Bleeding Out

'Aw, he's not so bad once you get used to him.'

'Well, I don't reckon I'll get used to him seeing as we don't have a case anymore.'

Kennedy waved at the photos and reports and notes stacked next to their plates. 'You gettin' anywhere with all this?'

Xeroxed pages were spread all over the dining room table in loose disarray. Frank could spend hours walking around the table, picking up a report here, a note there, studying one photo and then another. She was patient with the case, convinced that something would break for her if she worried it long enough. Besides, what else did she have to do?

'Not consciously,' Frank explained, 'but I keep working it anyway, reading protocols for the twentieth time, staring at pictures for the hundredth. Sooner or later, if I'm lucky, a light usually comes on and I'll see something I hadn't noticed the first hundred times.'

'Noah said you're a great cop. He said you listen to your bones.'

Frank shrugged, uneasy with the compliment.

'Do anything long enough you get good at it,' she said indifferently.

'He said you're a first-rate Loouie, too.'

'He's prejudiced.'

'I don't know. I've seen you in action. He's probably right.'

Frank almost retorted, If I'm so good, what are you doing with a hole in your neck? She poked at a tomato and Kennedy said, 'It's gonna be a drag going back to Luchowski. That bastard's so uptight he could open a beer bottle with his asshole.'

Frank grinned. She'd heard plenty like that about him.

'Goddang, you got some kind of a pretty smile, Lieutenant.'

Frank looked up from her salad to see if Kennedy was teasing her, but the younger woman's smile was soft and happy. Frank resumed eating as she felt a flush creeping up her neck.

'So tell me,' Kennedy said, pulling at a strand of cheese, 'how come you ain't got no girlfriend?'

Frank sucked in a long breath. Kennedy's effrontery never failed to amaze her.

'I thought we went through all that this morning.'

'That was who you bought the house with,' Kennedy corrected. 'This is a completely new subject.'

Not really, Frank thought, somehow it always comes back to Mag. 'Why wouldn't I have a boyfriend?' Frank stalled, always looking for a way out.

Kennedy laughed in disbelief. 'Gimme a break. Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?'

Pulling her crust apart, Frank said, 'I see. Walks like a dyke, talks like a dyke, must be a dyke?'

'Am I wrong?'

Frank leaned her elbows on the table, like she was about to share something particularly juicy. 'Kennedy, my personal life is just that. Personal. I'm not about to discuss it with you. What do I have to say to make you understand that?'

Much to Frank's surprise, the young cop appeared hurt by her words.

'Nothing,' she said, rising to clear her dishes. Frank sat musing at the table while Kennedy clattered in the kitchen. She could feel the tension behind her, and though she was determined to help Kennedy, she wasn't about to open herself up like a home entertainment system.

From the kitchen, Kennedy said, 'Frank, you've been great about taking care of me and I appreciate all the effort, but I'm going home tomorrow. Frankly, I'd rather pop a stitch than sit around here talking to you about the weather all day.'

She came around the table and stared down at Frank, brown arms crossed, eyes cool. 'You can take me or I'll call a taxi. Just let me know.'

Kennedy was really pissed. Frank almost laughed, not sure what the hell she was so fired up about.

'You think that's a good idea?'

'I think it's a jim-dandy idea.'

'I don't.'

Kennedy slapped her palms down onto the table and leveled her face with Frank's. 'I don't care what you think. All I want to know is if I need to arrange for a taxi tomorrow morning.'

Frank pursed her lips over laced fingers, studying the angry face so close to her own. 'I'll take you,' she finally said.

'Good. I'll see you in the morning.'

Kennedy disappeared into the guest room, leaving Frank to wonder just what the hell had happened.

He liked watching the girls and thought about tackling them with his full body, pounding his head and shoulders into them. He'd get excited and usually wound up masturbating in the car. Sometimes at work he'd start thinking about the girls and whack off right on the forklift.

He'd been doing a whore about a week ago and pretended it was a girl in the park. He'd gotten so carried away he'd almost strangled her with the towel. She was really freaked. When she could finally breathe she threatened to call the cops. That rattled him, and he kicked her out of the car.

'You've got to think about your next play,' his father had always said. He hadn't been thinking with the whore. He'd almost gone too far. But if he was careful enough, he could go as far as he wanted.

26

“Mornin',' Kennedy yawned, plunking her suitcase by the table. Frank looked up from the paper, surprised that she was already dressed and packed. 'Morning,' she replied. 'Want some coffee?'

'I'll get it,' Kennedy said, but Frank had already walked behind her and taken down a mug. She filled it, putting it next to Kennedy, then got out the milk. Their silence was awkward. Kennedy fixed her coffee. She looked expectantly at Frank.

'Ready?'

Frank felt a tug in her chest, realizing she wasn't. She tried to rationalize that Kennedy had to go sometime, then argued with herself, Yeah, but when she's better, not walking around in stitches. Frank told herself she was still liable for Kennedy. She didn't know what had happened last night, but it was her responsibility to find out. She wasn't ready to send the kid home. Not yet.

'Look. Last night...I'm sorry if I was short. I'm just...I'm not used to...talking much to people. Not about myself. I'm not real good at it.'

Kennedy politely kidded, 'That's an understatement. But hey, you know, it's no big deal. I'm just always pokin' my nose where it don't belong, makin' a pain of myself. Your hospitality's been wonderful, Frank, and I truly appreciate it, but I should be gettin' on home and outta your hair.'

'You're not in my hair,' Frank responded quickly. 'I mean...I like having you here.'

Kennedy searched for something in Frank's face, finally saying, 'You're such a paradox. You walk around like some Nazi in jackboots, but then you've got this soft side you flash now and then. You know? Like you're a real human being, like when you talked to me in the hospital. So I start thinking what a neat woman you are, how much I really like you. Then I ask a simple question, and bam! you're Super Nazi again. I don't know what to think and figure I just better leave you alone. I'm never sure who you're gonna be.'

'I'm not sure I know who I am lately,' Frank said, quietly to her feet. 'I mean this stuff with Tunnel, you almost dying, my cops all getting reamed by Internal. I'm not even a fucking cop right now. It's all a little confusing.'

Frank met Kennedy's eyes, fumbling for the next words. 'I'm sorry I jumped on you. You just...sometimes you bring up stuff that I don't want to get into. It's old stuff. Irrelevant.'

'So I'm supposed to tiptoe around like I'm in some sort of verbal minefield? Make sure I don't set you off?'

Frank shook her head emphatically 'No. Look, I just...we've been through a lot in the last week, and...a lot of stuff's getting stirred up.'

'Like what stuff? Tell me about it.'

'I can't,' Frank said, talking to the floor again.

'You see? That's what I mean,' Kennedy accused. 'You're great at talking about my shit, but what about yours?'