Arsonist

CHAPTER 8

Detective Stephen Gunn climbed the stone steps of the government housing project and stopped at some graffiti that was tagged on the wall. It was beautifully done; an Aztec or Mayan warrior cutting off the head of an enemy with a nude woman at his feet. It took up most of the wall and over that were tagged some gang names. Graffiti had gotten vandalized.

Savages, he thought, as he continued climbing the steps.

On the top floor, apartment 4612 had a thick wooden door. He knocked and waited. Inside, he heard some shuffling, items quickly being hidden and music turned down that was playing on a stereo. He heard someone lean against the door as they stared out of the peephole and then the click of the lock and the rattle of the chain.

A woman stood there in a nightgown. She would be beautiful if not for the aging that had prematurely occurred. Wrinkles surrounded her eyes and lips and her once bright blond hair looked greasy and dull. But there was still vibrance in her sapphire eyes and Gunn looked at them a while before brushing past her and into the house.

He glanced momentarily at the porno playing on the television and went to the fridge. He got out a beer and popped the top before flopping onto the couch and picking up the remote.

“I’m watching that,” the woman said, sitting next to him.

“You really a nympho or is that just an act?”

“We all got our demons.”

“This and the heroin you was shootin’ up before I got here? Did the guy you were with jump off the balcony?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Stephen. I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some whore that you can just come over and fuck whenever you want.”

He grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her close. He put his lips over hers and ran his tongue inside her mouth and then said, “You are.” He pinned her arms down on the couch and spread apart her nightgown as he unzipped his pants and entered her. The sex was rough and she slapped him hard several times. By the end they were both drenched in sweat.

Gunn rolled off her and they lay on the couch as the porno kept playing. He reached over to the remote and changed it to a baseball game.

“You got anythin’ for me?” Gunn said.

“No. Everything’s really quiet. No one’s making any moves.”

“What about our friend Ricardo?”

“No, he’s laying low.” She sat up, pulling her nightgown over herself. “If I didn’t let you fuck me, what would you do?”

“I’d arrest you for the dope you got in here and then call your parole officer and have you sent back to prison.”

“Would you really do that? I know you threaten it ‘cause you think you need to to get what you want, but would you really do that to me?”

He pushed her out of the way to watch the screen. “Yes.”

She stood up quietly and went to the bathroom. There was the sound of the shower and she came out some time later in jeans and a sweatshirt. She collapsed onto the La-Z-Boy next to the television and began to nod off. Gunn watched her a while and shook his head.

“That shit’s gonna kill you.”

“I know.”

“Do you wanna die?”

“Yes.”

“Jaime, drop the shit. Let’s get you cleaned up. Aren’t you sick of livin’ like this?”

“You’re one to judge me,” she said, her eyes closing for a moment and then darting wide again.

He sat up and guzzled the rest of his beer. Gunn went back to the fridge and took out another before going back to the couch. He saw her head leaned back on the chair and her eyes closed. He’d dealt with her enough to know she wouldn’t actually be asleep for the next six or seven hours.

“If I asked you to marry me,” he said, “would ya?”

“Yes.”

“Would you get clean for me?”

“I don’t wanna get clean.”

There was a moment of quiet and then he said, “Do you have other guys like me?”

“What’d ya mean?”

“Do you have guys that come over and fuck you and sleep in your bed? Do you cook them breakfast?”

“Yes, I cook them breakfast.”

“How many other guys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Five?”

“Maybe.”

“Ten?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

He took a swig of beer. “You are a whore. And you’re dreamin’ if you think I’d marry a whore.”

“Why not?” she said, a slight smile on her lips. “Your mother was a whore.”

He jumped from the couch and walked over to her, grabbing her by the hair. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother.” She laughed. He kissed her and she wrapped her arms around him as he lifted her, and carried her into the bedroom.