that she loved him and that he loved her and he knew that would never change.

So he had to be dreaming. Such a nice dream, too. He could smell her perfume, the one she'd been wearing that last day, the one that had been his birthday gift to her. She had been so pleased with it, not just because it was her favorite, but because she knew he liked it so much. And he did like it, the way it blended with the other aromas that were just her. Just Edie. They were dancing, the two of them, he didn't know where. He felt the softness of her hair against his cheek, her hand cupping the back of his neck, the satiny feeling of her dress where his hands rested on her hips, the sway of her body against his as they moved in a slow rhythm just their own. Soft music filtered in from somewhere. It wasn't in the room with them but was as familiar to him as the woman in his arms. Associated with her and just theirs, fitting the rhythm of their dance. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes, her lips slowly forming into that big smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and brought her familiar laughter with it...

Pete awoke suddenly and it wasn't a dream anymore. Instead it was the hard tip of a shoe poking him in the side, exploring his tender ribs with an impatience born of vengeance. He lifted a hand and slapped at the shoe weakly, earning a soft laugh of amusement and disgust and something else that he was too tired to wonder about. And he smelled the sweet scent of Edie's perfume again even though he knew the dream was over. Or maybe this was the dream. The shoe in his ribs, the pain in his chest, the ache in his head. The cold floor. Not a dream, but a nightmare. Maybe he had it backwards. But then Pauly Denner was kneeling beside him again, his brown eyes almost black, the scar above his left eye bringing Pete back to reality swifter than a kick in the gut would have. And again that smile, almost gentle in its rage.

"Enjoying the music?"

The smile remained on Denner's face as his eyes took in Pete's appearance, raking over his bruised and bleeding face and the once starched white shirt that held evidence of scuff marks from shoes along with smears of dried blood.

"That's quite a collection you have, Gunn. All the jazz, some of that highbrow stuff. I didn't know what your favorites were so I just grabbed what you had on the player. Figured they were something you listened to with your girl." His smile broadened as he saw Pete's jaw tense. "You don't like to talk about her, do you? Your girl? Most guys I know are just the opposite, always bragging about their girls. From what I've seen most of those girls couldn't hold a candle to yours. She's a real looker, know what I mean?" Denner released a morose sigh. "I haven't had a chance to visit her yet. Guess that makes you happy, huh?" He gave Pete's cheek a friendly tap. "There's always a cop outside watching. That Jacoby's not taking any chances."

Denner rose to his feet and paced a few steps, standing with his back to Pete as he lit a cigarette. He turned to look at Pete after a few minutes of silent contemplation, allowing his words to sink in before saying anything further.

"But I'm a patient man. That can wait." He blew cigarette smoke from his nostrils. "I'll wait til you're dead and gone and things have blown over. They'll stop being so careful after a while, maybe decide I've skipped town. You'll become old news. Then I'll pay her a visit, offer her my condolences like I said. By that time she'll probably be ready to start fresh, find herself a new man. Maybe even somebody from my side of the tracks."

Pete stared at Denner through half closed eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his chest rising rapidly as his agitation at the other man increased. He wanted to lash out, beat Denner senseless, kill him, a fierceness and hatred he'd never felt before toward any human being making his fists clench and his heart pound and his brain spin. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on one elbow before the pain in his body and in his head made him reel and made him want to throw up and had him back on his side with his arms wrapped around himself seeking a comfort that didn't come. He wanted to yell and scream and cry but he couldn't find the energy for even that. So he lay there and watched as Denner's legs came back into view, stopping just a few feet away. Watched as the other man knelt down once more and then reached into his breast pocket and removed a handkerchief. Not a man's handkerchief, but a woman's. Denner laid it close to Pete's face, maybe eight inches away. The aroma of perfume was sweet in Pete's nostrils, that same perfume he'd smelled earlier. And the handkerchief had initials embroidered on the corner. Edie's initials.

Stepping away from the refrigerator Mother straightened her angular form and let the door fall shut. She'd stopped at the meat market and the grocer's on the way over and picked up a few things to cover at least the next few days. She knew Edie hadn't been eating much, that she didn't have the appetite or the desire, and that the meals she had been eating were mostly ordered from the diner up the street or brought over by her or Barney or Emmett or one of Pete's 'friends'. Pete's 'friends'. Even she hadn't realized how many he had or how much those people cared about him and as a result how much they cared about Edie. Even the ones who didn't know her. Though it was amazing how many did know her, which was interesting. So many had stopped by, from the little man Babby to that odd Wilbur and his even stranger girlfriend to some guy named Ulysses and another man named Josiah. Even Sammy, the pawnbroker who'd recovered Pete's cigarette lighter, had dropped by. Mother wondered how some of these people made it past the unmarked squad car parked within just a few steps of the front door of the building, but figured there must be some line of communication going on there. Just like during the prohibition era when she had learned the tricks of the trade. Some type of signal, a wink here, a nod of the head there. On one occasion someone had dropped by while she was there. Edie hadn't seemed surprised and had appeared to take some sort of comfort in the sometimes clumsy but kind words concerning Pete.

Mother laid out a few items for lunch and gave the clock another glance. Almost eleven. A little too soon to prepare anything so she headed back out into the living room. Edie was sitting on the sofa, arms around her drawn up knees, staring out the patio doors in contemplative silence as raindrops splashed against the railings and small puddles formed on the cement. She didn't spare a glance for Mother as the woman sat down next to her. Mother heaved a deep sigh and patted the younger woman on the knee and then let her hand rest there. She wondered what was going through Edie's mind so, being Mother, she asked in her own blunt way.

"I was thinking about what Lieutenant Jacoby said last night." Edie turned her tired gaze toward Mother as she answered.

"And what was that?"

"He said that Pete might not be coming back."

"Oh, what does he know!" Mother spat, irritated at the policeman yet at the same time feeling a surge of indescribable pain. "Pete's gotten himself out of a lot of situations over the years, he'll get himself out of this one, you wait and see."

"He said that the more time that goes by the less likely it is they'll find him- that he'll still be-" Edie took a shuddering breath and her lips trembled uncontrollably. "He said Pete might already be dead."

Silent tears began to stream down her cheeks as she relived her conversation with the policeman. He had told her that she needed to start facing the fact that Pete might not be coming home, that they both needed to face that fact. Pete was very good at his job, Jacoby had said, he was the best there was. But there were some things about that job that he couldn't be protected from, and one of those things was people like Pauly Denner. People who held grudges, who basically hated the ground he walked on, who would do everything in their power to make him pay for any real or perceived wrongs he had done to them, either by coming after him personally or by going after the people he cared about. Jacoby had reminded her that she knew that from first hand experience.

"I can't imagine living in a world without Pete." Edie wiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "I can't imagine never seeing him again."

Mother heaved a sigh and wrapped her arms around the younger woman and pulled her close.

"You know, these past few months that you two have been at odds with each other he's still been there," she said in her rough voice, slanting a glance at Edie's face. "You do know that, right? Every single night he's been there. Hanging around out of the way, waiting to make sure you got to work all right before leaving. Parking around the block somewhere at closing time and watching to make sure you got a ride home with Emmett or Barney or one of the other guys. I know the reason you gave for breaking up with Pete and how it was your decision and not his so nobody should blame him. And nobody blames either one of you. But that doesn't sound like a man whose work or anything else is more important to him than you are." Mother loosened her arms and sat back to look at Edie. "I understand why you made the decision you did. I warned you from the very beginning that getting involved with Pete Gunn would mean trouble. But not wanting to live in a world without him tells me that the reason you broke up shouldn't matter and won't matter after everything's said and done. We just need to keep the good thought, like Pete always says, and things will work out."

Lieutenant Jacoby dragged himself into his office at just after three in the afternoon. He had spent another long day attempting to locate some of his snitches and visiting with a few of Pete's people that Babby had finally been able to put him in contact with. Once again he'd come up with nothing solid. After hanging up his overcoat and tossing his hat on the rack he plopped down at his desk and eyed the pile of files that had been placed there. He flipped through them one after another, hoping something might jump out at him, but nothing did. With a sigh he leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk and with a deep frown stared at the tips of his shoes. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when there was a tap on the door and it opened to admit Detective Harmon.

"Looks like we've got a hit on that picture, Lieutenant." Jacoby dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair around as the other man stepped fully into the office. "I ran the drawing by some of the guys upstairs. Smitz in Organized Crime thinks he might be a cousin of Joe DeVito, a guy named Bennie Marconi. He's been sort of a watchdog for DeVito and his boys."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Jacoby held up a hand, his brow furrowed. "DeVito? Weren't he and Denner buddies back during the day?" He jumped up and stepped to his file cabinet, reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a bulky file. He flipped through a couple pages and nodded his head. "I thought so. He was one of Denner's alibis during the White case." Looking across at Harmon he asked, "Do we have a mug shot on this guy? This Marconi?"

"Sure do. Sergeant Davis is pulling it now."

"Good. Have him send a uniform to the Bennett Hotel up on Waverly with the mug shot to get a positive ID from that Harry Lunn fellow." Jacoby grabbed his hat and coat as he stepped into the hallway with Harmon. "And I want surveillance on DeVito's place. Put as many men as you can on it. I want to know the second it happens if Marconi shows up there. Then meet me out front in fifteen minutes. We're going to take a drive across the River."

"Got something in mind, Lieutenant?"

"The O'Malley brothers have been feuding with DeVito and his gang over territory on both sides of the River for years. If anybody knows anything about this Marconi guy it will be the O'Malleys. And if they think we can tie him to a crime that might involve DeVito and might send DeVito up the river..." Jacoby shot Harmon a sarcastic glance, "...so to speak, they might be willing to put some feelers out for us, maybe find out where and with whom this Marconi fellow has been spending his time lately."