Play@YSDC

Hudson Street Station

Zann is off for the holiday.

In a few minutes, you've arranged an all points bulletin for the apprehension of Merivana Azaff, alias Marlene Hirt, and a want for the red Ford coupe registered to Marlene Hirt. You also order copies of the photos of both Hirts. You box up the waders and have them sent to the police lab, attention Dwayne Tweedy, a chemist you know.

Then you bang out a report for the afternoon's incident, trying to make it sound ordinary that you and a private detective discharged firearms in a Greenwich Village apartment at a dog that bit the other guy and got away. All but the chunk of tail that's laying on your desk. Fortunately, Captain Boyd has gone away for a few days and you can put it in an envelope marked "Confidential" and maybe the lieutenant in charge will overlook it for a few days.

All in a day's work, I guess.

I put my feet up on the desk, have a little nip -- okay, a big nip -- from the bottle in the bottom drawer, and wait to see what other kinds of weirdness this day can bring.

When you wake up, the alley outside your window is dark. Your watch says seven o'clock.

"Huh? Whuh..." Damn. Didn't mean to fall asleep. I wipe the drool off my chin and stand up. I feel much better except for the left wrist, the one that throbs sometimes when it's going to rain, the one Lefty McTavish shattered with that fastball back when I was playing left field for the Bears, back when life still made sense and nothing ripped partners in half and devil dogs didn't appear out of nowhere and crazy dames didn't disappear into thin air.

Huh. Hadn't thought about Lefty in years, the poor dead bastard.

I check to see if there's been any action on the APB, etc. Probably too soon but a guy can hope, right? After that I look up Ford's number. Maybe I'll give him a call and see how he's holding up.

There's nothing on the APB yet for Merivana or the car.

You have Dex's home and office numbers.

I start at the bottle in my desk drawer for a long time. I could just crawl right in and never come out. Never have to worry about disappearing women and devil dogs. Never have to deal with Siobhan's on again, off again infatuation with me. My hands shake as I put the bottle away and pick up the phone. If Dex is in his office, maybe he's heard from Langdon or Delores.

Beer and a steak, huh? I check my very thin wallet to see if I can afford it. I can, but just barely. I call the newspaper to see if Delores is around and let her know we're getting together.

Then, a quick trip to the men's room to splash some water on my face and I'm off.

Someone at the paper says Delores isn't expected in until tomorrow.

Well, boys night out it is.

You could ask Dex to swing by her rooming house to see if she's there. In fact, let's say you did.

Gaffer wrote:You could ask Dex to swing by her rooming house to see if she's there. In fact, let's say you did.

Works for me.

You catch a ride uptown with a courier going up to another precinct. You manage to not doze off on the way.

On my way uptown I stare out the window, taking in this city of mine. I wonder about the others: do they know what they're getting into? For that matter, do I?

Writing the report really shook me a little -- it made me think of this from someone else's shoes. I wonder if my cohorts have stopped to do that. Maybe it doesn't matter to them, they don't exactly have reports to write.

Now that "Miss Hirt" has proved to be as hinky as I thought she was there's really no reason for Dex to stay on this case. Somehow I don't think he's going to see it that way. I might be able to talk Langdon into sitting it out, but there's no way Delores is going to lose the scent of a story this big. I'll try, of course, but I know that I'll fail. I just hope I can keep them all from getting killed.