After Midnight

And heard a distant siren.

Oh, my God!

The sound froze me.

My mind went nuts. The cops had found Tony’s body, knew I’d killed him, knew where to find me, and were swooping in for the arrest. In a matter of seconds, squad cars would roar around the corners and shriek to a halt. Cops would leap out and come at me with their guns drawn.

I had an urge to break into a run.

The siren’s cry grew louder.

They can’t know it’s me! How can they know it’s me?

Just play innocent, I warned myself. Admit nothing. Stay calm.

What can they really prove?

As the siren noise bore down on me from behind, I turned my head and looked over my shoulder.

Siren blaring, lights aflash, an ambulance sped by me and kept going.

I laughed at myself. But my heart was thumping like mad, and I was suddenly out of breath.

Even after the ambulance was out of sight, I stood there gasping, trying to calm down.

Not enough sleep, that was the problem.

That, and a little too much stress.

Maybe I should’ve had that extra Bloody Mary with breakfast, after all.

I’ve gotta get out of here!

But I couldn’t just give up on Tony’s place without at least trying to get in. It was almost a miracle that I’d been able to find out his address. I was meant to come here, get inside somehow, and take us off his redial.

Just go for it!

I turned around and walked back to his building. I wasn’t sure what to do. Go door to door, maybe, saying my car broke down and I need to use a phone…

MANAGER

It was a sign near the door of apartment one.

The building manager would have to know Tony’s apartment number. And he or she would have keys for it.

I hurried over and rang the doorbell.

I did it with a knuckle.

Knuckles don’t leave fingerprints.

Nothing happened, so I rang it again. This time, a man’s voice called, “Hang on, there! I’m on my way!”

A few seconds later, the front door swung open. The screen door still stood in the way. Through the gray mesh, I could barely make out the man on the other side.

“Well, hello there,” he said.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Take a step backward, and I’ll open the screen. Don’t wanta knock you on your keester, do I?”

I took a step backward, and he swung the screen door open. He held it wide with an outstretched arm. He was maybe about thirty years old. He had messy brown hair and wore glasses. He also wore a Bear Whizz Beer T- shirt that showed a grizzly bear peeing in a woodland stream. His shorts appeared to be swimming trunks, even though the apartment building didn’t seem to have a swimming pool. He was barefoot.

Not much to look at, but he had a nice smile and I sort of liked the glint in his eyes.

“My name’s Fran Johnson,” I told him, and held out my hand.

“Murphy Scott.” He gave my hand a hearty shake as if we were old pals. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Fran. And what brings you here, this fine morning?”

“I’m looking for my boyfriend, Tony. Tony Romano.”

“Ah, Tony!”

“He lives here, doesn’t he?”

“He does indeed. I helped him move in last Saturday. Apartment six, directly across the way.”

Nodding, I muttered, “Six, I know,” and glanced over my shoulder at the unit on the other side of the lawn. It was one of the three with a Tribune on the stoop.

I faced Murphy again and said, “The thing is, he isn’t…I’m afraid something might be wrong. We were supposed to meet for breakfast this morning, but he didn’t show up. I waited over an hour for him.”

Frowning, Murphy shook his head.

“Have you seen him at all this morning?” I asked.

“Nope. I just got up.”

“I phoned him a few minutes ago, but all I got was his answering machine.”

“Maybe he screens his calls.”

“But I told him it was me, and he still didn’t pick up.”

“He might’ve been indisposed at the time. That sort of thing happens. He could’ve been taking a shower, for instance.”

“Maybe, but…”

“A lot of possibilities.” With a sheepish look on his face, Murphy said, “Sometimes, guy’s just…” He shrugged. “Were you getting along all right?”

“Sure. I mean, as far as I know. Nothing seemed to be wrong. And we had this date for breakfast.”

Frowning past my shoulder, Murphy said, “He hasn’t picked up his paper yet. Maybe he just overslept or something.”

“But he didn’t answer his phone.”

“Why don’t you go over and give his doorbell a ring or two?” Murphy suggested.

“I already tried, but…okay.”

While Murphy watched, I walked across the grass to unit six and pushed the doorbell with my knuckle. The sound of the ringing gave me flutters in the stomach.

What if he comes to the door?

Yeah, right. In his condition?

But somebody else might open it.

A cop. A friend. A twin.

Be ready for anything. Stay cool.

The door stayed shut.

I rang the bell a few more times, then turned around and headed back for Murphy. As I walked toward him, he checked me out.

Normally, I don’t like it when guys do that.

Most guys are pigs.

Anyway, I didn’t mind Murphy looking me over. I’d only just met him, but I already knew he wasn’t some kind of asshole. Also, I could tell that he liked what he was seeing, and I can’t say I blamed him.

Along with my red wig, bright lipstick and enormous earrings, I wore a yellow blouse the color of a lemon. I would’ve preferred a halter top, but had to keep my midriff covered because of the injury. To make things interesting, I’d left a few of my upper buttons undone. Plenty of cleavage showed.

My legs were scratched and bruised, too, so I couldn’t wear my really short, snug shorts. I’d chosen a skirt, instead. A light, full skirt of forest green. It drifted against my legs and had a slit up one side. In a certain light, you could see through it.

The whole outfit was intended to draw men’s eyes. To attract them and distract them. They would see the flamboyant redhead, the stacked and leggy broad—not me.

My shoes, actually, weren’t part of the outfit. The costume screamed out for something like gold lame slippers or snake-skin boots. But I wore white sneakers for comfort and speed.

Murphy, watching me, shook his head and smiled.

“What?” I asked.

“Tony’s gotta be either nuts or dead to miss a breakfast with you.”