July 9
BUD

Nate drives. He is much calmer than me but he is not calm. His hand's tapping the wheel. Hard. He looks out the side window when we stop for a light. I figure he is pissed as much that he's got to cover for me as he is that our investigation may be blown.

If we don't catch the punk ... if he gets tipped off and runs ... if we don't get the evidence tonight ... if he's destroyed it because he found out we are closing in ...

My jaw twists and tightens at the very thought of this happening.

"Fuck," I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. "Why now? Fucking reporters. Sticking their fucking noses in like they ... Jesus. You think there's any chance the perp don't know we know?"

"Sure. We'll take the pulse. Let's see what Lakeesha says. If she's seen him. Don't panic yet."

"I am not panicking. I am angry."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"She just can't help herself, I guess," I spit out. Meaning if Ann were here in front of me right now, I'd have a hard time explaining how one woman can infuriate me like this and still make me feel like covering up for her over this.

"I guess," Nate says, looking in the rear view mirror. "Maybe the Captain's right. Maybe this Leo guy will cooperate."

"When pigs fly out of the Captain's ass! You know what reporters are like. This guy knows who we're looking for. He prints it? Or even hints at it when he talks to people down here? Does he even care he'll blow it all up? That we may never catch this fucker now?"

"Bud, remember the reporter in question is that guy Leo we met at the bar. He's a puss. He's a white guy. From New York. You think he's going to just drive to Central City and start poking around and ..."

"Yeah. I do. They are stone cold stupid that way."

Nate shakes his head.

But we both know that time has run out for us. If our surveillance tonight is not successful and we don't make it into the bad guy's place and find some evidence linking him to the crime? If he's tossed it already because he hears about some jive ass reporter snooping around, asking about him by name? And say we do find the evidence, say the perp took off when he heard but left the shit behind? If he skips and we cannot find the perp who shot five kids in a cold blooded crime designed to stake out his new drug dealing territory? The reality is, if we don't find him tonight, don't find the evidence we need ... it's not going to be good ... for this city, this neighborhood, for us.

The Captain will want answers. He wants them now, before the surveillance starts and before we maybe put other cops in danger if this perp is waiting on us. He already wants to know how this Leo guy found out. And I will have to tell him. I will have to say that I told the woman I am living with all about the case. And she told Leo, a reporter she wants to impress and is desperate to make into her instant friend.

I will not tell him that Leo is a twin of the Leo she knew in her world, where he was a good friend of hers because that's none of his business.

It is when we make it to Lakeesha's, parking around the block so we are not so obvious, that I feel it. That I feel how it feels to have been betrayed by Ann just for the sake of her scoring points with another man. I never thought she was that kind of woman. I would have sworn I could trust her to keep my confidences upon pain of death. All this time we been together and I thought I could trust her to put my needs, my interests above any other man's. Christ, this is a hole being chewed right through me, knowing this. My chest feels like it's caving in.

Tough it up, White, I think to myself as we walk up to the second floor to find Lakeesha. I lock the hurt and anger at Ann away now. That part of me is not any part of me that will make it through this night.

Lakeesha is not nervous, not expecting us, not aware of any new dangers. In her world, just living is a danger. But tonight, her cousin Joquill is staying over. Joquill used to live a block over. Now she's still got an apartment in Houston, can't find a job yet, can't stand the idea of staying there forever. So she's back in our city, back to see if there's any sense coming back yet.

"You know if they looking to hire down by the police?" Joquill asks me as I'm looking out Lakeesha's front window, scoping the street, looking a half block away where the perp's mom used to live before the flood. And where our man, the perp otherwise known as Anthony Montgomery, is now ensconced.

"May be. You a cop?" I say, glancing at Joquill over my shoulder. She stands with one hand on a cocked hip.

"I could take those calls, you know."

"Calls?" Nate asks, coming into the room after checking out the view from the kitchen. "What calls? You mean at the desk?"

"Those ones who talk to you when you call the 911."

Nate and I look at each other. He says, "I don't know if they're hiring but you know you got to have special training for those jobs."

"You saying I can't learn?"

"You'd be good at it," Nate says. "You got a good voice. Tomorrow, you call down there and give them my name. Say I recommended you."

"Where I call?"

"HQ. Ask for Human Resources. Use my name."

I grin but she can't see me because I'm looking out the window. It's a break in the tension roiling in my gut just to imagine some personnel snit getting Joquill's phone call tomorrow, trying to figure out who the hell this Nate guy is and why she should care what he says about Joquill.

"Good. Cuz I need a job. Me and Lakeesha want to find a place over to Kenner. She don't want to stay here anymore. It's taking too long to get phones and power."

"Good plan. Get a job, then find a better place."

I hate to, but I got to interrupt Nate and Joquill talking about finding work. Truth is, jobs were never easier to come by than they have been since people starting trying to rebuild this city. Construction, government recovery work, hotels, restaurants ... they are there for the taking. The money's not too shabby right now because they are still having trouble finding workers.

"Nate, can I talk to you over here?" I say, motioning Joquill away with just one flick of my fingers toward Nate. When he's standing right next to me, both of us looking out the window, I say, "Looks normal."

He follows the line of sight, across the street, to where our two junkies used to squat. We have them put up in a hotel in Covington, to make sure they do not blow this for us as we try to figure out where our man Anthony is and how we get in his place to find evidence then arrest him.

Truth is, if the neighborhood was on high alert, Lakeesha would be our early warning system. She is nervous because she's known all about what our man Anthony did. She is sticking close to home, edgy, waiting, seeing if she can avoid drawing his attentions. But she is not that extra bit of nervous you'd expect if it was in the air that we were about to bring Anthony down tonight.

So maybe Nate was right. Maybe Leo kept his big fat nose and flapping mouth out of Central City today after Ann told him the perp's name and location. Maybe Leo had only asked NOPD about this 'inside rumor' as he'd called it. Maybe he was being upfront with us about that.

But if one reporter had this, others would soon have it, too. Tonight was do or die for us. We could not take the chance of others finding out. The Captain has agreed with us and he is just waiting on our report to set this all in motion.

We call in to the Captain. The team starts slowly moving in about a half hour later. This could be a very long night. We must take positions in a flooded out war zone to first get a visual on the house our man Anthony is using. SWAT will need to determine if he's home or away. If he's home, we wait on him to leave, hoping he has business elsewhere tonight. If he's not home, we have to creep in so no one knows we were there, just in case we don't find anything. If we don't find anything, we don't want Anthony knowing we're on to him, do we? But if we do find something, something even the weasel DA says is hard core evidence linking him to the crime, then we have to fade back into the night and wait for our perp to come home, blissfully unaware we are about to arrest his ass.

A SWAT member creeps up to the house. Nate and I are listening to the conversation coming over our ear buds. They now got a listening device planted on the shaky walls. No sounds of human life inside. Equipment searches for heat signal. No signs of human life inside. The Captain gives SWAT the go ... they go in quiet, like wraiths in the night.

Clear, someone whispers over the radio to the rest of us.

Nate and I are hunkered down behind the next pile of rubble from the house. We slink over to the back entrance, where SWAT's emptied out for us to go in. In we go to do the sweep search.

We find shoes. We find a bloody shirt and shorts. We find a towel, wadded up in the bathroom, in the trash can, stinking of blood and brains. Is it enough? We do not have the gun. We bag everything and report in to the Captain.

Outside, quick conference with the Captain and the weasel DA. Without the gun ... the DA is nervous. He'll be carrying the gun, Nate says. I nod. He will. The perp's not hiding what he did. He wants people to know. People in the neighborhood. He wants that to scare them, that he'd do the crime and not hide it. That's one scary mother fucker, if you think about it.

He's not scared of rivals now. Not now that he's done this and not hidden it. He's not scared of us. He will be still have that gun. It's his trophy, I say. The Captain looks between me and Nate. Your call, he says. Do we take him tonight?

"If we don't, the reporter will screw it up for us," Nate says.

"You let me worry about the reporter," the DA says.

I roll my eyes. The Captain makes a face. Nate looks at his toes. 

"Let's just get him into custody. We can get a confession," I say.

"No," the DA says.

Captain clears his throat. "You make the case. We make the bust."

"We don't know it's their blood without forensics," the DA says. "Without the gun ..."

"Look. It's time to come down in the real world. We have to take this guy off the street tonight. Got that? If we don't, even this idiot will run. But he'll also take out anyone he thinks even remotely might have snitched on him. We don't get him tonight, you mark this, he will slaughter more people."

The Captain puts a hand on my elbow. We are all whispering. Voices, noise carries alarmingly in this part of town that still has no power to run air conditioners or anything else that would mask noise. "Lt. White, you and partner go back in that house. You find the gun, we make the arrest tonight. If not, we will have to wait on forensics and make the arrest tomorrow if forensics matches anything to the victims. Got it?"

My teeth grind together. I cannot believe we are going to have to wait. The gun is not in the house. At least, it's not anywhere easy to find. We may have to tear the place apart to see if it's hidden. But my gut tells me the perp has the gun on him.

As Nate and I enter the house again, everyone else hides back in the shadows and behind the rubble and inside flooded-out homes next door.

"We got a choice," Nate says to me. "If we really look for the gun, and we don't find it, we are screwed. We cannot do this kind of search without leaving behind evidence that the place has been tossed. Anthony will know someone's been here."

"He'll think it's a looter."

"Which means he will try to take out anyone he thinks it could be."

"He'll find out the junkies are gone."

"Who knows what he'll do, who he'll hurt."

"He may figure it's us. Hear a rumor. There's been a lot of us here tonight ... someone will have noticed."

"So what do we do, Bud? Your call, podnah."

"Let's look again."

"And then?"

"Dunno. Something will occur to us, right?"

Nate shakes his head. He heads into the bedroom. I take the kitchen. We try above all things to be quiet. The Captain radios that he's going to send in two SWAT guys to help with the search. Before long, four of us are sweating over there. It is impossible. We are hip deep in the search when a squawk comes over the ear buds we wear to make sure communications is quiet.

"Suspect in sight," a calm voice says in our ears.

I am standing on a step stool. In the kitchen. On the counters are the containers and dishes I've moved down to look in the cabinets, to check if he's hidden the gun or anything else there. We've already found pills and crack rocks, added to a heavy drug stash in the attic that we'd missed first time through.

"Get out of the house," I hear the Captain order us.

"No can do," I say at the same time one of the SWAT guys says he's got no time to straighten up the mess he's made just going through the mother's closet.

"We leave now, he will know we were here," Nate says.

"Fuck." It's the Captain. I've never heard him curse before.

"We got to take him down," I say. "We got enough with the drugs to charge him as a dealer, right?"

"Just be careful in there. If you take him, take him hard," says the Captain. 

"Don't violate his rights. Don't hurt him," says the DA.

"Do what needs doing," the Captain says swiftly.

The SWAT guys meet Nate and me in the front room. "You say what needs doing and we're doing it," one of the SWAT guys says.

The SWAT commander's voice comes over our ear buds, saying, "Suspect is heading in. You boys are out of time."

"We take him," I say. 

Nate and one of the SWAT guys sneak down the hall. They take up position to cover us if things are not simple. I am on the other side of the hall from where the door will open. The perp will have to walk past the wall where I will be waiting on him. I should be able to put a gun to his ear as he walks by. The other SWAT guy is hidden behind a big armchair, in the parlor across from where I will be.

We hold our breaths as the door swings open. I hear nothing for so long that I begin to hear the sweat dripping off my face and hitting my arm, which I have up, holding my gun, ready.

Anthony takes a step inside. There is not a peep on the ear buds. Total silence. But Anthony must just sense a difference in the atmosphere. Maybe he feels us breathing.

I hear him creep inside, taking measured footsteps down the hall. Just two more steps and I should be able to ram my gun in his neck. But then he stops and turns toward the parlor. I hear the boards creek and know he's dodging into that room across from me. The SWAT guy hides in there. If he pops up, there will be a gun battle, I figure. I don't want to risk him or any cop in here with me dying at the hands of Anthony, who has me convinced he is not afraid to take on any cop, including SWAT who will shoot with deadly aim. But if Anthony shoots, there is always the chance the crazy motherfucker will hit one of us before the rest of us take him down.

My breathing is shallow. I am sweating harder. My face feels as if I stepped into a river. The Kevlar feels like it weighs a ton. My sweat suddenly feels ice cold, invigorating my body. And this is when I know I am ready to move. I pivot forward and hear the board beneath me creak. It sounds like a cannon in this night. I have no choice now but to finish the action I have started.

I swing my arm so the gun is aiming into the hall. I swing my body along with it. Anthony is turning toward me. I have the drop on him. All I can really see is his outline but he is wearing all white clothes in this black night. So he is like a candle. I aim for the center of his white wife beater.

"Police, fucker. Drop your weapon. Now!" I grunt out.

I hear the SWAT guys ram and load ... I see an outline of the one in the parlor behind Anthony as he rises and takes his stance. Anthony jerks at the sound behind him. And then twitches at the same sound down the hall as the other SWAT guy takes his position. So Anthony has to know he is surrounded.

But through it all, it is me he is focusing on.

"Put the gun down, Anthony," I hear myself say. My voice is calm. I am calm. I am in the zone.

His hand wavers. I can see a glint of metal. 

"You can take me out," I say, "But there are three other officers with their guns locked on you. Your brains will be splattered around your momma's house by the time they finish with you. Your momma will be scrubbing brain goo for years and will never get rid of it all."

"You leave my momma out of this," Anthony says. His voice sounds steady.

"You want her coming home to find your blood all over her house?" I ask him.

"Maybe it be your blood she find," Anthony says to me.

"Could be, Anthony. But it'll be you she'll bury."

He seems to consider his options. I take a step toward him. He stands his ground, but then again, where would he go? I try to think like him ... he does not want to be taken ... he knows he's surrounded ... does he think about the fact that outside the house are probably a lot more cops? That we cannot possibly be here alone? Is he thinking he'll shoot at me and then run out the front door? Does he think he has a chance of getting away? What will scare him?

"There's no way out," Nate calls down the hall.

"Give it up," says the SWAT guy across from me.

"If you want to live, lower the weapon," I say. "Anthony? You know I will not hesitate to blow you away if you don't drop the gun now."

He stands there. Undecided. 

"Drop the motherfucking gun, Anthony," I say.

"Anthony," Nate says. "Let us kill you. Keep that gun up, fucker. Give us the reason. C'mon, boy ..."

Nate's use of that term, 'boy' ... it is one of those words here. White cop says 'boy' to any black man ... something instinctive in the black man happens, takes him over no matter how hardened he is.

And, so, in that one moment, Anthony looks away from me ... he cocks his upper body toward the sound of Nate's voice. The instant his head swivels, I am moving forward. One lunge. One step.

Before he can turn the gun back toward me, I have my gun shoved under his jaw.

"Don't even breathe," I say to him.

I feel his shoulder, the one I am almost braced against, as it twitches. Instinct guides my next movement ... I thrust my knee into the softness of his groin ... I do it with every bit of leverage I can.

He manages to squeeze off a round as he falls into me on his way down to land on his knees. For a long, heart-throbbing moment, there is silence and stillness. And then he howls in agony. I hear the gun drop from his hands. He is rolling on the ground beneath me.

I drop down, my knee in his chest. My gun is aimed squarely in the middle of his forehead. He is cursing. He is holding the family jewels in both hands. He howls some more.

The other three cops are on us. Nate kicks the gun away. The two SWAT guys haul Anthony up from under me. Nate jerks me up, his gun trained on Anthony all the while.

There is an odd way the time shuts down to where it is as if we are freeze framed. It all seems so crystal transparent to me. Nate and I have our weapons drawn. We stand before Anthony, hunched over between the two SWAT guys who are holding him up, refusing to let him slip out of their hold, controlling him.

We are all dressed in dark colors, us cops. Anthony stands among us, dressed in pure white.

I won't ever forget this. The way it feels. The way it looks. The sense of déjà vu. How it tastes in my mouth, all the adrenalin and frustration. The heat. The closeness of the night. The stench of the flood that may never leave this neighborhood.

It is hours after it's over that I feel adrenalin leave me in one large pop. I am at the station house, in the shower. I hear Nate talking to another detective inside the locker room. His voice is strangely muted. He is usually pumped and wordy after something like this. Like it charges him up to a new level of Nate-ness.

As I notice this, I wonder why I don't feel better about this than I do, either.

And this is when I remember.

We both know we were betrayed today.

By a friend, in Nate's case. By a lover, in mine.

By Ann.

She could have cost us both our lives tonight. She could have cost other people's lives.

The thought of this, this is when I let it sink into my bones. How it makes me feel. Sad. Angry. Disgusted. Weary. 

As if everything I ever wanted is gone.

ANN

It was a long night. The bar was hopping until about 4 a.m. when word came filtering through and any reporter still lurking around was running out the door.

An arrest had been made in the case of five murdered teens in Central City.

Those of us left in the bar, locals all, watched the news stations, flipping between them, waiting on the first live reports. They came about 30 minutes later, breaking in on infomercials and early morning traffic reports.

I itched. I would have loved to have been running out with the reporters, with Leo and his sidekick Margaret who looked sick when the first rumors hit various reporters' Blackberries and cell phones. I heard Margaret tell Leo they'd just been fucked over ... that they'd lost their promised exclusive. And Leo had said that there are never exclusives when it comes to a murder arrest like this.

But I didn't mull that over, really.

But that's because Dino called me about ten minutes later, on the house line. I went back in the office to talk to him. He was in London. There for meetings. Said Terry said to say hello, and I knew Terry was probably sitting in the office with him, rolling his eyes. Dino always seems to feel he has to say things like that to me. I said my normal platitude about how nice it was for Terry to remember me.

Then I said, "Cut to the chase, honey."

"I'm in," Dino had said.

"In? In as in ..."

"As in, my lawyer's drawn up the contract to purchase the bar. The owner accepted our bid and ..."

"Our? Yours and Terry's, y'mean?"

"No. Mine and yours."

"Dino ... I don't have that kind of cash ... thought I was clear ..."

"I'm putting up the cash. You're putting in the sweat equity. I want us to own this together. I want you to have a stake in this. I want you to have something you own. Something to call yours."

"I don't know what to say."

"You'll be getting an overnight delivery of the contract. Sign where it's indicated. Then someone will come get the signed copies, the lawyer's arranged it. We'll file the contract there, so it's all neat and legal. Then we'll toast with champagne. How's that sound?"

"Oh, God. You really are doing this? Dino ... God, this is just so ... so ... I don't know ... I don't how to say it ..."

"She's speechless! My work is done here."

My hand was over my mouth. I felt a tear drop down atop my fingers. "You're really making me a part owner?"

"I wouldn't invest otherwise, Annie. Imagine if you got pissed off at the new owner and quit? Then where would my investment be? No, no. This is very selfish on my part."

"No, it isn't."

"Yeah ... well."

"Maybe we'll rename the bar ... O'Leary's Tavern. Keep it with the Irish theme."

"Not bad. That's pretty nice. Terry ... man, she's naming the bar after me. Now, didn't I tell you she'd be the perfect partner?"

I heard the giggle bubble out of me. "You think we should let Terry run a tab here?"

"The old man's credit is for shit, Annie. Man, looks like I'm gonna have to teach you about who you trust and who you don't."

"I cannot believe this. I just cannot believe it! Wait til I tell Bud. This is so incredible."

"This'll make him happy, you think?"

I smiled into the phone. I bet he could hear it in my voice. "Oh, yeah. God, what a night! We are both having incredible nights."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I've just found out I'm about to be a new owner of the bar and Bud's apparently just arrested the most wanted criminal in New Orleans."

"He pulled the case with the five kids killed in Central City?"

"You heard about that?"

"Sure. Made all the news. About how New Orleans is descending once again into murders and drugs."

"We may be. But Bud is not going to let it happen unopposed."

"Sounds like him. Sounds like you're proud of him. That's nice, kiddo."

"I am very proud of him, Dino. He and his partner worked so hard to break this case. And I have been rather worried all night, really, because before he left, he said this was probably the night. I knew what he meant. And now, you know?"

"Chill the champagne. You both have a lot of toasting to do."

"And I'll keep another one on ice for when we get the papers filed on the bar. Maybe I'll call you then? You open your bottle there and I'll open ours here, and we'll all toast together that way?"

"It's a plan. It's a date."

"Dino? Thank you. For so much. Most of all, for having faith in me."

"Always. And thanks for trusting me enough to ask me to get involved this way."

I put the phone in its cradle and sat atop the desk in the office. And just looked around at all the stuff. And thought about how this was mine now. My responsibility. To make it successful. To keep it going. To make Dino money. To keep this bar open and healthy. To maybe make some changes. To make it even better.

Which was kind of scary. 

That's when I felt my heart in the palms of my hands. Oh my God! What the fuck did I know about owning a bar? Doing all the paperwork? Doing anything other than managing this place? Oh, this was maybe not such a good thing. Maybe I wasn't ready for this.

This is when my cocktail waitress bursts in the door to shake me out of this flush of buyer's remorse.

They are on TV ... the arrest, she says. Or rather, that's what I hear and then I am running in her wake, back into the bar itself. They have turned the sound on the TV up full blast. Music's been turned way down. There's a man with a mike talking about the arrest. They are at Broad and Tulane, where for more years than I know they have taken those arrested to arraign them and then do a perp walk for media to get the first images of the person in custody.

The reporter on TV says nothing I didn't already know from Bud ... the name, age, arrest record. That he'd been living in his mom's house in Central City about a block from the murders. That his mom was still in Atlanta.

We all start talking when the first report is done. About what this means. About the good job Nate and Bud did. Stuff. Just excited. I am floating. Like I cannot stop smiling. I look around this place and realize the love affair I have with this bar and the people who come here. I am going to be an owner soon. This is a good thing. I can do this. I want to do this.

I have a place to call mine.

New roots.

Dino knew. He knew I would feel this way. He knew exactly what he was doing for me. And for Bud, because this does make me feel different about me and about us. It's astounding. I have just gone from being an itinerant worker to a business owner ... I'm following Bud's footsteps, really. He went from a guy on the road from an immediate past who happened to stick around to a cop who is making a stand to make this a better home for people like us. A part of me always had in the back of my mind that I'd leave New Orleans some day but before I could I got mired in a sordid deal. Ever since Bud came into my life, I have wanted something I could not define to make me feel I had a stake in this life. And now I have it, just like he has his.

I have my phone in my hand because I think Bud will call me to let me know he's fine ... and I want it here, right with me, so I'll hear it in the noisy bar.

But it never rings.

Not then. Not later, when a fuller report comes over the TV. Not when at last they show the perp walk. Not even after that, after I know they must have handed him off to the jailers and are filing their reports. Not as I think about how striking it was seeing the perp in his white wife beater and his white slacks. How stark the contrast was to his skin. And how I am reflecting on how drawn both Bud and Nate looked as they walked the perp from the squad car into the building.

Two hours go by. I am no longer on duty. My shift is long over. And still I sit at the bar, waiting on Bud to call me or to come in there to get me.

Eventually, I call him. He does not answer. I call Nate. He does not answer. I figure this means they are still down there at HQ, talking to the brass, filling out paperwork and God knows what else. Sure, why wouldn't they want to be positive it was all done right?

So I finally pull myself away from the bar, off the stool, wave goodbye and wander out into morning sun. I am carrying a bottle of champagne by its chilled neck and I smile to think how this would look to a tourist. But there are no tourists around at this time of the day.

The Quarter is just now waking up. The early shift at restaurants are hosing off the sidewalks. People are up on balconies, munching toast and watering plants. Delivery trucks rumble slowly along with the day's produce and other supplies. If I were to stroll over to the Market, I'd find it alive and noisy with the setting up for the day's visitors.

The day's heat is not anywhere near its zenith and, besides, there is plenty of shade to walk in at this time of day.

At the building where I live, I pause to smile in memory of the neighbors who banded together after Katrina to watch over each other. I remember the nights we'd sit in the courtyard of the building next door and look up at the stars as we grumbled about the heat and worried about the flooding and looting. I remember the days when we'd not leave that courtyard except in force, three or four at a minimum, and go to our apartments to shower and dress in new shorts and t-shirts. And someone always had a gun. And all that scared me at the same time I felt part of something big enough to keep me there instead of running away.

We all stayed. We still stay. We probably won't ever leave now. What could drive us away if that storm and the aftermath did not break our spirits or our will?

July 10
BUD

We park our cars in a fenced in lot across from the bar. It is convenient. Parking in the Quarter can be very tough and without the meter maids on duty anymore, it has become anarchy. The lot we use is owned by the guy who owns the bar so we have these spots courtesy of Ann. It is a grassy lot surrounded on three sides by two story buildings that are old and weathered. The green privacy fence stretches across the front, and it has wide double doors that are locked to keep out anyone without a key.

After I park, Nate and I stand by those doors. Like we hate to swing them shut after I drove my car through them to park because then we have to go do what we got to do.

Everything changes and not for the good when we leave the lot, we know that. He is going back to the ship, where he is among the NOPD and first responders who are supposed to be moving out today. His apartment is still not ready for him to move back into so he is planning on going to a hotel over on Canal. But first he's going back to the ship to try to sleep, if he can. He says he's packed, ready to go. That he'll catch a ride with someone, if he needs it, to the hotel. He wants to walk to the ship. It's a hike but I understand why he needs this. He needs to clear his head.

We both stick our heads in the bar. I am relieved not to see her. I catch Nate's face, his eyes that close for a moment before looking down at the floor. And I know he is relieved that he also does not have to see Ann right now.

I head for the apartment. He heads for the ship.

By the time I get to the steps that lead up to the apartment, I have felt a new jolt of adrenalin. I have to face her. I will not let her talk her way out of this. I will do this if it kills me and it feels like it is. My insides feel squeezed together, rubbing over my heart and gut until they are raw and bleeding.

Inside, all is quiet. Calm.

She is asleep on the couch. Fully clothed. One arm flung over her eyes. One shoe on, the other half off. Her lips are parted. Her chest rises and falls. I stand near her and can smell the stale cigarettes of the bar.

I kneel down next to her and just look. My heart feels so heavy. I am so angry with her. I hate what she's done to me. I don't mean to cry.

Before long, I rise and grab a beer from the fridge. I drink it in one long gulp to quench a thirst I didn't know I had. I pour a few fingers of scotch. I glance at her over my shoulder. She is still sleeping. Restless. I take the bottle with me and go sit in the chair. The one she got me. The one she joked about when she showed it to me but the one I always felt meant she was really letting me into her life permanently. Getting me a piece of furniture she put in her place to make me feel always welcome. Now it's our place but I figure it won't be for long.

I sink in the chair, start drinking. I watch her sleep and think about the last year. How bad it started. How it got better when I knew her. How even Katrina couldn't shake my gratitude for having come here to meet Ann. She said the same thing to me once, about going through anything was okay because she'd met me.

And this is how she pays me back?

She takes the love I have given her and she betrays me? Do women just do that to men like me?

"Bud?"

Her voice is gruff, throaty. She coughs and I watch her struggle to sit up from the couch. She stretches and I note the way she arches her back. I remember telling her once that she did that just to make me want to take her in my arms and bend her back around me.

I wince at the memory. 

"Mmm. Nice to have you home," she says softly as she finishes her stretch. She rises, pads over to where I am, moves to sit in my lap but all I do is put my drink to my lips and sip. She smiles and bends to kiss me. I just look at her.

She must still be half asleep, groggy. It doesn't bother her that I am not letting her snuggle in with me. Instead, she puts out her hand and says, "Let's go to bed. I have news for you but I'm too tired to celebrate it. I'd rather just go sleep together and then when we get up, we can talk all about your big arrest and my news."

"What I got to say to you, it gets said now," I say.

She blinks, rubs her eyes, tries to sink into my lap again. When I don't budge, she sits on the coffee table before me. Her hands are on my knees. I slug down the remainder of the scotch in my glass, then set it down. Then knock her hands off me.

"Bud? What ...?"

"You thought what? That I'd not care? That I'd throw you a parade?"

"For what? What's this about?" She studies me, now waking up all the way. Her mouth opens and then closes. Then: "Are you pissed off? Did I do something? What's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"You're scaring me, Bud."

"Just tell me one thing," I say to her, leaning in, eye to eye. "Was it worth it? In the end, I mean, Ann, was it worth it? You fuck me and Nate over ... and was it worth it?"

"I ... I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about your friend Leo. Leo the reporter."

"What about Leo? He's a friend. Has something happened ...?"

"Stop the fucking lying."

Her face drains of color. And I know. I know she knows now that I know what she did. She swallows, like it is difficult. "I have nothing to lie about, Bud."

"The hell you don't."

"What is going on?"

"I only told one person about Anthony."

"The guy who shot the five kids?"

"Stop it. Stop lying to me. At least treat me with some respect."

"I don't know what you think has happened."

"You ratted me out, that's what happened. I trusted you, Ann. I told you about the perp, details, name, about why he did it. You told Leo. You are the only person who could have told him. The only person."

"I did not! Why would I tell Leo? You know I would never tell anyone anything that you told me in confidence about your job ..."

"You told him because you wanted to be his friend. You want to impress him. You gave me up just to make another man think you were his friend. Or was it more than that? Did you fuck him, too? Or should I be asking how many times you fucked him behind my back?"

She slaps me. Goes to rise. Her face is still white. Her eyes go wide when I grab her arm and drag her back down before me. "I trusted you. I told you a secret. You betrayed me to another man."

There is no fight left in her. She does not struggle. She is silent.

"All I want from you now is for you to admit it to me. To look me in the eyes and admit it," I say to her.

She closes her eyes.

"Admit it, Ann. I just want you to say it."

When she opens her eyes, they are bright and watery. Spots of red are beginning to blotch her cheeks. Red is creeping up in a blush from her chest to her neck. "I will do no such thing."

"Get away from me. You could have killed us both, me and Nate. Your boyfriend Leo was all over the place yesterday, asking about the impending arrest. He knew the perp's name. He could have blown everything if the Captain hadn't shut him down by promising he'd get the news first when we got Anthony. But for all we knew, he could have already been over there, in that neighborhood, asking questions, alerting Anthony we were coming for him. How would you have felt then, Ann? If one of us had gotten shot by Anthony?"

"Why would you ... You really think I could do that?"

I look her in the eyes. I nod.

Then she rises. Walks away. I hear her head to the bedroom and then stop. For long moments, forever, she does not move. Nor do I. I am waiting to see what she'll do. Finally she turns, walks the other way and then I hear her slide back the safety lock on the door.

I move quick then. Rising and getting to the door before she can escape. I shut the door before she can react. 

My entire body feels like it is about to explode. I lean in over her, her face toward the door. I put my mouth next to her ear to say softly, "The fact you won't admit what you did tells me everything I need to know about you, Ann."

Then I release the door. She can go for all I care. I don't want her around anyway. I am halfway back to the chair when I hear her voice. I turn to her. Her hand is on the door knob, she is looking right at me, chin up, hair disheveled. Her eyes look huge in her flushed face.

"The fact you think I could have betrayed your confidence, betrayed you ... that tells me everything I need to know about us, Bud," she says to me. Her voice is brittle, cutting.

She picks up her purse, keys from the table next to the door and then she is gone. She slams the door behind her.

I stand at the window, drinking, watching for her to emerge from the building. Morbidly curious about where she'll go. Which direction. Will the fucker Leo be out there waiting? Is that who she goes to as she looks one way, then the other ... and finally turns to the right, toward Rampart?