Why does he have to look at me that way?
Everything had been going fine. Or rather, I thought everything had been going fine. Frank and I have
been back together for a while, with okay results. As good as can be expected. I have dealt with Uncle
George, able to at least visit him and help him out a little. So I havenít forgiven him yet, but who knows
if that will ever happen. But then we had to come across HIM. Bastard scum beat a man to death. Just
another typical day in Charm City.
So, my week started out like crap. Certainly, being dumped isnít my idea of a good start. It really was all
for the best, though. It would have been over sooner or later, Julianna just chose sooner. Maybe I was
moving too fast, but we could have taken a break. So where does that leave me? Alone again. Like
At least Iíve got Frank. He always knows what Iím thinking. And he understands me, at least on some
level. I do know it surprised him to find out about me and Julianna. I said I donít tell him everything -
hell, thatís the understatement of the year. If they only knew the half of it. Nobody would ever want to
partner with me. But they donít know, not even Frank. They just donít know.
And then we get this murder. Of course it would figure that Iíd be the primary. Drug shootings? Give
Ďem to Lewis. Domestics? Ballard and Gharty are all over them. But children, gays, anything hinky just
has Pembleton and Bayliss written all over it. Give it to them. Theyíre good at those. Fortunately, the
hardest part of this case was finding out whose death we were investigating.
But all day, all night the crowds are out there chanting, again and again. That insistent mantra, donít
they ever stop? I can still hear them, the voices. Never stopping. Never quieting. ĎWeíre here, weíre...í
Over and over. And as I sit here in this room with the deafening silence, those voices are what I hear.
And Frankís laughter. He still doesnít see it, does he? I thought he would. And now, even in the
silence, I hear Frankís laughter. Just laughing. Laughing at me.
Itís an interrogation. Dunker. He knows he did it. We know he did it. Weíve got the evidence against
him, but I want to hear him say it. Just say the words, say the damn words. I know, theyíre just words,
but I want to hear them.
But he wants me to answer his question, to hear me say something. Words. Just more words. ĎI like
your nice, hard ass.í Just words. Itís not the words so much as the look. I could say the words. Thatís
easy. Just open my mouth and out they come. I do it all the time. Theyíre just words, itís not like
words ever killed anybody. But itís the look. That sly stare, that sees right through me. Revealing me to all
who care to see. Thereís nothing I can say, nowhere I can go to escape that stare, because he knows.
He KNOWS. They all know.
ďI like your nice, hard ass.Ē
Those seemingly simple words, choked out in pain as if simply uttering them was a cry of defeat.
And in the silence, I hear the laughter.
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