Part I Uma

Very late night in the City of the Angels, a steady drizzle falling on greasy streets, neon flashing in the puddles, the sordid gaiety of the signs distorted as if through a broken lens. It was quiet out, midweek and the poor weather keeping the good people of this fair city indoors - and maybe most of the bad ones, too? Not much chance of that.

Bud flexed his shoulders and rolled his neck. He was stiff and bone tired, with still a few hours of his shift to go. Sipping at the cold coffee that tasted like liquid plastic, he rubbed his eyes and rolled down the window of his car to let the cool air and the rain wake him up. He hated stakeouts. Beside him, his partner Stensland snored, head lolling back on the headrest, mouth open and drooling. Now there was a man who took to stakeouts like he was born for them. Six hours' extra sleep and paid for it: a man who loved his job.

They were parked in an alleyway in the shadows with a good view of the lurid entrance of the Kitten Klub, a strip joint owned by one Manny Greenbaum. The body of a young woman, washed up on the beach as Santa Monica earlier in the week, had been identified as DeeDee Baker whose last place of employment was the club. The autopsy report had been inconclusive, the body being in an advanced stage of decomposition, but one fact had made an impression on the captain. This was the second female fished out along that stretch of coastline in two months who had been one of the Kitten Klub's girls. Coincidences were for the movies.

Vice had been down, throwing their weight around earlier in the evening, asking questions and ruffling feathers; White and Stensland had been told to sit and watch who came in and out on the off chance that someone might do something unexpected if panicked by the cops. It was the usual mindless task; most of these jobs hardly ever paid out but that was police work most of the time. If nothing came up in a night or two then they would be pulled off and the file kept open but shelved. These girls were ten a penny in LA and no one realistically would be prepared to put much effort into an investigation of this type.

Except for Bud White. He had bothered to read the full dossier on the two dead women, Marla Petrovosky and Deana Baker. Both young women from back East, Marla from Ohio, Deana from Illinois, were in their early twenties and had described themselves as actresses. They were both pretty girls - but not pretty enough in this town of impossible dreams. Girls like them had two choices when they came to LA and failed to make it in the movies. They either worked tables in diners and restaurants or they worked Johns in girlie bars. The idea of going home and giving up rarely ever seemed to occur to them.

There was nothing there that White hadn't read a hundred times before but it never failed to make him angry. The corruption of innocence always made his blood surge. He imagined these young women as pretty little girls growing up, going to ballet class and singing lessons with dreams of making it in Hollywood when they grew up. Then one day, they jumped a bus and made their bid - and it ended in a rotting corpse dumped off some boat after who knows what kind of abuse at the hands of sick motherfuckers who preyed on these women like vultures hovering over a dying animal.

Just then, a girl ran out of the club, her coat held above her head against the driving rain as she tip-tapped on her high heels along the sidewalk.  A man emerged from the same doorway and ran down the street after her, catching her easily and dragging roughly on her arm to stop her. They exchanged words and appeared to be arguing. Bud found himself watching the events in his mirror with curiosity. What was it? A lover's tiff... or something else?

The girl swung round and slapped her pursuer hard across his face then screamed at him to leave her alone. He caught her hands and held them behind her back, dragging her with him along the street towards a car parked close by. Flinging her hard against the side of it, he found his keys and opened the passenger door. She took her chance and ran wildly across the street in front of a passing car, trying to flag it down to give her a ride. The driver horned her, swerved and went on. Bud grimaced. What kind of people refused to give aid to a helpless lone woman in a part of town like this at two a.m.?

Checking on his partner, finding him still deeply asleep, Bud opened the door and stepped out into the night, jogging stiffly towards the woman who was now only a short distance from him, her male 'friend' closing her down.

"You little bitch...you'll be sorry..." Bud heard the man shout at her.

The woman almost bowled right into him as he turned the corner onto the street. "Please....please....help me!" she gasped out, gripping his arms to steady herself. Bud found himself holding her at arms' length and looking down into a pair of baby blue eyes, wide with fear.

"Keep out of this. None of your fuckin' business, pal." The man had stopped and was eying Bud warily. He was a big guy, two hundred and fifty pounds, a mean-looking son-of-a-bitch with a jagged scar tearing down his already battered features. He had the nose of a boxer.

"Lady asked for my help. Makes it my business," Bud replied softly, gently pushing the woman behind him and bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught. This guy had been drinking but he would probably still know how to use those mitts of his; he knew he would have to ride a couple of blows and wear him out until he could use the other man's greater bulk against him.

The thug moved quicker than he had expected with a fast jab and then an uppercut. It contacted with Bud's jaw with a crack and he tasted blood on his tongue; it was enough to open the gate on his inner beast. With a low grunt, he unleashed his fists with a thundering crunch into the man's solar plexus, bringing his head down on the bridge of his nose and then raising his knee with an explosive force. The larger man crumpled with a strangled groan and hit the ground. It only took seconds then for Bud to roll and cuff him, before dragging him to his feet and throwing him roughly against the wall, rifling through his inside pocket for an ID.

Jamming his knee against the other man's groin, Bud helped himself to a weapon, a .38, and a wallet. The gun he stowed in his belt and the wallet he shook open, reading the name as he pressed his weight against the other man and his hand around his throat. "James Brogan..." he read.

"What's it to you?" Brogan panted out, his nose bleeding profusely and unable to straighten up properly.

"Not a fuckin' thing, pal." Bud replied. "You got a license for this gun? Something tells me you won't have. I'm reading you your rights..."

"You a cop? Fuck, what did I do?" he whined, spitting blood from his mouth.

"Hit a police officer in the course of his duty...and that's before we run a check on your piece...and ask the young lady exactly why she was running in fear of her life from you...Not your day, shitbird..." Bud smiled coldly and hauled Brogan off in the direction of the car, throwing him in the back and waking Stensland up. "Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, pardner, but keep an eye on this rat fuck, will ya?"

Stens muttered back, "Can't you keep your hands to yourself for five fuckin' minutes?" but sat up straight and heaved himself out of the door to stand guard. Bud turned back to the mystery woman. She was either simply fielding off an unwanted date - or this might just be an unexpected lead.

"Miss...?"

But the street was empty. Scanning right and left he checked for a sign of her but she'd taken her chance and made her retreat while he had been occupied.

"Fuck!" He hit the wall in temper at the loss of his witness, just as his foot stepped on something. He bent down to pick the object up. It was a woman's purse.

PART II by Erycina

Bud White found himself pacing slowly. Back and forth he paced before the grey table inside the interrogation room. Stens was playing the good cop to his bad cop.

Dick Stensland had already given Brogan a cigarette. Now, Stens leaned back in his seat, his bulk sprawling out over the chair's sides as he smiled at Brogan. "How's that then?" he asked the big bruiser. "Care for some coffee? Young Officer White here will be glad to get you a cup. How you want it? Black? Sugar? Say the word."

Brogan squinted at Stens, weighing what was going on. He was a cool one, Bud noticed. He wasn't buying the good cop-bad cop routine. Just then Brogan looked him square in the face. Bud stopped his pacing and glared back.

"Light on the cream. Two sugars." Brogan gave him this smirk when he placed his order. Bud looked at Stens. "Please, Officer."

Bud's hands clenched and then released. He shot Stens one last look as he ripped the door open. Out in the squad room, he growled as he poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup and added a pinch of cream and five sugars. "You fucking blowhard. I'll light cream two sugars your ass," he said under his breath. He grinned for the first time in four hours, ever since his shift had begun.

He thought he heard noises as he approached the interrogation room. He looked around to see if anyone else was noticing. He hoped not. He had a sinking feeling what was going on. He hoped no one was looking through the one-way observation mirror next door. He diverted his steps and made for the observation room. Poking his head in, he gave a slow sigh of relief that no one was in there. He walked up to the mirror and peered inside the other room.

A sneer darkened his face as he turned on the intercom so he could listen in. Stens' interrogation style might have lacked a certain finesse, but with some schmokes, finesse was the last thing called for.

Stens had Brogan braced up inside a corner. He had one big arm crushing the guy's windpipe; the other was lodged firmly between the guy's legs. Bud heard a 'crunch' and grimaced as Brogan wailed.

Absentmindedly, he brought the cup to his lips and sipped as he watched Brogan in a fetal position on the floor mumbling to Stens, giving him nothing but gibberish.

"Fuck!" Bud yelped out, giving the horrid sweet coffee in his hands a mean look and then slamming the cup down on a table on his way out.

He busted into the interrogation room. His eyes went from Brogan on the floor to Stens standing there, straightening his tie.

"He's ready to cooperate," Stens said. "I think it's time to let the Captain call in the Vice guys to do the official interrogation."

Two hours later, Captain Daniels was still in with the Vice dicks as they discussed checking down the new leads courtesy of Brogan. They were slim leads to be sure, but Bud's mind was already far away from that aspect of the case.

What he was seeing instead were those baby blue's. And what he most wanted to know was, who was she and what kind of trouble was she in? Sitting at his desk, he snapped open the purse she'd dropped. He opened her wallet and looked at the driver's license.

Penelope Jane Monahan, 129 N. Eastlake Ave, Apt. 3D, Lincoln Heights.

"Wonder if your friends call you Penny," he thought to himself as he drove the car to Lincoln Heights. 

Beside him, Stens smirked to himself and shook his head. He'd taken one look at the driver's license, one look at Bud and knew his partner had decided that this was a girl who needed help. In some ways, Stens hoped it was true, for Bud's sake. In other ways, he was looking forward to the day when Wendell "Bud" White learned the bitter lesson most cops at his level already knew: dames in trouble are nothing but trouble for a cop who wants to do a good deed.

PART III by Val

Bud tapped his finger on the steering wheel, as if listening to some unknown music in his head.

That girl, the one with the eyes, reminded him slightly of someone he knew after Lee. A sweet young thing, almost virginal in fact. His cock nudged at his trousers as he shifted in his seat. A real sweetheart with a mouth like a Hoover. But she had an innocence and softness about her that Lee had never had. She was completely guileless and in his racket, that just didn't exist. Everyone had a checkered past and nobody believed anybody.

Penny, if that was her proper name, had a purple bruise already on her face, whether Brogan placed it there, he couldn't tell. But the look of despair on her face rattled him. Her eyes pleaded for relief. Or maybe he imagined that in the near darkness, in the rain and fog. Maybe Bud was just being a sap.

Better to steer clear of anything that felt like tenderness, you just get your ass kicked anyway. 

He'd had his heart stomped on and mangled by enough women to know better now. Lee had broken his heart and he had managed to push away the sweet one, Kathy, just by being a bear. His antics were so foreign to her; he might as well have been speaking that street Spanish he heard downtown in the barrio.

His temper had always got in the way with women. Except with Lee; she  had accepted him without any hesitation, but that was a lifetime ago. He was alone again now, on intimate terms with his right hand and a bottle of cheap Scotch. Sometimes he'd doze  the night away on the couch, whenever he could find a soft spot without a spring stuck up his butt.

Inwardly, he groaned, thinking about the dishes in the sink, the dirty sheets and another night sleeping with his demons. He stepped on the accelerator and Stens gave him a sidelong glance.

"Are you with us, Bud? Or are you taking another trip down memory lane?" 

And he guffawed...loudly.

They finally arrived at their destination. Bud sat behind the wheel for a moment squinting out at the small unassuming apartment house. Clean, but had seen better days, he thought. He noticed vines growing wild around the building; no one had trimmed them lately and they looked as if they were strangling the structure.

Stens ushered him to the vestibule first, spotting her name on the buzzer right away. They could hear the hesitation in her voice as she waited, then buzzed them in.

Again, those eyes. Bud was sure she could see right through him. Doe eyes, dark, sensuous, once again pleading him.

PART IV  by Marie

Penelope Monahan left officers Bud White and Dick Stensland into her apartment after they showed her their police badges. Those gorgeous eyes definitely had that scared "deer in the headlights look," once she saw Bud. He had checked out her name for any record before they'd left to come to her place, but there were no priors or warrants listed for her.

"Come in officers," she stammered. "Please sit down. May I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea?" 

She showed them to a comfortable, but worn couch. She appeared very nervous. They both said that coffee would be fine.

While Penelope went to fix coffee, it gave Bud and Stens a chance to check things out. It was a clean, comfortable and orderly looking apartment with just a few knick knacks lying around and some feminine touches. She appeared to live alone. "She ain't making too much at that job," Stens grunted. Bud nodded. All the furniture appeared to be rather worn and second hand and rather sparse in amount.

Penelope reentered the room with a tray with coffee, cream and sugar. Someone had brought her up right, Bud thought for a moment. Her hands slightly shook as she set the tray down on the coffee table and prepared them each a cup to their preference.

She then sat down on a chair facing them with her hands in her lap and asked, "Before we start, I need to apologize to you, Officer White. I'm so grateful for what you did for me last night. I was scared and afraid that Mr. Brogan was going to hurt me. When you stopped him I just fled immediately and came home. I should have waited to thank you for what you did. I'm so sorry." A tear escaped from an eye down her bruised cheek.

"Just doing my job, Ma'am, but you shouldn't have left the crime scene," said in a much more gentle tone than Bud usually would use. Stensland smirked.

"What is your work at the Kitten Klub and how do you know James Brogan?" Stens asked.

"I've been a cocktail waitress there for a month. Mr. Brogan is the bouncer at the club. Each evening before we go home, the waitresses and dancers need to give Mr. Brogan a percentage of our tips for protecting us from the customers. Last night was a rather slow evening and I didn't earn much money. Mr. Brogan said I didn't give him enough money, but I actually gave him a bit more than I'm supposed to. I need my money to pay my rent tomorrow and pleaded with him about the amount, but Mr. Brogan still didn't believe me and started to shove me around and asking to see my tips. I got scared and tried to run out of the club, but he followed me."

"Did he give you that?" Bud nodded to her bruised cheek she'd tried to cover with makeup. Penelope nodded yes and another tear slid down her cheek. Bud clenched his fist and wished he'd have done the "interrogation" of Brogan instead of Stens.

"Did you know either DeeDee Baker or Marla Petrovosky?" Bud inquired.

PART V by Ann

There was something about the sight of LA in the morning that never failed to both sadden and enchant Bud White. He figured it must have been the light that showed the sad, trashy streets in brutal honesty yet still managed to glitter dizzily as it bounced and reflected from the light-colored bungalows and office buildings of this city.

Sometimes, that light was so crisp it hurt to see it. Other times, like that morning, the smog dimmed its radiance enough so he wasn't falsely cheered by its hopefulness.

'Who had any energy left for hope anymore?' he grumbled to himself as he drove to the precinct.

Those murdered girls sure didn't have hope. They'd lived lives that had amounted to nothing in the end. Bud thought on this. He would never have said he was the kind of man who believed he had a purpose, a higher calling, a reason to have lived. But he knew plenty of people believed in things like that. They thought they could make a difference. Sometimes the thought of the futility of one person making a shit of difference in a place like LA ... it would make him laugh.

Sometimes.

But not always.

Like yesterday, for instance, he thought. He could picture Penny, sitting there across from him and Stens. She sure thought she could make a difference, didn't she? He hoped to God that she had more than her good nature to keep her alive. And that made him laugh. Because as soon as he began to see her as the helpless little girl lost in the slime of LA's underworld, he remembered the feisty hellcat he'd first seen who'd fought off Brogan's brutish beating.

He sobered as he thought about the statement she'd given him and Stens the evening before. In her little apartment, she'd not just admitted that she'd known the two dead dancers from the Kitten Klub, but she'd given them a lead the Vice dicks were probably slavering over after Stens had called it in to the captain last night.

While Stens had been on the phone, Bud had talked to Penny, had tried to warn her that she might be very unpopular now at the club. She had smiled at him, this brave look, and said she'd already realized she couldn't go back to work there since she'd gotten Brogan hauled in by the cops.

Smart girl, he knew then. He hoped if she was ever in trouble, that she was smart enough to use the card he'd pressed into her hand as they talked. It had his numbers on it ... work and home. He'd scribbled his home number down on the card for her. He never did things like that. But somehow, he felt he owed her that. Because she not only knew the two dead girls, but she had known something the cops had not known before ... that both girls had seen the same 'private client' the nights they'd each gone missing.

Of course, no one at the club had told the Vice dicks that. Course not. That would have been admitting they ran hookers out of the club, right? Besides, the 'private client' was connected. Connected as in mob-connected. Mickey C. connected. You didn't rat on people like that unless you were stupid, insane or ...

Brave.

And that's what Bud figured Penny was ... brave.

He'd make it his business to make sure Penny didn't pay a nasty price for her bravery.

PART VI by Cassie

She didn't call. Days passed and Bud and Stens were pulled off the case; the Captain had what he wanted and he was claiming this for himself and the big boys. A couple of times he had driven past her place just to check and had even considered going up to the door and making sure but he stopped himself. It wasn't his concern. If she needed him, she knew where he was. She was a smart girl and had probably left town already.

Then he saw her. Out of the window of his office, leaving the main door of the precinct. Bud watched her as she picked her way across the car park, her hips swinging in her tight skirt, long legs poised on high heels. He let himself enjoy her as she moved towards a large black sedan. She was a pretty lady and he was man enough to indulge in a little bit of fantasy, just like any other guy.

It was those eyes that stayed with him. He had even dreamed of them the other night although the rest of the dream had featured a rather lurid sexual fantasy. Part of him had simply wanted to help her but another part of him had wondered if he might have had a chance. If he pretended he had just bumped into her by accident or was following up her case as department policy? Maybe he could ring her doorbell and they could get talking and...fuck...maybe he could just ask the woman out for a date like other guys? Instead of acting like he had to have an excuse to see her?

She would turn him down - so why bother? What would a nice girl want with him? She could do better. And she would want to forget all about her connection with the cops, not advertise it by hanging around with a detective from the LAPD. Bud clenched his fist and drummed it against the window frame as she went.

He expected she had been called in to answer more questions. She would be in even more danger now. It was possibly her evidence delivered to them might have gone unremarked but there was always some snitch watching the precinct. Tonight he would go call on her. Check that she was safe. That was all. Nothing more.

Penelope eased herself into the passenger seat of the car and slammed the door. It moved off slowly in the direction of the street, indicating that it was making a right. That's when Bud saw the driver's face, side on but there was no mistaking that ugly mug.Brogan. She was getting into a car with Brogan willingly? Or was he threatening her?

Without thinking, Bud snatched up the keys to his car and burst out of the office, taking the stairs two at a time. Miss Monahan was in big trouble. Brogan had the audacity to drive right up to the station and pick her off the car park? That suggested they were desperate and men like that don't tend to deliberate. If Penelope Monahan disappeared today then the case would fall through - and you could bet Brogan would also fail to show. Someone would take care of him, one way or another.

Bud reached his car, threw himself behind the wheel and headed off in the direction they had taken, turning out into a line of heavy traffic causing cars to screech to a halt. He needn't have worried. He saw the car parked a few streets away outside a restaurant 'Gino's'. Seems like Mr. Brogan was taking a lady to lunch.

PART VII by Uma

Sitting in his car across the street from 'Gino's', Bud reflected on the case so far. What did he really know about Penelope Monahan? She had dropped her purse and he had found her address. They had interviewed her and she had given some vital information, informing against her colleagues in a set up that even a fairly innocent broad like her would know was not a wise move. Then she turns up at the station in the middle of the day and leaves with Brogan for lunch? All nice and friendly like they were an item? Something wasn't making sense here and he knew it. But he couldn't see why.

They hadn't done a check on Monahan. Basic procedure to run a name through the files, snag a photograph or check for priors. Little Miss Blue Eyes had had them both eating out of her daintily manicured hand. Come to think of it, she'd looked pretty well groomed for a cocktail waitress who was down on her luck. Her place was a tawdry few rooms but she'd been wearing an expensive silk dress - even he could smell class when it was waved in front of his nose. Jesus Christ! What the fuck was going on?

From a box across the road, White put in a call to the headquarters. "Trace a woman who left the office 'bout an hour ago. Pretty blonde, well dressed, blue eyes. Might be calling herself Penelope Monahan."

The reply stunned him. "That sounds like Kitty O' Malley... better known as Kitten. She was in answering questions in the Kitten Klub case..."

"Kitty O' Malley?"

"Manny Greenbaum's girl. He gave her the club as a present. She's the boss."

"You got an address for her?" 

He found the stub of a pencil in his jacket pocket and scribbled the address down on a page of the directory. Tearing it out impatiently and thrusting it into his pocket, he asked the sergeant on the desk to do him a favour. "Run a check on Penelope Monahan, will ya? I'll pick up what you get later...and make sure there's a picture. If she worked at the Kitten and she ain't blonde then we may have a new victim. Just haven't found the body yet."

Thumping his fist in temper against the telephone cradle, ignoring the tinkle of coins as they rained down, Bud ran back to his car just in time to see Miss O'Malley, if that's who she was, with Brogan leaving the restaurant. Tailing them at a distance he went as far as he needed to realize that the address he'd been given was their destination.

Making an illegal right on the road, he sped back to the precinct. He'd seen enough. This time he was doing it by the book. Something told him that he was on the brink and if he made a mistake now, his career would be on the line. He was tangling with the big boys now.

Later that evening, Bud was parked outside the upscale residence and watching. When Brogan left, he moved, ringing the bell as quickly as he could, aware that she wouldn't be ready for visitors yet and he would catch her on the hop - or think Brogan was back.

The door spun open impatiently with a: "What is it now?" and he found himself staring into the blue eyes that had been working their magic on him since the first night he had seen them. They were still exerting the same allure tonight.

With a tilt of his chin, he addressed her belligerently: "Miss Monahan? Miss O'Malley? What's it to be? Or should I just call you Kitten, kitten?"

PART VIII by Erycina

"This is not what it looks like," she said. Inside her home, she was a lot more comfortable than she been at the apartment he'd thought was where she was living.

He watched her move. Despite himself, he realized she was the temptation he might be too weak to resist. She moved like water over river pebbles: like she knew that if she just kept moving, she could flow right past any hard obstacles along the way.

"No? Then what is it?" he said brusquely. He narrowed his eyes at her and then let her see that he was a lot more interested in checking out her chest than her eyes. Anything but let her see how her eyes did things to him.

"I never lied to you."

His chin shot up. He bounced his hat around in his hands. Glared at her. Noted her back away, just a half step, before taking a deep breath and standing her ground. "You must define 'lie' a lot different in New York than we do here in the City of Angels."

Kitty couldn't resist the fleeting grin. The big galoot ...making a joke at a time like this? What kind of man does that while looking like he's so innocent? She had the distinct impression that Officer White would blush if he really knew some of the lies she'd told in her life.

"Is this an official call, Officer? Or is this personal...Bud?"

"Official, ma'am." He turned and looked carefully over her bookshelf. His nose crunched up, as if he'd seen something he disapproved of among the titles he found there. He glanced over at her. She waited patiently. Too patiently. It dawned on Bud that it was going to take a bit more to rattle her. And he wanted to rattle her.

He purposely moved in her direction. Bud pretended to be studying her personal effects, as if looking for and finding clues that mattered to him. He would glance at her every so often, lift his eyebrows, check her reaction. She never gave him much in the way of a reaction until he picked up a small leather-bound book on the stand near her telephone. When he picked it up, it'd just been one of the random things he'd fingered to see how she'd react, just trying to rattle her a bit. But she made a distinct move his way when he touched it...like she had the impulse to grab it out of his hands.

"So, you didn't lie to me, Kitty?" he said, walking away from the stand but still holding on to the book. He tapped it against his thigh, casually, like it just happened to be something he was hanging on to. Her eyes kept darting to it even while she calmly took a seat on the couch. "So telling me a fake name, that was the truth in your book?"

She licked her lips and gave him a small, tight smile. "Actually, it's my real name. It just wasn't my apartment. It was a ... friend's place. I ... I thought if you knew the name Kitten O'Malley, then you'd not take any notice of the information I was giving you."

"You guessed wrong now, didn't you, Kitty?" he grunted out to her.

"I bet you boys downtown have been checking out that lead ever since 'Penny' gave it to you, right? And if Kitty had given you the information, you'd have filed it away as something I told you to remove suspicion from me or ..."

"Or your boyfriend? Manny? Real piece of work, Kitty. You got great taste in men, honey," he sneered at her.

"He treats me fine." She stood up and faced him. "Something tells me, Officer, you got a real mean streak when it comes to women. You put 'em so high up on that pedestal that when they fall off, there's no saving 'em, is there? How many women you pushed off the pedestal you put 'em on?"

"I never put you on no pedestal, honey. Don't flatter yourself."

"No? You were fitting Penny for her perch from the minute you thought I needed saving," she said in a heated rush of anger. She pointed her finger in his direction as she told him off. "Don't think I didn't have you figured out from the moment I met you. You're just a thug needing a helpless woman to make him feel like a man. You wouldn't know how to handle a real woman. You ..."

She wasn't prepared for him to move as swiftly as he did. In a breath, he'd crossed the steps between them. She flinched at the anger in his eyes, at the way his body seemed to grow bigger, harder, tougher. She raised her hands and cowered before him.

Whatever it was Bud's instant anger at her words might have given him the impulse to do, his reaction to her instinct at self-preservation brought him up short. He knew that gesture. He knew what it meant.

And he simply couldn't believe it. A woman like this...cowering in the face of masculine anger?

At the last second, just as he reached her, his own instincts won out. His hands reached for her and gently touched her arms. "I'd never hit you, Penny. Never. You're in trouble. You need a friend. Come here. Let me hold you. It's going to be all right."

Her arms dropped slowly and she stared up into his eyes. "I can't," she whispered. But a moment later, she was kissing him.

For just a moment, Bud forgot all about the wire he was wearing.

PART IX by Marie

Bud kissed her back. Tasting her mouth and tongue. Christ, she tasted good. But sense flooded back and he released her and took a step backwards to place a bit of space between their bodies. "Kitty, Penny, which ever the fuck you are, you need to give it to me straight here." He took a deep breath. "What do you know? What the fuck is going on and how are you involved?"

She looked resigned for a moment and sat down on the couch and indicated for him to sit down too. But then he sensed a wall come up again as she began to speak. "I suppose you know I own the Kitten Klub?" Bud nodded. "Consider it payment for services rendered," she laughed harshly. "I was one of those wide eyed, stupid girls off the bus from the mid-west with stars in my eyes in search of fame and fortune and my name in lights. The only thing that separated me from ending up like the girls that work in my club was I was smart. And lucky. I met Manny Greenbaum and he fell for me, recognized that I had brains too and gave me the club to run. And it's a sweet little business. I provide a service to the men of the community. And my girls are treated better then any others in the city. I try to make sure they're safe and clean and get the medical care they need."

"Quite the welfare worker," Bud grunted.

Kitty glared for a moment, but then grinned. "Yeah, you could say that. Things had been going along real well with the club and Manny is happy as long as I attend to his needs for business and pleasure." She threw him a challenging look with that statement, but Bud only nodded and indicated for her to continue, but he gripped the arm of the couch hard.

"Suddenly, two months ago, everything began falling apart with the disappearance and death of Marla. We thought she might have run away from an abusive boyfriend at first as she'd been having problems. Everyone was on edge at the club once her body was found, but still believed it might have been her boyfriend. That all changed once DeeDee Baker's body was found last week. They didn't have the same boyfriend. But, she said obliquely, "They did share some of the same customers."

This was the line of questioning that Bud wanted to pursue. He'd suspected all along that the link between the girls and their killer was at the club and might involve the johns. "Tell me about these shared customers?"

Bud recognized the change in her body language immediately as Kitty tensed at his question and her defensive guard shot up. "I can't tell you about the customers. If they lose their anonymity at my club, there won't be any customers." She shot him a look that appeared to be a bit of a plea. "Besides, Manny entertains his business clients at the club and they have connections all over the city in many high places. Their identity must remain a secret or I'm ruined."

Not to mention probably dead, thought Bud if she talks and gives names. There has to be a way to get her to give me some of these "shared customers," thought Bud, without putting Kitty in physical danger. She's too smart not to have suspicions in some direction. Bud thought he'd drop that line of questioning for the moment to think of some new angles.

"Then tell me, Kitty, why were you arguing with James Brogan last week at the club and why did he hit you? Isn't he your employee?"

PART X by Annsmac

Rain was still falling. It had been falling over the City of the Angels for two days by then. Det. Dick Stensland sat in the passenger seat and let the steady patter of rain lull him into a near coma of boredom.

Beside him in the car on stakeout duty, Office Wendell White drummed his fingers on the steering column and waited. The rain was making Bud edgy. It was exactly two weeks since Penny had ceased to exist for him. It was exactly two weeks since he'd met Kitty.

Bud shot a look over at Stens, half-dozing next to him. He remembered Stens being the first one to congratulate him on getting Kitty to start talking. He also remembered that it was Stens who'd first warned him off her. She was a witness; more than that, she was now a link in multiple homicides. More than that, she belonged to another man. But Stens had recognized that look in his younger partner's eyes. He knew an obsession when he saw one forming.

For two weeks, Bud had been unable to make the image of her baby blues fade from his mind.

He could picture the look on her face when she told him about Brogan. About what had happened that night Bud had first seen her. It was the night she'd begun thinking she was putting the pieces together. And she'd been out of her mind with grief that the two woman who worked for her had been killed because she'd let them go on 'dates.' At first, she hadn't realized the pattern. It wasn't until her boyfriend Manny had said something about this party he'd been at that night, where he'd seen these cousins who came to Kitty's club. Kitty hadn't known the two men had been cousins. And she just knew that the fact her two girls had had last dates, one with each cousin, was way too big a coincidence.

"If only I'd known," Kitty had told him.

"What could you have done?"

"I don't know. I don't. Probably nothing. But it just ..."

The vice cops had descended on her place to take her statement after hearing her breaking down on the tape. Turned out the cousins had been in on it together. The girls ... they'd been sport. It sickened Bud. But at least the scum would harm no more girls.

Bud wasn't sure what he thought would happen after the case broke like that. He sure hadn't expected, though, that life would seem to just go back into normal patterns. He and Stens had been assigned another homicide case. He was still stopping off in bars many nights after work. He was still sleeping alone every night, even those nights he had another warm body in bed next to him. The Dodgers were still winning. Dragnet was still being made. Little girls were still getting off buses from places like Bisbee, Arizona. City of dreams ... only Bud hadn't been able to dream anymore.

Until last night.

Until his dream knocked on his door.

Her baby blues were rimmed in red. She hadn't said a word when he'd opened the door. She'd just looked at him. He had picked her up, right there on his doorstep, carried her to his bed.

Bud sat in the police car slowly reliving the feel of her hose as he'd run his hand up the inside of her leg as it curled high up on his hip. They had fallen into his bed and it had simply been impossible that it hadn't turned instantly, insanely physical. For two weeks, they had each been imagining this moment even knowing it might never happen.

He began to harden slightly and shifted in his seat. He glanced at Stens, still dozing. Bud's face got this crooked, almost besotted smile. His eyes unfocused even as he turned to look out his own window.

Her legs. Fuck. The skin of her thighs above the top of her hose. He could almost feel them again as he felt himself drop back into that moment of the night before in his bedroom. Her skin was like silk. Soft. Like her panties. That little scrap of satin that tantalized his big fingers as he stroked over her wetness. She had moaned and slowly writhed in his arms as he had stroked her there. The way she'd reacted when his stroking got harder and faster had driven him nearly mad with the desire he felt. She begged him. Begged him to really touch her. In that breathy, needy, sex-soaked voice of hers. He remembered how she'd just taken his hand and ...

Suddenly, Bud was jerked back to reality by the harsh crackle of the alert signal blaring from the car's police radio. By the time the radio was squawking out the call information, he was alert and tuned in.

"10-87. Homicide Unit 27 meet the black and white at 2104 Ventura."

Stens was rubbing his eyes. Bud was gunning the engine. "Whoa, there, Buddy boy. What's going on? That's not our call."

Bud glared over at him as he swerved away from the curb and their stakeout. "I'm fucking making it our call."

He'd recognized the address. It was the Kitten Klub. His heart thudded. 10-87 was the radio code for 'dead body.'

PART XI  by Cassie

The cop doing point at the club doorway was almost knocked off his feet when Bud White surged through the door, his badge waved dismissively in his direction. Stensland brought up the rear, apologizing with a smirk for his partner's enthusiasm. Inside, White strode to the crime scene.

"Who you got?" he muttered to Krjicek, a detective with homicide who was in conference with a police photographer.

"What're you doing here? Not your call, White," was the blunt reply.

"I asked you a fuckin' question---" White snapped back. Krjicek hunched his shoulders and lifted the sheet covering the body. It was only then that Bud realized that he had almost stopped breathing; his heart slumped back into its place with relief and his pulse slowed. The cold sweat running down his spine chilled him. His knees felt weak. Christ, that woman had gotten to him bad.

"Brogan. Works here - or should I say, worked here. Muscle. Seems he met someone with even bigger balls than he's got. Or rather than he had. Nasty---" The detective pulled back the sheet further to indicate the entry wounds. Groin. Bud flinched at the sight and at the thick pool of blood soaking the man's pants and the entire area around him. "Wouldn't have killed him straight off. He bled out. In agony. Someone got their kicks last night, huh?"

Stensland whistled and turned away. Even he looked green - and not much affected him. "Any ideas?" Stens addressed Krijcek as he wiped his face with his pocket handkerchief.

"Yeah...pulling her in now. The owner. Kitty. Her gun. Prints all over it. Can't see how she can wriggle out of this one," Krjicek smirked.

At that Bud's head shot up. "Kitty? Kitten O' Malley? They figure her for this?"

"---Phone call, boss. It's the station. They want you to pull in an Officer White for questioning---" a uniformed officer popped his head round the door and interrupted.

"White? What the fuck for?" Krjicek replied, giving Bud a suspicious stare.

"Not sure, sir. Seems he was with O'Malley last night. That's her story anyway."

The three men looked at each other. Stensland had a wry smile on his face and was shaking his head. Krjicek was working it out, his face setting into a purposeful frown. Bud remained impassive giving nothing away except for the hunted expression in his eyes.

He saw it all now. Last night. Kitty knocking on his door, upset, looked like she had been roughed up, needing comfort. That's all it took. One glance from those blue eyes, tears spilling through the lashes and he had lost it again. Picked her up, carried her to bed and loved her till it hurt. At least he had thought it was love. He swallowed, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth.

Kitty O'Malley had turned up at his place shortly after pumping a few bullets into James Brogan's genitals and leaving him to bleed to death. Then she had found herself a perfect alibi. A dumb cop named Bud White.

"I think we need to take a little ride downtown, White," Krjicek stood in front of him and made it clear he expected cooperation. 

Bud gave a slight nod and stiffened his back. His uncooperative side was beginning to show. He was saying nothing until he knew exactly what Kitty herself had said. Or accused him of. Who knows? She might try and make him take the rap for this. If she was as smart as he was beginning to think - or as ruthless - then she was clearly capable of anything. One thing was for sure. She had fingered him for the fall guy right from the start.

"I wanna see the body again," White murmured as it was being hoisted onto a gurney for transport to the morgue. Krjicek shrugged. Reaching into the inside pocket, a handkerchief wrapped round his fingers, Bud pulled out the dead man's wallet. His hunch had been right. There was a snap of a pretty woman posing in a bathing suit. It wasn't Kitty. On the back was scrawled:

White groaned and thrust the picture back into the wallet before turning to the door where Krjicek was waiting for him. 

"Gun and badge, White. Just a precaution, hey?" With scarce concealed fury, Bud handed them over and stormed out to the waiting vehicle. Krjicek followed and saw him into the back seat.

Stensland leaned into the window just as the car began to move off. "Catch you later, Buddy boy. Take care." 

Not much he could do about this for now. He figured White had got in over his head, drawn to that little floozy by his aching heart and his equally aching hard on. He was a fool for women, everyone knew that. Any sob story and he would be hooked. But Stens couldn't believe White would break the law on her account. If White took a guy down he would probably use his fists and beat him to death. This didn't sound like his style one bit. But maybe Miss Kitty did the dirty? Using White as an alibi? Or did White know more than he was letting on? He'd jumped fast enough when he got the 10-87. Must have known something.

Filing it all away in his head, Stensland left the club and decided to do a bit of investigating on his own. Whatever White was up to he was fucked if his partner was going down for the murder of a cocksucker like Brogan. Or to save a fancy hooker like Miss O' Malley.

PART XII by Uma

Bud White shrugged away the guiding hand that Krjicek placed on his shoulder as they entered the station. Passing along a corridor, he was directed to an interview room. Next door, he could see Kitten O'Malley, sitting at a desk smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall in front of her. Her face was pale and her expression hard to read. Bud decided not to give her the benefit of the doubt this time. There were too many unfortunate coincidences surrounding this lady.

"Take a seat," Krjicek indicated and then walked out; Bud heard the click of the lock behind him. It was only then that he realized that he might be in some serious trouble. What the fuck had O' Malley said?

Lieutenant Decker walked in. Bud recognized him. Internal security. Fuck. He was being fingered for this. Got to be.

"White? You know who I am?"

Bud nodded his head slightly, said nothing.

"There was a murder last night at a place called the Kitten Klub. One James Brogan. You pulled him in a few weeks ago?"

Bud shrugged. "So?"

"Seems you've been very friendly with the owner of the club since then ...Miss O' Malley?"

"So? Some city law says I can't date?"

Decker eyed him up. "Miss O' Malley has just given a statement. Seems she claims you and her have been sleeping together some time now. Last night she was at your place?"

Bud hesitated. "I'm her alibi? That what you're saying?"

Decker smiled. "Not exactly. Answer the question. She with you last night?""Yeah."

"All night?"

"Yeah."

"You were together all night?"

"I just fucking said so, didn't I?"

Decker walked out of the room and called in a stenographer and a few other detectives who stood impassively leaning on the wall. "You may want to call your lawyer. I'm formally charging you with homicide..."

"What the fuck?" Bud rose from his seat in a lunge, knocking back the table; the two other officers, grabbed him from behind and struggled. Decker snapped on cuffs. "Just cool down, White. This is standard. Don't mean you did it. But O' Malley says you did. We've got the gun. Your prints are on it. Couple of witnesses said you were at the club last night. That's a lot of fingers pointing at you..."

Bud breathed heavily, his mind racing, trying to think, his pounding head and the white light of anger blinding his brain. "I've been set up. I got no reason to take Brogan out. What's he to me?"

"Why did you respond to the 10-87? What did you expect to find?"

"I...I...I thought it might be Kitty. She was scared of something. She gave evidence against those clients in the murder of the two hostesses... Brogan's hit her before..."

"You don't like men who hit women, do you, White? Bit of a crusade of yours, I believe? Been reading your file. Got a bad ole temper, especially where an abused woman is concerned..."

Decker picked up a folder and opened it, citing various disciplinary charges that had been made against White. Most had been dropped but a few had required some action - suspension, passing him over for promotion, that sort of thing. Each incident showed Bud White attacking a man for some perceived assault on a woman and he had beaten them to pulp.

Bud listened, his chin up aggressively. "Never needed a fucking gun before...' he replied. 

"You weren't sleeping with those women. This time it could have been real personal. She's frightened of you, you know? O' Malley. Says she never saw anyone more like a wild animal in her life. That you shot Brogan and laughed as he bled to death then dragged her out and took her back to your place where you had sex. She was too afraid to say no to you."

"And you believe her? Greenbaum's whore? Proprietor of a sex club? Connected to the recent murder of two of her workers? That's some resume..."

"She's a scared and frightened woman, White. Abused. Thought they all deserved some protection against the bad men? Isn't that how it goes in your philosophy? Or are you leaning towards your father's principles as you get older?" Decker sneered.

Bud roared and went for him, head butting him and kneeing him hard in the groin, so fast and furious that the other two men flanking him were taken by surprise. He was so wild that they could not restrain him even handcuffed. Uniformed men were brought in and one took his billy club and cracked it across White's skull. Only then did he crumple to lie in a heap on the floor.

"He needs a fucking straight jacket. Get him to a cell. We'll book him when he wakes..."

PART XIII by Erycina

One hour earlier:

Kitty was staring blankly into space. She was trying hard to forget. She was trying harder to remember.

"He's got a temper...he's like an animal when his blood's up...you help me put him away, I'll see to it you get protection, from White and Greenbaum...C'mon, Miss O'Malley, you're a smart dame. Use your brains. You don't tell us what you know, you'll be toast before the night ends."

"I swear, I don't remember...he hit me..."

"White? Good... tell us..."

"No, not Bud. He wouldn't. No. It was...It was..." She had stopped then. Looked around for help. None there. Just two detectives, their sleeves rolled up, their white shirts no longer crisp, their ties loosened. Both leaning in over her.

Her head hurt so bad. It had ever since...ever since...

"You think Greenbaum's gonna let you live, Kitten? With what you know?" one of the detectives whispered harshly in her ear.

"But I didn't have anything to do with it. I didn't. I swear. And I don't know who did. He was dead when I got there."

"That's not how Greenbaum's gonna hear it. Nope."

"I don't understand."

He had laughed. She looked away from him, down at her hand. She concentrated on his business card. He'd given it to her when he first walked in the room. He'd handed it to her, so professional and polished. She'd thought she could trust him. She wasn't so sure anymore. His card read: Lt. Benjamin Decker, Internal Affairs, LAPD. The other detective had not given her a card. He'd not said a word. He'd just followed along with Decker, intimidating her, scaring her.

She could not remember a thing before she woke up that morning. She'd been lying face up on the floor of her club. Then she'd sat up and seen...blood. So much blood. And Brogan's head in the middle of a pool of it. She'd called the cops. And her life had become a nightmare from that moment on.

Decker kept telling her that Bud had done it, had shot Brogan. That she'd witnessed it. That Bud beat men to a pulp for much less than what Brogan had done to her. He was flipping through a file he said was Bud's record at the time Decker told her that. She thought he was telling her the truth.

Had Bud really done this? 

The last think she remembered...she tried so hard to think about it...she'd been getting out of her car...Yes. That's it. She'd driven to work that morning after spending the night with Bud.

"Where were you this morning between 4 a.m. and 7 a.m.?" Decker asked her.

Oh, no, she thought. "I was with Bud. I told you that."

"Asleep?" Decker sat with a hip on the table. He rubbed his chin like he was thinking. "If you were asleep, what's not to say that White didn't slip out of bed to off Brogan then?"

"I don't know." This was when she started wavering. Her head hurt so bad. She thought she was going to be sick.

Decker sent the other detective out of the room. When he was gone, he looked right in her eyes and whispered so soft that anyone listening in would not have heard it, "If I tell Greenbaum you fingered White, you'll live. If I tell him you saw what happened, I guarantee you one thing, Miss O'Malley...neither you nor White will see another sunrise."

"You're on the pad, aren't you?" she said, an equally soft whisper. "You're in Manny's pocket?"

They looked at each other. They both knew the score.

"You want to take another run at what you saw, Miss O'Malley?"

Kitty licked her lips. She'd always been a survivor. It took her no time at all to weigh it all out...if she played along, Bud lived. And so did she. And alive, she could find the way to neutralize Manny. He'd always listened to her before. If she could get to him, convince him to stop this, then Bud would have his life and his good name. What other choice did she have?

"Okay. Tell me what I saw," she said to Decker.

The smile he gave her...she'd seen it somewhere before. In the instant he began telling her what she'd have to say, she recognized where. And that's when she put it together. Decker. He'd been sitting in a car parked at the curb in front of the club that morning. She stared evenly at him as she remembered what had happened. It'd been Decker. He's the one who'd hit her. He must have knocked her out, set her up for Brogan's murder. And now, now he was setting Bud up.

What game was Decker playing? And who was he playing it for?

PART XIV by Marie

Stens had to figure this out. Sure as shit Lt. Benjamin Decker of IA was involved in this. He'd had run ins in the past with the prick and he knew he was as crooked as they come, despite the fact he was in IA. And he seemed way too eager to nail Bud. That meant there was something in it for him.

And he wasn't sure what that whore Kitty O'Malley was playing at? She was a real piece of work as well as a real piece to turn a man's head. She sure as shit had nailed White in more ways than one. She may just be trying to save her ass, or she is thick in the middle of things with Greenbaum. All this was tied in with Manny Greenbaum and his operations.

That was a place Stens knew he couldn't tread. Greenbaum was too situated in LA with his hands in business and government all over the place. He was just too powerful for a small fish like Stens to be able to infiltrate for information without getting his cock cut off and shoved down his throat. Could it be as simple as Greenbaum discovering that White was boning Kitty?

Nah, that couldn't be it. That didn't explain the death of the muscle, Brogan. But, it could be why Bud was being framed for his murder. Convenient scapegoat as well as getting White gone and Kitty back under his control. Was O'Malley fucking Brogan as well? Shit, the answer was in O'Malley. He had to talk to her. Put a bit of muscle on her and see where she really stands and how quick she is to roll White over. He was sure she was trying real hard at the moment to save her own neck.

Shit, time to call in some favors in the station. He needed to get in to talk with White to see what his thoughts were on all this shit. Hopefully, he'd be able to talk. He'd taken a good blow to the head. He needed him coherent and thinking. Best if he grabbed a cup of strong coffee on the way down to the holding cell. Stens moved his bulk out of his office chair, got a cup of lousy coffee and made for the elevator.

Getting into holding to see White turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. An old beat friend of his was on the desk. "Rise and shine partner. I brought some coffee. Fuck, you look like shit." Bud rolled over to sit up and took the cup from Stens. Stens was really pissed off. It was obvious some prick had taken a few blows at Bud while he was out. It was one thing to hit the wet backs, but White was one of their own. He'd make sure the word of this got out to put some heat on that son of a bitch, Decker.

Stens was glad to see the anger radiating out of Bud's one good eye. The other was swollen shut. He'd have been more worried if he'd seen defeat. He was glad to see the bull ready to rampage. "I'd ask how you're doing, but that's pretty obvious," Stens tried a joke.

"Been fucking better," Bud grumped.

Stens laughed. "Listen Bud, I don't know how much time we have before that prick Decker shows back up and I don't want him to know I've been here and am investigating this shit. So who do you think is setting you up? Greenbaum or O'Malley? And who do you think has Decker in their pocket? And if you don't think its O'Malley, do you think she'll help in any way or do I have to try lean on her? Cause you know if she's in tight with Greenbaum currently, she'll run right to him for protection and we're fucked." Stens waited for Bud's answers.

PART XV  by Annsmac

Officer Bud White stared deep into the amber fluid in the clear highball glass. He jigged the glass and got mesmerized watching the shrinking ice cubes jar up against each other and then bounce off the sides of the glass.

"Hey, handsome, buy a girl a drink?"

"Get lost," he growled out. His eyes darted up and he saw the fear in the woman's eyes. She was nothing to him, just a cheap floozy wearing yesterday's makeup and smelling of today's round of bars. But that look of abject fear; that instinctive cowering gesture as if she was just waiting to throw her hands up when he would beat her up. Jesus. Was this what he'd come down to? A man women feared? And then he flashed on a memory of Kitty cowering from him the first time he'd really been one-on-one with her. He rocked from his seat and plowed his way out of the bar.

At that exact moment, Det. Dick Stensland was pulling up to Kitty O'Malley's upscale house a whole world away from the tawdry bar where his partner had been drinking. Stens sat and contemplated Kitty's home. There were lights on. Her car was in the driveway. He wondered what she'd say to convince him she was innocent? He knew she'd try. He just wasn't buying it from her that night.

Stens was positive Kitty was dirty and had set his partner up to take a fall for murdering Brogan. She was Manny Greenbaum’s broad. She’d given that son of a bitch Internal Affairs guy Decker all the rope he needed to press murder one charges against Bud. The only reason Bud was only suspended and wasn't locked up inside a cell right then facing those very charges was because of Chief of Detectives Parker. Parker was like the rest of the regular officers of LAPD; when it came to Internal Affairs, there was no love lost. He'd give Bud's fellow officers a day or two to try to prove the IA shits were wrong ... or at least to screw up their case just enough for some sharp defense attorney to spring Bud ... but time was running out and with it, so were Bud's chances. Stens had known just where to go to find evidence to clear his partner: Bud's alibi, Kitty O'Malley.

If there was one thing Stens would stake his life on, it was that Bud didn't kill Brogan. Not that he couldn't; just that he hadn't. And he knew this because his partner had never lied to him. So if Bud said he didn't do it, then he didn't.

Kitty was the key. Stens was going to lean on her. He was going to do it alone. Bud might have turned to cold hatred of Kitty when he found out his lover had set him up, but Bud White would never stand for a woman being handled the way Stens figured he was going to have to handle Kitty.

Just as his finger hovered over the doorbell at Kitty's house, Stens heard a woman scream and then a gunshot inside the house. He heard another shot just as he busted the door down. A bullet whizzed in his direction. His gun was out. Stens saw the figure aim his gun even as he ran for cover behind a couch. A bullet thudded into the couch. Stens rolled to his left, raised his gun and fired. He saw the figure reel from the force of the impact and then turn with a shocked expression just before he dropped his gun and fell to the floor. A pool of red smeared out across his chest.

"Ah, fuck," Stens muttered as he stood over the prone figure of the gunman.

"Decker. What the fuck you doing here?"

But the Internal Affairs lieutenant was dead.

"Help me." Stens jerked to alertness when he heard the whispered plea.

"Kitty!" He rushed over to near the fireplace, dropped to his knees, picked up her hand. There was blood on her chest and shoulder. She wasn't going to make it. 'Need to get answers before this woman croaks on him,' he thought. "What happened? Why did Decker shoot you?"

"Under my bed ...," Kitty gasped out, her eyes pleading with him. "A box ... evidence to help Bud. Please, Stens."

"Why?"

"Answers in the box," she closed her eyes for a moment and when she looked back at him, she had tears there. "I loved him ... so much."

And then she was gone.

It took Stens a few minutes to make real sense of what Kitty had said. A box ... under her bed ... with evidence to clear Bud. He found a shoebox under Kitty's bed; it was wrapped up in brown paper and sealed with twine; it was addressed to the LAPD Chief of Police. Stens ripped it open. Inside ... papers, pictures, account numbers ... and a gun. He unfolded the letter on top and read Kitty's recount of what the evidence proved.

It boiled down to this: the gun was the one that fired the bullets that killed Brogan. She hoped fingerprints would prove that one of Decker's snitches named Artie Wiltz had fired the gun; Wiltz had told her Decker had blackmailed him into killing Brogan. Decker had stood guard outside while Wiltz had done the deed; Kitty had seen Decker in his car; it had been Decker who'd knocked her out when she'd walked in on the murder.

Brogan was taken down because he was trying to frame Manny Greenbaum for tax fraud. Stens rooted around in box and fingered the listing of accounts that would send Greenbaum away to be Mickey C's cellmate for a long time. He turned back to the letter. Kitty ended with a flourish, saying she believed that now that she had gathered the evidence against Greenbaum and Decker, she'd be marked for murder. She was scared that they might have already known what she was up to; that's why she figured she'd mail it to the LAPD so that even if she didn't make it, Bud White would be cleared.

Stens used the phone on the side table to call in the murder to the precinct covering Kitty's neighborhood. As he waited for the local dicks to arrive, he walked to his car and put the shoebox in his trunk.

When he went back in, he surveyed the scene, as he knew the investigating detectives would. It all fit. No one would find any reason to not see what had happened. He was in the clear; justified shooting.

"Well, Kitty, my girl, looks like you were right. They did know about you, didn't they?" he said softly. "You were bad news for Buddy boy from the beginning. One good turn at the end of your days doesn't erase that. Bud might see it different, I suppose. But then Bud always was the romantic type. Always thought there was good inside every bad girl."

Two nights later, after all the ballistics and other evidence corroborated his statement, Stens was driving through another rainstorm. He cursed as he pulled up to the bar and realized that he'd have to make a run for it. By the time he burst through the door, he was soaked.

"Buddy boy, order me up a stiff one," he chortled to his partner. "We're both in the clear, Bud. Let's celebrate."

"In the clear? You're sure?" Bud asked, sipping his Scotch as he nodded to the barkeep for a rye for Stens.

"Yeah. Wiltz gave up Decker. But he can't tie it to Greenbaum. Says Decker never volunteered to him why he wanted Brogan dead and he never asked. DA says he's not going for Greenbaum with just a little ex-con as the only witness and not much of a witness at that."

For a moment, Bud's eyes clouded over. "So thanks to you, I'm out from under Brogan's murder."

"Just looking out for my partner, Bud," Stens said. He looked him right in the eye when he said it. Bud might not have been able to lie to him, but Stens could lie to Bud with no problem. Like when he'd told him that he'd gone to Kitty's house to confront her on her being in on things with Decker. Like when he told Bud it was he who'd collected the evidence to exonerate Bud in the murder.

Like when Stens told Bud that Kitty had died before he'd gotten to her.

There was no one to contradict Stens, after all. And Wiltz was too fucked over to ever cross Stens.

So late into that night, they drank. Not so much to celebrate as to help Bud numb the pain of the loss of his innocence. 

After he dropped Bud off at his apartment, Stens made one more stop before he headed home. Out on Ventura Boulevard at the Star Diner, he slipped into a dark booth and handed over the remaining evidence that had been in Kitty's box.

"The money's all there," Manny Greenbaum sneered out as Stens rifled into the thick envelope that Manny had just passed across the table to him.

Stens grinned at him, sticking the envelope in his pocket. "And you're not going to jail, Manny."

"Best investment I ever made, Stensland," Greenbaum said.

"Dudley says to tell you this one was cheap compared to what the next one will cost you. You catch my drift, Manny?"

As he drove home, Stens thought about Dudley's question to him that afternoon. He'd asked him ... was Wendell a man you could count upon when the time came?

"Yeah. Bud's a stand up cop," Stens remembered saying. For the first time in a long time, Stens thought maybe he should have lied to Lt. Dudley Smith. 

Bud sat on the bar stool morosely staring into the bottom of a glass, his tie loosened and his eyes red and watery; he had nearly drunk himself into the level of oblivion he required to keep the demons away.

But not quite.

The ice clunked in the bottom of the glass and he still saw her eyes. They seemed to haunt him night and day. She had touched him somewhere deep in his soul and he still found it hard to believe that she had played him right down the line. That night - that one and only night - had felt like something was beginning for both of them. Not that they had talked about it. There hadn't been time but there had been some kind of understanding when he'd looked deep in her eyes. They had seemed to be two of a kind. Tough, bitter, wounded and lonely. Takes one to know one.

He shook his head and drained the glass, tossing the bills onto the bar top and sliding off the stool. About time he learnt his lesson. Like Stens said. They were all bad news. He was finished with looking for love in this world. From now on he'd stick to using them like they used him. Pick some grateful dame who was lucky to have him for a night and wouldn't expect no more.

Stumbling slightly, he noticed the woman at a table on her own in the corner; she had been watching him and caught his glance. He smiled a crooked half smile; she tossed her faded curls and licked her over-rouged lips. "Wanna join me, big fella?" she crooned huskily.

He nodded to the barkeep to bring a round of drinks and slipped in by her. Like Stens said. They were all the same. Especially in the dark.